DALTON
The background check on Aria Davis was taking too long.
I'd given them twenty-four hours, and it had only been eighteen. Yet, as I sat through a mind-numbingly simple acquisition meeting, all I could think was that every minute felt like an hour. I was an impatient man by nature, but this was different. This was a specific, gnawing curiosity I couldn't satisfy with a command.
The meeting was supposed to be about a small tech firm that specialized in "innovative networking solutions"which was a fancy way of saying they made apps that barely worked. The CEO was sweating through his overpriced suit, droning on about "vision" and "collaboration." I wanted to tell him the only collaboration I cared about was between profit and results.
Instead, I nodded once. Just once. The universal signal that the conversation was over.
Elaine caught it immediately. "Gentlemen, Mr. Gray has another appointment."
Translation: He's done pretending to care.
It's why I pay her so well.
I left the boardroom, already unbuttoning my cufflinks as I walked. My mind wasn't in the meeting it was still two miles away, at The Grind.
I'd gone earlier than usual. I told myself it was because I needed coffee, but I'd had three espressos before seven a.m. The truth was simple and annoying: I wanted to see her.
Aria Davis.
She was trying to hide it, putting on that professional smile for her co-workers, but I saw everything. The pallor of her skin, the faint tremor in her hands as she wiped down the counter, the way she'd pause just a second too long, like her body was waiting for her soul to catch up. She looked… breakable.
And I hated noticing that.
The woman who'd once told me off with enough sass to start a small fire was gone. In her place stood someone running on empty. And it bothered me. Not because I cared, but because it was… inefficient. I understood anger, pride, arrogance. But exhaustion? That didn't fit the equation.
Later when I couldn't wait anymore, I did something I would've mocked another man for doing I called The Grind manager...Mel
"Mr. Gray! Is everything alright?" Mel's voice was tight, like she expected to be fired through the phone.
"What time does Aria Davis finish her shift?" I asked, my tone cool and detached.
There was a pause, a shuffle, and then, "Uh… she just left, sir. About two minutes ago."
"Thank you."
I ended the call and moved. I told myself I only wanted to confirm she wasn't collapsing on the road. That's all. But I still found myself leaning against a lamppost near the crosswalk where I was sure she'd pass by, pretending to check emails that didn't exist.
what was it about this woman that made me behave so out of character?
She appeared soon walking fast, head down, clutching her keys like a weapon. Her car was parked at the far end of the lot, because of course it was. She didn't seem like the type to take up space.
Then she walked right into me.
The impact wasn't small. She hit my chest hard enough to make me take half a step back. For a second, she just stood there, blinking up at me, her breath shallow. Up close, she smelled like vanilla and burnt coffee comforting and chaotic at the same time.
"I..I'm so sorry," she stammered, immediately looking away.
I don't know why, but that annoyed me. Maybe because she couldn't even look at me after knocking into me, or maybe because I'd gotten used to her eyes meeting mine without fear.
"Look at me when you're talking," I said, the command slipping out before I could stop it.
Her eyes shot up, grey and stormy. There it was. The spark. "I apologized. It was an accident."
She tried to walk away, but my hand moved first, closing around her arm. Her skin was warm, soft and far too delicate. "What is wrong with you?" I asked before I could filter the thought. "You look like you're about to fall over."
She froze, then straightened. "It's none of your business," she snapped. "Let me go. I'm not in the mood to argue with you today."
"I asked a simple question," I said tightly. "I'm not in the mood to argue, either. Why do you look like this?"
"Like what? Tired? Poor?" she shot back, yanking her arm free. Her voice was sharp, but her hands trembled. "I'm fine. I don't want or need your help."
And just like that, she turned, storming off toward her car. Her steps were uneven, her shoulders too stiff. "You shouldn't be driving in this state!" I called out before I could stop myself.
Her "I'M FUCKING FINE!" came out like a gunshot, echoing down the street.
Then she was gone.
I stood there, watching her old rusted car rattle its way out of the lot. It coughed like it was allergic to movement. A part of me expected it to die right there in traffic. It didn't.
She did, however, manage to leave me standing like an idiot on the sidewalk, watching her taillights vanish.
Would we ever have one civil conversation? Unlikely.
My phone buzzed. Mother.
Of course.
I swiped to answer, already regretting it. "Mother."
"Dalton, darling," came Karen Gray's voice, smooth as glass and twice as cold. "I need you to come to dinner on Friday. The Hargreaves are joining us. Their daughter, Isabelle, just returned from Paris. She's absolutely lovely."
I rolled my eyes toward the ceiling. "Lovely, as in, another matchmaking attempt?"
"Don't be rude. Isabelle is from a good family, she's well-educated, beautiful.."
"and desperate enough to sit through one of your dinners?"
A sharp inhale. "I don't appreciate your tone."
"I don't appreciate being pimped out over lamb chops, but here we are," I said dryly.
"Dalton Gray!"
"I have another important engagement," I said smoothly.
"Cancel it. This is important." Her tone sharpened. "You're not getting any younger, and Isabelle is"
"'suitable.' Yes, I've heard this speech before."
Silence. Then, with all the grace of a guillotine, she said, "Fine. Stay alone forever. Don't come crying to me when you realize work doesn't keep you warm at night."
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, but the line was already dead.
I stared at the phone for a long second. My mother had a gift for taking my day, lighting it on fire, and then acting confused about the smoke.
By the time I returned to the office, I was in my usual mood controlled irritation.
I buried myself in a stack of contracts, losing track of time, until my door opened without a knock.
"Dalton," came a smooth, confident voice.
It was Chloe from the legal department. Brilliant. Sharp. Expensive. She was wearing a dress that probably came with its own mortgage, her lipstick so precise it could have been drawn with a compass.
"Busy," I said without looking up.
"I noticed." She leaned on the edge of my desk, deliberately crossing one leg over the other. "But I thought maybe you could use a break. Dinner? Drinks? Something stronger?"
There was a pause long enough for her perfume to wage war on my oxygen.
"No," I said, eyes still on the document.
Her smile faltered. "You didn't even think about it."
"I did. Briefly. The answer's still no."
Her lips twitched into something between confusion and disbelief. "You used to be more fun."
"I used to have more bad ideas," I said flatly.
That earned me a glare. "Wow. You really are as cold as people say."
I finally looked up. "Youhave no idea."
For a moment, she stared, as if trying to decide whether I was joking. I wasn't.
She stood abruptly, clearly flustered. "Well, if you change your mind.."
Jeez get the hint lady.
"I won't."
"Right. Of course."
She left, closing the door a bit too hard.
I exhaled slowly and leaned back in my chair.
Chloe was everything a man in my position was supposed to want intelligent, confident, and stunning. She checked all the boxes. And yet, she didn't make me feel a damn thing.
It wasn't arrogance; it was fact. The thrill was gone. The game was dull. Every woman lately felt rehearsed, predictable, transactional.
But Aria Davis she was chaos wrapped in caffeine and exhaustion. A woman who didn't fake anything, not even her anger. Who didn't care who I was, what I had, or how fast I could destroy her job.
And somehow, that fascinated me.
Infuriated me.
And, worst of all, made me feel something dangerously close to alive.
I glanced at the clock. Still no report.
Someone is going to be fired.
For the first time in years, I wasn't waiting for a deal to close or a competitor to crumble. I was waiting for a file. On a woman who should have been irrelevant to me.
And when I finally leaned back in my chair, staring at the city outside my window, one thought refused to leave my head.
This wasn't interest. It was an inconvenience. A dangerous, inconvenient fascination I couldn't seem to control.
And I hated it.
Just like she hated me.