Chapter 4

After the whole "lap incident," things between Dylan and me got a bit... complicated.

He was still icy as ever, but every now and then, when I handed him coffee or gave a work update, I'd catch his gaze lingering on me for just a split second longer than before—enough to make my heart skip.

And the prayer beads on his wrist? He was spinning them so fast now that anyone could see the difference; even I couldn't help but notice.

That was all it took to fire me up again—my fighting spirit was back in full force.

When Andrew heard about what happened, he was so hyped he almost shot out of his wheelchair. He couldn't stop raving about how awesome I was and promised to hook me up with some "even stronger ammo" for my mission.

A few days later, I got a package from Andrew.

When I opened it, there was a silk camisole nightgown inside.

It was sheer, in a deep, seductive wine red.

I stared at the thing in my hands.

Andrew was seriously obsessed with getting his grandson hitched.

I stood there, just staring at the nightgown, totally unsure what to do.

If I actually put this on, every man would be tempted.

But then I remembered that thirty million dollars and gritted my teeth. Game on.

Dylan had a ritual. Every Friday night, he'd spend an hour meditating in the little room attached to his office. No matter what, he never skipped it.

Honestly, for me, this was a heaven-sent opportunity. I couldn't have asked for a better setup.

On Friday night, I lingered at work, making sure to stay later than usual.

Once the office was empty and I figured Dylan was deep in his room, I snuck into the lounge attached to my office and slipped into that killer nightgown.

Staring at my reflection, I took a deep breath and gave myself a pep talk.

Sophie, you could do this!

This wasn't about seduction; it was about the money!

I tiptoed over to the meditation room door, which was just barely open.

I peeked through the crack in the door. Dylan was sitting cross-legged on a meditation cushion, dressed in loose linen clothes. His eyes were shut, his face perfectly still. The prayer beads in his hand moved slowly, rhythmically.

The whole room was lit by a single dim wall lamp, sandalwood drifting through the air, making everything feel serene and almost sacred.

My heart was racing as I gently pushed the door open, barefoot, and walked toward him, step by step.

The floor was icy, and my toes instinctively curled against the chill.

I walked up to him and slowly crouched down so we were eye to eye.

He seemed to sense me; his long lashes quivered, but he didn't open his eyes.

Gathering my courage, I leaned in close to his ear and, in the softest, most alluring way I could, blew gently against it.

"Mr. Grant, isn't it lonely meditating all by yourself?"

I saw his hand suddenly freeze.

For a moment, his breathing faltered.

Jackpot!

My heart leaped with excitement—I was just about to push my luck even further when, out of nowhere, he suddenly opened his eyes.

Those eyes that were always so calm and unreadable now burned with a dark, shadowy fire, staring straight at me with a piercing intensity.

His gaze was so aggressive that it sent chills down my spine.

"S-Sophie?"

His voice was so hoarse, one could hear the shock in it—like he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"It's me."

I forced what I hoped was my most alluring grin.

He stared at the silk nightgown clinging to me, his Adam's apple moving as he swallowed hard.

Suddenly, he reached out and grabbed my wrist, his grip fierce and unexpected.

His hand was scorching hot, and he held me so tightly it actually hurt.

"Who made you wear this?"

He squeezed the words out between gritted teeth, barely holding back.

"I..." I faltered, lost for words.

"Get out!"

He shoved me away, rough and abrupt.

I was totally caught off guard and landed right on the freezing floor, banging my elbow against the little table nearby. It hurt so bad I nearly teared up.

He wouldn't even look at me. He turned his head away and shut his eyes. The prayer beads in his hand clicked and ground against each other, like they were about to shatter any second.

"Get out before I change my mind," he snapped, his voice brimming with barely contained anger.

There was a simmering fury in his tone—and... a hint of something else, like he was fighting himself inside.

I scrambled up, staring at his tense jaw and the red creeping up his ears. I was fuming, so frustrated and hurt.

He was seriously impossible!

I wrapped myself tighter in that barely-there nightgown and dashed out, not even daring to look back.

This time, I was really about ready to give up for real.