The Runaway Bride

CARTER

I swear to God, fate had to be smoking something.

It was 10:25 a.m., I’d barely recovered from what might’ve been the most satisfying night of my adult life, and here I was in a conference room on a godforsaken island, staring at the woman who had ridden me like a damn rodeo champion just twelve hours ago.

And now she was my event planner?

No. She was the event planner.

The CEO of Jewel Events Planning.

The one Saffron had so proudly introduced as “handling everything.”

Fantastic.

Absolutely f*****g fantastic.

I had to actively restrain myself from rolling my eyes into another dimension as I sat down at the head of the table. I adjusted my cufflinks and exhaled through my nose like some uptight prick from a Forbes cover, which, unfortunately, I was.

Everyone settled in, Saffron began her brief, the logistics coordinator mumbled about villa assignments, and I? I spent the first twenty minutes pretending like I wasn’t hyper-aware of every breath Jade took.

She looked good. Of course, she did. Her hair was up in some sleek knot, her blouse crisp, her eyes, laser-focused. She was all professionalism and no-nonsense now.

Not the same woman who had called me god last night with her nails digging into my shoulder blades. I still had the crescent marks to show for it.

Now she was nodding thoughtfully and asking sharp, intelligent questions about the guest itinerary and eco-conscious entertainment for our tech investors. Questions that made the older dudes at the table glance over with mild respect and even Saffron jot something down in her iPad.

Jade was smart.

Goddamn, that was hot.

My jaw twitched. I shifted in my seat, trying to adjust to the very inconvenient tightening in my pants. Again.

I blinked out of my reverie when I realized the room had gone silent. Saffron had paused mid-sentence and was now staring at me, lips pursed. “Mr. Greyford?”

Apparently, she’d been calling me for a while.

Across the table, Jade’s cheeks were flushed crimson. Whether from embarrassment or fury, hard to tell. I’d been openly staring at her.

I cleared my throat and nodded, smoothly stepping back into CEO mode. “Apologies. Go on.”

Saffron continued briefing the team on our “vision” for the GreyStorm retreat, a fusion of wellness, technology, and ultra-wealthy relaxation while I fought the urge to glance at Jade again. And failed. Miserably.

Every time she spoke, I wanted to either argue or agree. Mostly argue.

So I did.

She’d suggest a cultural welcome ceremony with local musicians, I’d counter with “too noisy.”

She proposed a sunrise champagne yoga session, I raised an eyebrow and said “sounds like influencer bait.”

She brought up fire dancers, I said insurance hazard.

Honestly? They were great ideas. Innovative, fun, elevated. But it was too much fun watching her bite back a retort each time, her lips twitching, her fingers tightening around her pen like she wanted to stab me with it.

By the end of the two-hour meeting, most people looked exhausted. Jade looked ready to murder.

Which of course, I found hot.

Everyone slowly filed out, murmuring about lunch plans and site inspections. Saffron handed me her updated notes and left with a tight smile and a slightly exasperated sigh. Evie winked at Jade before ducking out too.

And just like that, it was just the two of us in the room.

Alone. The silence buzzed louder than a jet engine.

Jade stood at the edge of the table, clearly about to say something. Probably something mature. Professional. Logical.

Which was exactly why I killed it before it started.

I tilted my head, gave her a cold, careless smirk, and said, “Look. Last night was… what it was. But let’s not get weird. I’m not going to sleep with you again, if that’s what you’re hoping for.”

Her mouth dropped open. Red bloomed high on her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just being clear.” I leaned back, lacing my fingers behind my head. “You’re technically working for me. I don’t mix business with pleasure. Not a second time, anyway.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything, gaping at me. Then her entire expression changed.

Her eyes narrowed, voice low and seething. “Wow. You really are a dick.”

I shrugged. “Guilty.”

She stepped closer, fire in her voice now. “Listen here, Carter Greyford, or Kai, or whatever persona you like to screw under…”

I lifted a brow. “That’s not how names work…”

“Shut up. I don’t care if you’re a CEO, a billionaire, or God himself on vacation. Don’t you ever undermine me like that ever again. I’m not here for your games, or your arrogant mouth, or your sad little power trips.”

I bit back a smile. “Sad? You didn’t seem to think it was sad last night.”

She let out a huff of laughter, sharp, bitter. “Stick your c**k in your own mouth, Carter. It’d be a nice replacement for most of your words anyway.”

Then she turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

I sat there for a second, blinking. My lips twitched and pursed.

Then I threw my head back and laughed. Not the polite, boardroom chuckle I gave investors. Not the controlled PR smile.

No. A real laugh. A deep, startled and genuine, laugh.

God.

She was trouble.

And I was already in too deep.