HATE IN HEELS

3

CEO RIVALS

I hated events where everyone pretended not to stare.

The ballroom was filled with people who had perfected the art of smiling while mentally calculating what everyone else was worth. Designers, investors, actors, politicians, socialites, CEOs the kind of crowd where a conversation could turn into a business deal before the champagne had finished being poured.

I had been there for forty-three minutes, and I was already considering leaving.

“Try to look like you’re enjoying yourself.”

Elena’s voice came from beside me.

“I am.”

She glanced at my face.

“You look like you want to fire the entire room.”

“I don’t have enough reasons yet.”

She laughed.

I took another sip of champagne and turned toward the crowd.

VELLORA was one of the evening’s sponsors, which meant disappearing wasn’t an option. I had smiled for photographs, spoken to two investors, congratulated a designer on her new collection, and listened to a man explain my own industry to me for fifteen minutes.

I deserved an award for patience.

Then I saw him.

Grayson Blackwell stood on the other side of the ballroom, surrounded by people.

I recognized him immediately.

There was something about him that made a room seem to arrange itself around him. People leaned toward him when he spoke. Conversations paused when he walked past. He didn’t appear to notice any of it.

Unfortunately, he noticed me.

Our eyes met.

His expression barely changed.

Mine didn’t either.

Elena followed my gaze.

“Oh.”

I looked at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t.”

She smiled into her glass.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

“I was only going to say that apparently your evening just became more interesting.”

“I don’t find him interesting.”

“Of course not.”

I gave her a look.

She wisely walked away.

I turned back toward the crowd, determined to ignore him.

It lasted approximately six minutes.

I was speaking to an investor near the terrace when I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Still trying to buy my property?”

I closed my eyes briefly before turning.

Grayson.

“You make it sound like a personal achievement.”

“Considering how many times you’ve tried, I’d say it is.”

“I haven’t tried that many times.”

“Three.”

“You counted?”

“I remember things that interest me.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“And I interest you?”

His mouth twitched.

“As a business problem.”

“Good. Keep it that way.”

“I was planning to.”

He stood far too comfortably in front of me.

I glanced at the man beside him.

“Are you finished?”

Grayson looked amused.

“Were you hoping to get rid of me?”

“I was hoping you’d get bored.”

“I’m rarely bored.”

“That sounds like a personal problem.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“You really don’t like me.”

“I barely know you.”

“You’ve already decided.”

“I usually make good decisions.”

For a moment, his expression hardened.

“Careful, Christa.”

Something about his tone irritated me.

“Is that a threat?”

“No.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“It’s advice.”

I stared at him.

“I don’t take advice from men who refuse to sell a building.”

“And I don’t take business lessons from women who think every problem has a price.”

My grip tightened around my clutch.

“You’re unbelievably arrogant.”

“And you’re unbelievably stubborn.”

“I’m persistent.”

“That’s what stubborn people call themselves.”

I laughed once, without humor.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’re still standing here.”

That did it.

I stepped closer.

“So are you.”

For several seconds, neither of us moved.

We were too close now, close enough that I could see the slight tension in his jaw and the irritation in his eyes.

Neither of us looked away.

I wasn’t attracted to him.

I was angry.

There was a difference.

“You’re enjoying this,” I said.

“Maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who doesn’t know when to back down.”

I tilted my head.

“And you’re the first person I’ve met who thinks refusing to sell a building makes him untouchable.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Good.”

“Because you’re not getting it.”

My eyes narrowed.

“We’ll see.”

A camera flashed somewhere nearby.

Neither of us noticed.

Another followed.

Still, neither moved.

Then someone called Grayson’s name from across the room.

He finally stepped back.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Smith.”

“I intend to.”

He walked away.

I watched him for half a second before turning back toward the terrace.

I didn’t think about him again.

At least, not until I woke up the next morning.

⸻

My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.

I reached blindly across the nightstand and silenced it.

Ten seconds later, it started again.

I groaned and opened my eyes.

There were thirty-seven notifications.

Messages.

Mentions.

Missed calls.

I frowned.

“What the hell?”

I sat up and opened the first message.

It was from Elena.

CALL ME.

The second was from my assistant.

Christa, please check The Elite Ledger.

That was enough to wake me up.

I opened the link.

Then froze.

My face stared back at me from the screen.

So did Grayson’s.

The photograph had caught us standing inches apart, both of us glaring at each other.

My expression looked murderous.

His looked worse.

The headline sat above us in bold letters.

CEO RIVALS?

CHRISTА SMITH AND GRAYSON BLACKWELL CAUGHT IN A HEATED SHOWDOWN

I stared at the screen.

“No.”

I scrolled.

Two of the business world’s youngest power players appeared to have a serious disagreement at last night’s gala.

Sources say the tension between VELLORA CEO Christa Smith and Blackwell Holdings CEO Grayson Blackwell has been building since Smith attempted to acquire a Blackwell property in Manhattan.

I kept reading.

The article speculated about our rivalry, our companies, and the possibility that the disagreement could affect the Manhattan development market.

Then came the line that made me want to throw my phone across the room.

Whatever is happening between these two, one thing is certain: the chemistry is undeniable.

“Chemistry?”

I stared at the photograph again.

There was no chemistry.

We looked like we wanted to kill each other.

Actually…

We looked exactly like two people who hated each other.

Which, technically, wasn’t wrong.

My phone rang.

Grayson.

I stared at his name.

Of course.

I answered.

“What?”

There was a brief silence.

Then his voice came through, far too calm for someone whose face was currently being analyzed by half the internet.

“Good morning to you too.”

“If you’re calling about the article, I’m aware.”

“I assumed you were.”

“I have no idea who took that photograph.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then why are you calling?”

Another pause.

I could hear the amusement in his voice when he answered.

“I wanted to congratulate you.”

“For what?”

“You’re officially my favorite headline.”

I closed my eyes.

“Go to hell, Grayson.”

His laugh came through the phone.

And for some reason, that annoyed me even more.

“See you soon, Christa.”

The call ended.

I stared at the screen.

Then at the photograph.

Then back at his name.

I had known Grayson Blackwell for less than forty-eight hours.

Already, the entire world thought we were at war.

The irritating part?

They weren’t entirely wrong.

Because I had no intention of letting him win.

And judging by that photograph…

Neither did he.