Though Quinn said she was going to the restroom, in reality she slipped away to hide behind a marble pillar just outside the tea lounge, peering through the window at everything happening inside. A wicked thrill ran through her. Soon, the show would begin.
Inside Golden Chai Collective, Emily and Grayson sat opposite each other at a small mahogany table. Their hearts pounded in tandem, minds racing. Emily's thoughts flitted between a dozen pointless worries: Why isn't Mr. Cole looking at me? Should I adjust the angle of my eyebrow pencil so he notices? What does it mean when he holds his teacup with one hand—but then, two hands? She had no idea that Grayson's own thoughts were far less complicated: he was consumed by a single image—Jasmine's face.
"Ahem… Mr. Cole? You don't seem very happy," Emily ventured, leaning forward with a practiced smile, desperately fishing for a conversation.
Grayson forced a sheepish grin. He felt guilty—even though this was technically a "date" with Emily, to be seen fawning over someone else while Jasmine was out there hurting felt strangely rude. Still, he exhaled and spoke. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course, Mr. Cole," Emily said brightly. Inside, her mind soared—he was actually initiating small talk. She'd made progress.
"If… say there's a girl who's always treated you well, but one day she believes you've deceived her and walks away, hiding from you… how do you make her change her mind and come back?" Grayson asked quietly.
Emily's heart sank. So he wasn't talking about her at all—he was thinking about some other woman. A flash of irritation sparked inside her, but she quickly tamped it down. *That* other woman, whoever she was, was a fool—to walk away from someone as wonderful as Mr. Cole. This was Emily's chance. He was obviously wounded, and here she was, the very picture of care and compassion. She could wrap him in comfort and kindness—naturally, he'd begin to associate her with healing, and soon enough she would become the most important woman in his life.
A surge of hope ignited in Emily's chest. She smiled sweetly and leaned in closer, her hand drifting over until it settled lightly on Grayson's. "Mr. Cole, someone who casually abandons you doesn't deserve your attention. Just forget her. There are plenty of people in this world who do care about you."
Her voice was honeyed, warm. She let her hand press gently into his fingers, then slid her body a bit closer. From his vantage point, she could see his surprised blink. She could also sense the faint tremor of his pulse beneath her touch.
Grayson, who had been lost in painful thoughts of Jasmine, was startled by Emily's warmth. He inhaled the faint scent of her delicate perfume rising from her collar—something soft, almost floral. White lace hemmed the neckline, brushing against his sleeve as she moved. A ripple of unfamiliar comfort washed over him: her presence was calming; her touch was reassuring. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel cared for.
This was exactly what Emily had hoped for. She held her breath as she shifted forward, closing the final inches between them. Her heart raced. Soon their bodies would meet.
"Emily, what are you doing here?" A voice snapped through the air, cold with shock.
Both Emily and Grayson jumped, hastily straightening in their seats. The sudden intrusion shattered the moment.
Grayson's eyes widened, his mind jolting back to reality. *What was I doing?* he thought, staring at the table. *I was… touching her. And enjoying it.* Disgust flickered through him. Not again—women were impossible. One wrong move and he slipped right back into feeling something he'd rather not feel.
Emily, however, felt a sharp flare of fury. *Who the hell dared to ruin my moment?* she seethed inwardly. She'd been on the verge of success—now some interloper had barged in. Of course—there was only one culprit: Dylan Mercer.
At that moment, Dylan himself filled the tea lounge's doorway like a storm cloud. He scanned the room until he locked eyes on Emily and Grayson. His jaw dropped.
"You… you two—" Dylan sputtered, stunned. He'd glimpsed the last few seconds of Emily leaning in, the way Grayson had nearly surrendered to her embrace. He felt an explosive mix of betrayal and rage.
Grayson felt mortified. What could he say? He'd been caught in the midst of an almost–kiss, and now he was sharing Emily's embarrassment. He sat up straighter, cheeks flaming.
Emily fixed Dylan with a cold, furious glare. She hadn't expected him—she knew Quinn had tricked him into coming here, but she hadn't anticipated he would actually find her. If this had been any ordinary "loser," she would have been delighted to have him walk in and see them—perfect for her grand display. But this "loser" was Grayson. She stiffened, mortified that Dylan would see her so intimately entwined with another man.
"Why are you here?" she snapped.
Dylan's face turned beet red with humiliation and rage. "You said you were working late! What are you doing here, with this… this nobody?"
His words were like stones. *Nobody.* Emily's mind raced, fury bursting through her. She leaped from her seat and slapped Dylan across the cheek with a sharp crack that echoed through the lounge.
"How dare you call him a nobody!" she hissed, trembling. "Get out of my sight!" Her slap landed again as she shoved him backwards. "You think you own me? You're the one who's worthless! A pig-brained fool!" she spat, her eyes flashing. Then she grabbed Grayson's arm. "Come on, Mr. Cole—we're leaving."
Not bothering another glance at Dylan, Emily whisked Grayson out of the lounge.
Dylan, his cheek stinging, stared after them in shock. *I… I'm her boyfriend,* he thought, seething with anger. *Who does that brat think he is?* He clenched his fists and hissed: "You haven't seen the last of me, you little runt!"
Emily led Grayson to a spot just outside the tea lounge's elevators. Her face was pale, heart still racing. Again and again, she asked herself how to explain everything to him so he wouldn't misunderstand. She could feel the electricity of embarrassment prickling through her. Meanwhile, Grayson looked at her with genuine concern, sensing her distress.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly. He didn't feel any spark of attraction toward Emily—if anything, the entire spectacle had nauseated him. Yet seeing Emily so shaken stirred a compassion deep inside him—like seeing a child upset.
Emily's heart clenched. This was the opening she'd been awaiting. Suddenly her tears began to fall in earnest—big, dramatic raindrops. "*Sob*… Mr. Cole, I… I'm sorry you had to see that. That was Dylan—he's just… he's been chasing me like a mad dog. You saw how possessive he was—like I belong to him. That sort of person terrifies me. And worst of all… my parents? They love him. I don't know what to do. I can't escape his shadow… *sob*…"
Emily's tears flowed freely, her sobs resonating in the quiet corridor. She really *was* quite the actress. Grayson's own chest felt tight. He'd just been thinking about Jasmine, and now here was Emily, bawling her eyes out as though her soul was breaking. She looked so vulnerable, so innocent—he felt a pang of sympathy, as if he were seeing Jasmine again.
He reached out, gently brushing the tears from Emily's cheeks. "Emily, don't cry," he murmured, voice soft.
Just as he touched her face, Emily threw her arms around him. "Mr. Cole, you're so good to me…" She pressed her lithe body against his side. Suddenly his entire chest heated. Every nerve ending seemed to ignite under her embrace.
Her head nestled in the crook of his neck, and she inched her lips toward his jaw, planting a faint whisper of kisses that traveled upward—over his chin, nearing his lips. Her hands locked tightly around his waist, tugging him flush against her.
Grayson's mind spun. One hand moved to her slender waist; the other drifted to her hips. Her perfume curved around him like a lullaby—rose petals and sandalwood, invisible yet suffocating in its heady sweetness. He felt his pulse thunder as he leaned in, intoxicated by how soft and yielding she felt against him.
But then—like a jolt of electricity—he pictured Jasmine's face and froze. *What am I doing?* He jolted back, nearly stumbling away, his heart pounding loud enough to drown out the world. *Jasmine is out there, likely drowning in her own grief right now. And here I am, letting this… this woman use me as her consolation prize!*
"Sorry— I… I have to go," he stammered, breaking free of her trembling arms. He turned without a backward glance and strode out of Horizon Plaza's tea lounge, each step echoing with urgency.
He needed to find Jasmine. He needed to hold her in his arms and whisper, *I'm sorry. I was a fool.* He would shower her with everything he had—love, sincerity, devotion—so every girl on campus would envy her. He would make her understand once and for all that she was his one and only.
And so Grayson disappeared into the humid May evening, heart raw and determined to set things right.