Grayson stood near one of the far tables, somehow managing to look both relaxed and out of place. He changed from his usual impeccable suit for casual clothes—dark jeans and a charcoal-gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. It was still shocking to see him dressed down, almost human instead of the untouchable CEO Neville was used to.
Their eyes met across the room.
Neville's heart did something complicated in his chest. He blamed the music, the lights, and the fact that Grayson looked unfairly attractive even in casual wear.
Grayson raised his glass slightly, a small acknowledgment.
Neville took that as permission to approach. He weaved through the crowd, dodging a tipsy employee who was nodding wildly while recounting some story.
Finally reached Grayson's table.
"Mr. Maxwell—" Neville said.
"Grayson is fine." Grayson interrupted him, his silver eyes held a hint of amusement. "And you can drop the courtesy. We're off the clock."
