The penthouse air was thick with the scent of expensive bourbon and the lingering chill of the night as Grayson stepped through the door. He didn't have to look far to find Paul, the man was draped over a armchair, Paul didn’t move, but his eyes tracked Grayson’s heavy gait across the room.
"You look like a man who just lost a war," Paul remarked, his voice cutting through the silence. He set the glass down on a side table with a soft clack. "So? How did it go? Did she take the bait, or are you still the villain in her story?"
Grayson loosened his tie, the silk sliding through his fingers he’d finally managed to slacken. He sank into the sofa opposite Paul, the leather groaning under his weight. He stared at the ceiling for a long beat before answering.
"She hasn't forgiven me," Grayson
