23: (Rule Number One)
23: (Rule Number One)
Callie's inner alarm screamed confidentiality! The Myth Lands Project was the file she'd spent the last four hours dissecting, and Ethan Hayes's question was a direct probe, a professional trap set right in the middle of a social gathering.
She didn't miss a beat. Her professional instinct, sharpened by her afternoon's analysis, instantly merged with her 'smitten wife' performance.
Instead of looking at Ethan or Grayson, Callie did the most distracting thing possible: she turned her body slightly toward Grayson, placing her free hand on his tuxedo lapel, her fingers tracing the fine silk of the fabric.
"Myth Lands?" she purred, her voice sweet and deliberately light, just loud enough to interrupt the professional discussion. She batted her lashes innocently, gazing up at Grayson with wide, adoring eyes. "Oh, darling, is that the one where the property lines were a little messy? Honestly, I don't care about the details, as long as it doesn't interrupt our weekend plans. We're meant to be looking at villas in the Hamptons next month, remember?"
She punctuated the statement with a soft, possessive squeeze on his lapel, tilting her head as if the only important thing in the world was their personal agenda. The subtle implication was that the project was merely a minor administrative headache, not the monumental, sensitive deal it truly was. She effectively made the topic sound boring and secondary to their relationship.
Ethan Hayes blinked, momentarily thrown off by the shift in subject and Callie's intense focus on Grayson's personal life. The look of professional inquiry faded into a polite, slightly awkward smile.
Grayson felt the gentle pressure of her fingers and heard the performance in her voice. She had instantly deflected a highly sensitive business query with a perfectly timed, fluffy, domestic interruption. She was telling Ethan that she was a charming distraction, not a trustworthy source of corporate secrets.
Grayson's mouth curved into a slow, breathtakingly genuine-looking smile—a smile he usually reserved for landing a massive deal. He wrapped his arm around Callie's waist, pulling her close against his side, broadcasting ownership.
"It's coming along perfectly, Ethan," Grayson said, his voice smooth and confident. He gave Callie a brief, lingering look that was meant to convey deep affection. "But as you can see, I'm constantly reminded of my priorities. My wife is quite insistent when it comes to quality time."
He chuckled lightly, allowing the moment to hang in the air, confirming Callie's deflection.
"Excuse us, Ethan," Grayson continued, already manoeuvring Callie away from the conversation with a subtle but firm guidance of his arm. "I believe they are announcing the next dance, and I haven't gotten my due yet from my beautiful bride."
As soon as they were out of earshot and walking toward the edge of the dance floor, Grayson leaned down again, his lips brushing the curve of her ear.
"Myth Lands tributary, Warren County environmental precedent," he whispered, listing the key items from her report. "And now, perfect operational security. You are truly proving to be… multifaceted, Ms. Callie."
He spun her lightly, pulling her onto the dance floor just as the music swelled into a romantic, classic waltz. He didn't wait for her to agree; he simply placed his hands—one firmly on the small of her exposed back, the other clasping her hand—and began to move.
Callie, slightly breathless from the combination of the proximity and the adrenaline rush, had no choice but to follow his lead. The emerald silk swirled around her feet.
"You're welcome, Boss," she murmured, gazing into his eyes, maintaining the smitten facade for the benefit of the surrounding guests. She was intensely aware of the warmth of his hand through the thin silk of her dress.
"I still don't believe you're simply in this for the money," Grayson said, his voice low, his eyes never leaving hers. The dance forced their bodies into undeniable intimacy, their movements perfectly synchronised, making them look intensely connected. "You are too good at this. Tell me, Callie, why did you need the money? Is it debt, or is it something bigger?"
The music seemed to fade around them. The closeness was intoxicating, confusing the lines between their performance and their reality. His question was a calculated invasion, exploiting the intimacy of the moment.
Callie's smile was effortless, but the light in her eyes was cold.
"Rule One, Grayson." Her voice was barely a breath, carrying the weight of a warning. "No asking personal questions. We are dancing. We are performing. That is all. We can discuss my contract—and my pay—when we leave this room."
She deliberately pulled her hand away from his, resting it instead on his shoulder, asserting a small measure of control over the dynamic, maintaining the performance while drawing a clear boundary.
Grayson paused mid-step, his eyes narrowing slightly, clearly annoyed at the immediate, sharp rebuttal. He was used to commanding, not being reminded of rules. But he couldn't stop dancing; they were the centre of attention.
He pulled her closer, his gaze softening into the adoring look of a deeply in-love husband, a look that sent shivers down Callie's spine.
"As you wish, wife," he conceded quietly, his voice dangerously smooth. "But tonight is far from over. I will find what you are hiding."
They danced, bodies moving fluidly against each other.
Unconsciously, they started to avoid each other's eyes, realising how real they looked. To others, they could pretend, but to themselves, they couldn't stare at each other so deeply and pretend to be in love.
They weren't in love, and they couldn't even pretend with each other even for a minute. That was why they looked extremely weird and bothered, holding each other that close in public.
After a minute, the music changed to something faster, and Grayson gently steers Callie away from the dance floor and toward the tall double doors at the corner, away from the wat haul crowd.
“Where are you taking me?” Callie asked, instinctively slowing her steps as the crowd thinned behind them.
Grayson leaned close, lips barely moving.
“Don’t resist, wife… people are watching.”
His palm slid to the small of her exposed back—warm, firm, possessive—and he pushed open the door to the balcony. He guided her out, closing it softly behind them as he stepped in after her, sealing them into cool night air and dangerous privacy.