"Grayson," she breathed, not sure if it was a warning or a plea.
His thumb traced along her cheekbone, and she saw something flicker in his eyes—something dark and hungry that made her breath catch. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her, thought he might finally cross that invisible line they'd been dancing around for weeks.
Instead, he pulled back slightly, his hand falling away from her face. But he didn't move away completely. He stayed there, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath, close enough that if she moved just an inch, their lips would touch.
"Sleep," he murmured, his voice rough with something she couldn't quite name. "Tomorrow's going to be a long day."
But sleep was the last thing on her mind as she lay there in the darkness, hyperaware of every breath he took, every small movement he made. The space between them felt charged with unspoken words and unfulfilled desires, and she wondered if he was lying there as awake as she was, fighting the same battle against the pull that seemed to draw them together despite all the reasons they should stay apart.
The morning of the show arrived with unseasonable warmth and cloudless skies. Mailah woke to find Grayson already gone, a note on his pillow that simply said "You've got this."
She dressed carefully in the outfit Evelyn had selected—a cream-colored silk blouse that looked elegant but approachable, paired with tailored black pants that were practical for cooking. Her hair was styled in loose waves, and her makeup was perfect thanks to the team of professionals who'd arrived at dawn.
The car ride to the studio was a blur of last-minute prep calls from Evelyn and Luke, both of whom seemed more excited about the segment than she was. By the time they arrived at the Manhattan studio, Mailah felt like she might throw up.
The green room was a small, windowless space with uncomfortable chairs and stale coffee. Mailah sat in the corner, running through her mental checklist of ingredients and techniques, when a production assistant with a clipboard appeared.
"Mrs. Ashford? We're ready for you in makeup."
The makeup chair was positioned in front of a wall of mirrors, and Mailah tried not to stare at her own reflection as the artist worked. She looked pale despite the professional makeup, her eyes too wide and nervous.
"First time on television?" the makeup artist asked kindly.
"Yes," Mailah managed. "I'm a little nervous."
"Don't be. You're going to be great. The hosts are lovely, and the cooking segment is always fun. Very relaxed."
Relaxed. Right.
Twenty minutes later, she was standing in the wings of the studio, watching the hosts banter with easy familiarity as they transitioned between segments. The cooking set was laid out perfectly—ingredients arranged in small bowls, utensils precisely placed, everything designed to look effortless and inviting.
"And now," the female host was saying, "we're joined by Lailah Ashford, wife of billionaire Grayson Ashford and philanthropist extraordinaire. She's here to share one of her favorite recipes with us—a classic risotto that's perfect for entertaining."
Mailah's legs felt like jelly as she walked onto the set, but she managed to smile and wave at the cameras. The hosts were warm and welcoming, chatting easily about her recent charity work as they made their way to the cooking station.
"So tell us about this recipe," the male host said, gesturing to the ingredients. "Is this something you learned from your family?"
Mailah's throat went dry. "Actually, I—"
"I taught it to her."
The voice came from behind the cameras, and Mailah's head snapped up to see Grayson walking onto the set. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and a white button-down shirt, but he still managed to look like he belonged on the cover of a magazine.
"Grayson!" the female host exclaimed. "What a wonderful surprise!"
"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," he said, his smile charming and effortless. "I was in the vicinity and thought I'd drop by to support my wife."
He moved to stand beside Mailah, his hand settling on her lower back in a gesture that looked casual but felt anything but. His touch was warm and steadying, and she felt some of her panic begin to subside.
"How romantic!" the host gushed. "Do you cook together often?"
"Every chance we get," Grayson replied smoothly. "Lailah is an incredible cook, but she's modest about it. I'm hoping to convince her to share more of her recipes."
Mailah stared at him, wondering what game he was playing. This wasn't what they'd planned. This wasn't what anyone had planned.
"Well then," the male host said, clapping his hands together. "Shall we get started? I have to say, having both of you here makes this feel very special."
As they began the cooking demonstration, Mailah found herself moving through the motions automatically. Grayson stayed close, his presence both comforting and distracting, occasionally murmuring instructions in her ear that made her blush prettily for the cameras.
"The secret," he said, reaching around her to stir the risotto, "is patience. You can't rush it, or it won't turn out right."
His chest pressed against her back as he guided her hand, and she could feel the heat of his body through the thin silk of her blouse. The cameras were capturing every moment, every touch, every time she looked up at him with what must have looked like adoration.
"You two are absolutely adorable," the female host said. "How long have you been married?"
"Not long enough," Grayson replied, his eyes meeting Mailah's with an intensity that made her forget they were on live television. "Every day with her feels like a gift."
The words hit her like a physical blow, not because they were false, but because for one terrifying moment, they felt completely true.
The segment ended with perfect risotto, glowing reviews from the hosts, and what the entertainment blogs would later call "the most romantic cooking demonstration in morning television history."
As they walked off the set, Mailah's legs were shaking so badly she could barely stand. The adrenaline crash was hitting her hard, and she felt like she might collapse.
"You were perfect," Grayson said quietly, his hand still on her back.
"I was terrified," she admitted.
"I know. But you did it anyway. That's what makes you extraordinary."
They were in the hallway now, away from the cameras and the lights, and Mailah turned to face him fully.
"Why did you come?" she asked. "You said you'd handle it, but I didn't think you meant—"
"I meant exactly what I said," he interrupted. "I told you not to worry, and I meant it."
"But the show, your work—"
"Can wait," he said simply. "You couldn't."
The words hung in the air between them, loaded with meaning she was afraid to examine. Before she could respond, Evelyn appeared with Luke in tow, both of them practically bouncing with excitement.
"That was incredible!" Evelyn exclaimed. "The chemistry between you two—the viewers are going to eat it up. The phones are already ringing off the hook with interview requests."
"More interviews?" Mailah asked weakly.
"Oh, most definitely," Luke said, consulting his phone. "I'm already getting calls from Good Morning America, The Today Show, Ellen—everyone wants the romantic billionaire couple who cook together."
Mailah felt the world tilt slightly. More shows, more cameras, more opportunities to mess up catastrophically.
"We should go," Grayson said, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently. "Lailah needs to rest."
As they walked toward the exit, Mailah caught sight of herself in the glass doors. She looked flushed and happy, like a woman who'd just shared an intimate moment with the man she loved. The illusion was perfect, flawless, completely convincing.
She was so focused on her reflection that she didn't notice the woman rushing toward the elevators with her phone pressed to her ear, deep in an animated conversation. The woman was moving fast, not paying attention to her surroundings, and Mailah stepped directly into her path.
The collision was inevitable—until a strong arm wrapped around her waist, yanking her back against a solid chest just as the woman swept past, completely oblivious to how close they'd come to crashing into each other.
"Careful," Grayson murmured, his voice low and rough near her ear.
Mailah found herself flushed against him, his arm still wrapped around her waist, holding her tight against his body. She could feel the rapid beat of his heart through his shirt, could smell that intoxicating mix of his cologne and something manly that made her head spin.
When she looked up at him, her breath caught. His storm-blue eyes were dark with something that made her pulse stutter, and she watched, mesmerized, as his Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed hard.
"Grayson," she whispered, not sure what she was asking for.
His free hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing along her cheekbone just like he had the night before. But this time, he didn't pull away. This time, the space between them felt charged with electricity, with possibilities that terrified and thrilled her.
"Do you know," he said quietly, his voice rough with something she couldn't quite name, "that it's getting more and more challenging not to touch you?"
The confession hit her like a physical blow, stealing what little breath she had left. His eyes dropped to her lips, and she felt herself leaning into him, drawn by a force she couldn't resist.
"We should go," he said, but he didn't move away. If anything, he seemed to hold her closer, as if he couldn't bear to let her go.
"Yes," she agreed breathlessly, but neither of them moved. They stood there in the hallway, lost in each other, the world around them forgotten until the sound of Luke clearing his throat broke the spell.
"Um, sorry to interrupt," Luke said, looking decidedly uncomfortable, "but we really should get going. The paparazzi are starting to gather outside."
Grayson's jaw tightened, and for a moment, Mailah thought he might tell Luke to wait. Instead, he slowly released her, his hands lingering on her waist for just a moment longer than necessary.
"Right," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "Let's go."
But as they walked toward the exit, his hand found the small of her back again, and Mailah could feel the heat of his touch burning through her silk blouse. Whatever was happening between them, whatever line they were dancing around, she had the feeling they were getting dangerously close to crossing it.
And the most terrifying part was how much she wanted them to.
The car ride back to the estate was silent except for the soft hum of the engine and the sound of her own thundering heartbeat. Grayson sat beside her, his presence filling the space between them like electricity. Every time the car took a turn, his knee brushed against hers, sending sparks through her entire body.
When they finally arrived at the estate, Mailah expected him to disappear into his study or not get out of the car and go to wherever he usually went to avoid her. Instead, he walked with her to the main staircase, his hand still resting on her lower back.
"Lailah," he said softly, and something in his voice made her turn to face him.
His storm-blue eyes were dark with desire, and she could see the internal battle playing out across his features. For a moment, she thought he might finally tell her what was happening between them, might finally acknowledge the fire that had been building for weeks.
Instead, he stepped closer, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand came up to cup her face, his thumb tracing along her bottom lip with excruciating slowness.
"Tonight," he said, his voice rough with promise, "we need to talk."
Before she could respond, before she could ask what he meant, he was walking away, leaving her standing at the bottom of the stairs with her heart hammering against her ribs and her lips still tingling from his touch.