Chapter 4 Collision Course
Aria
Mel’s door had barely clicked shut behind me before she launched into a full-scale interrogation.
“Oh my God, start talking. Immediately. Why are you red? Why are you breathing like you sprinted here? Why do you smell like… like expensive sin?” She narrowed her eyes and leaned in, sniffing me like some deranged bloodhound.
I jerked away, clutching Grayson’s jacket tighter around myself. “Stop that. I’m fine.”
“You are NOT fine,” she declared, crossing her arms. “You look post-apocalyptic. Your shirt is a shirt at some point. And you have that look.”
“What look?”
“The look of someone who did something… stupid.”
I turned my back on her, stomping toward the tiny kitchenette. “Well, that’s not new. I’ve been doing stupid things since yesterday.”
I yanked open her fridge and stared into it like it had answers to life. It didn’t. Just expired yogurt and some very judgmental lettuce.
Mel hovered behind me. “Aria Jones. Tell me why you’re wearing a six-thousand-dollar suit jacket inside out like a security blanket.”
“It’s not six” I froze. God. It probably was. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters. It matters an unhealthy amount.” Her eyes widened. “Did you steal it?”
“No,” I snapped. “It was… given.”
Mel’s mouth dropped into a gasp so dramatic she physically staggered back. “Given? Given? By WHO?!”
I shut the fridge harder than necessary. “Nobody. Just nobody.”
She grabbed my arm. “Aria. Jones. Look at me in my overworked, underpaid face and tell me you did not hook up with someone at Jess’s wedding.”
“I didn’t hook up with anyone.”
“Then why do you look like you made out with a Greek god behind the courthouse?”
I slammed my palm onto the counter. “BECAUSE I DID!”
Mel blinked. “Oh.”
“Oh,” I echoed, mortified, shoving both hands through my hair. “He kissed me. I kissed him. It was a mistake. A very, very stupid mistake.”
Mel squealed. “Aria! Who was he? Tell me everything!”
“No.”
“Everything.”
“Absolutely not.”
“If you don’t tell me, I will call the police and report you missing.”
I flung my arms up. “Mel, that’s not how missing persons work!”
She planted herself in front of me, hands on hips, immovable. Stubborn. Deadly.
“His name.”
I clamped my mouth shut.
She waited.
I cracked.
“…Grayson.”
Her eyes bulged. “Grayson…?”
My soul attempted to flee my body. “Hart.”
Mel made a sound that could only be described as a strangled scream. “THE Grayson Hart?! The walking bank vault?! The alpha with a jawline sharp enough to commit murder?!”
“Apparently,” I muttered.
“You KISSED him?!”
“He kissed ME!” I corrected, then slumped against the counter. “And then he threw me out of his car like a discarded coupon.”
Mel grabbed my shoulders. “Aria. Sweetie. Listen to me very carefully.”
“No.”
“He’s your rebound.”
“No.”
“He’s PERFECT for this.”
“Absolutely not.”
“We are going to use him to destroy Jess.”
“No, we are not!” I shoved her hands off. “I don’t need revenge via… via… billionaire alpha sexcapades. I need a job.” My throat tightened. “I need money.”
Her expression softened. “I know. I know. But Aria… it’s Grayson. If he brought you home…”
“He didn’t bring me home. He brought me to his penthouse so he could throw me out dramatically.”
“So… romantic?”
“No!”
Mel opened her mouth probably to plan my wedding and our future dog names when her doorbell shrilled through the apartment.
We both froze.
Mel whispered, “If that’s Grayson Hart, wear my dress. Actually, I don't. I need that dress.”
“It won’t be….”
She shuffled me behind her like a toddler and cracked the door open two inches.
Then she slammed it shut and spun around, eyes wide.
“That’s a SWAT TEAM.”
“What?!”
Okay, not SWAT. But Grayson Hart’s level of manpower made the difference negligible.
Mel opened the door again. Five men in tailored black suits stood in formation, and one stepped forward, holding my battered suitcase like it was the Holy Grail.
“Package for Ms. Jones,” he said smoothly.
I peeked over Mel’s shoulder.
“It’s my suitcase,” I whispered.
Mel’s jaw dropped. “Do you know how many people it takes to deliver one suitcase? Literally ONE TAXI driver. Why are there six? Is this a movie? Are we in a movie? Are we…”
“Have a good evening,” the lead guard said, bowing his head before the group turned and left with military precision.
The hallway fell silent.
Mel shut the door slowly, like she was afraid to disturb the air.
Then she exploded. “ARIA HE SENT A WHOLE SECURITY DETAIL?!”
I hugged the suitcase to my chest. “He probably just wanted to get rid of my stuff.”
“No man sends a battalion to return a suitcase unless he plans to sleep with the owner of the suitcase!”
“Mel….”
“This is fate. Destiny. And also the universe trying to gift you vengeance sex.”
“I am not…”
“You absolutely ARE.”
“No,” I said firmly, annoyance rising. “I have real problems. Rent. Nana’s medication. Zero income. Zero severance.”
Mel’s voice softened. “Then go get your severance.”
“I plan to.”
“Good.” She nodded. “And maybe wear lipstick. Just in case he’s there.”
“Mel!”
The next morning, lipstick-free and running purely in spite of a stale granola bar, I marched into Apex Corp’s HR department.
The fluorescent lighting felt like insult lighting. Everything is too bright. Too clean. Too fake.
Brielle was already there, sitting smugly beside the HR manager, Ms. Dieter. They looked like a matching set of snakes.
Ms. Dieter smiled tightly. “Aria. Good morning. Let’s discuss your termination package.”
“Yes,” I said, planting my hands on her desk. “Let’s. You illegally fired me, so I would like the severance you owe.”
Brielle snorted.
I ignored her.
Ms. Dieter tapped her tablet. “We reviewed your file. And unfortunately, new information has come to light.”
Cold crawled up my spine. “What new information?”
Brielle slid a folder across the desk. “Your mistake.”
“My what?”
She opened it.
My breath caught.
I stared at doctored emails. Fake timestamps. Fabricated orders. Screenshots that had never existed.
“You cost the company sixty-eight thousand dollars,” Brielle said sweetly. “So no severance. And legal action is on the table.”
My vision blurred. Not with tears….rage.
“That’s a lie,” I said, voice shaking. “You know I didn’t do this.”
Ms. Dieter’s smile widened. “Unfortunately, we have proof.”
“You have fabricated proof.”
“Strong language coming from someone facing a lawsuit,” Brielle said, leaning back in her chair like a queen surveying a peasant.
My wolf pressed against my ribs.
They thought I was powerless.
They thought I would break.
Mel’s voice echoed in my head: Aria, be stupid. Stupid wins sometimes.
Fine.
I could do stupid.
I snatched the folder off the desk. “I want to speak to the CEO.”
Ms. Dieter let out a bark of laughter. “Mr. Hart doesn’t see ex-interns.”
“We’ll escort you out,” Brielle added, waving security over with a flick of her wrist.
Two guards strode toward me.
I clutched the folder and strode past them.
“Ms. Jones!” Ms. Dieter snapped. “You cannot…”
I was already halfway down the hall.
“Stop her!” Brielle shrieked.
But I didn’t stop.
I stormed past cubicles, ignoring the stares, ignoring the whispers, ignoring the tremor in my own legs.
The private elevator gleamed at the end of the corridor like a forbidden treasure.
I jabbed the button.
The guards grabbed me.
I shoved one off. “Don’t touch me.”
The HR manager rushed over, red-faced. “You’re trespassing! You have no right to….”
“I have EVERY right,” I shot back, breath heaving. “He fired me. You lied. I want to face the person who ruined my life.”
The elevator dinged.
“Ms. Jones!” one guard barked. “Step away!”
“Make me.”
I lunged forward.
A hand closed around my arm.
But not theirs.
A voice cut through the chaos like the crack of a whip:
“I believe only I have the right to decide that.”