Chapter six

Grayson stood frozen in the middle of his office, staring at the door Shayla had just fled through like it held answers to questions he'd stopped asking years ago.

This wasn't happening.

This couldn't be happening.

Shayla Hale. Here. In his building. His employee.

Seven years. He'd searched for seven goddamn years, hired private investigators, called in favors, followed every lead that went nowhere. It was like she'd vanished from the face of the earth, dissolved into thin air, taking every trace of herself with her.

And now she was here.

"Mr. Cross?" Catherine's voice cut through the white noise in his head. "Sir, are you alright?"

He turned to look at her, and he must have looked as wrecked as he felt because her professional mask slipped for half a second, concern flickering across her features.

"I—" His voice came out rough, barely recognizable. He cleared his throat. "How long has she been gone?"

Catherine glanced at her watch. "About three minutes, sir. Should I—"

"No." The word came out sharper than he intended. "No, just... give her time."

"Mr. Cross, if there's a personal history here that might affect the working relationship, I need to know. We can find another candidate—"

"No." He said it again, more firmly this time. "She stays. The position is hers."

Catherine's eyebrows rose fractionally. "Sir, with all due respect, if there's conflict—"

"There's no conflict." The lie tasted bitter on his tongue. "We knew each other in college. Briefly. It's been years. We were both... surprised to see each other, that's all."

That wasn't all. It was everything. It was the weight of seven years of guilt and grief and wondering if she was even alive. It was the memory of her smile, her laugh, the way she'd looked at him like he was something worth believing in before he destroyed it all.

Catherine didn't look convinced, but she was too professional to push. "Very well. I'll check on Ms. Hale and make sure she's settling in."

"Thank you, Catherine."

She left, closing the door behind her with a soft click that felt too loud in the sudden silence.

Grayson moved to his desk on autopilot, sinking into his chair and pressing his palms against his eyes until he saw stars.

Shayla.

God, she looked different. Not bad different—never bad. Just... more. More beautiful, more guarded, more distant. The soft edges he remembered had sharpened into something harder, like she'd built walls so high even looking at him hurt.

And that body. Those curves that made his suit feel too tight, that made his mouth go dry—

"Shut the fuck up, Gray," he muttered to himself, dragging his hands down his face.

This wasn't about that. This wasn't about the way his body had reacted the second he'd turned around and seen her, the way every cell in him had recognized her before his brain caught up. This wasn't about want or need or any of the things that had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

This was about the fact that she'd run. From him. Again.

He deserved it. God knew he deserved worse. But it still felt like taking a knife to the chest, watching her bolt the second she realized who he was.

Why had she dropped out?

That question had haunted him for seven years. One day she was there—vibrant, alive, his entire world condensed into one person—and the next she was gone. No explanation. No goodbye. Just... gone.

He'd gone to her dorm room that morning, the morning after everything, ready to tell her the truth. Ready to confess that the bet had been real but that he'd called it off weeks ago, that what they had was real, that he loved her in a way that scared the hell out of him.

But she wasn't there.

Ruby—her roommate, her best friend—had looked at him with pure hatred in her eyes and told him Shayla was gone. Dropped out. Left in the middle of the night.

"What do you want from her?" Ruby had demanded, blocking the doorway like she'd physically fight him if he tried to enter.

"Nothing, I—I need to talk to her. Please, Ruby, just tell me where she went—"

"Stay away from her, Grayson. You've done enough damage."

And then she'd slammed the door in his face.

Ruby had dropped out too, he'd learned later. Followed Shayla wherever she'd gone, disappeared just as completely.

He'd tried everything. Called Shayla's phone until it went to a disconnected message. Tracked down her father—who'd told him to fuck off and never contact their family again. Even hired a private investigator who came back empty-handed after six months.

It was like she'd erased herself from existence.

The cruise ship. That goddamn cruise ship they'd bet on. The prize for successfully completing the challenge—make Shayla Hale fall for him before graduation.

It was still docked at the marina, untouched, gathering dust. He'd bought it outright after graduation—paid an obscene amount of money to own something he'd never use—because the idea of anyone else stepping foot on it made him want to burn it to the ground.

He couldn't enjoy it. Couldn't even look at it without wanting to be sick.

It was a monument to his worst mistake, and he kept it anyway. A reminder of what his arrogance had cost him.

Guilt had made him cold. Everyone said so. His business partners, his employees, the few people who still bothered trying to connect with him on a personal level. Grayson Cross, the Ice King. Brilliant, ruthless, completely devoid of warmth.

He hadn't been happy since it happened. Hadn't let himself be happy.

How could he be, knowing what he'd done? Knowing that somewhere out there, Shayla was living a life he'd destroyed?

Except she wasn't out there anymore.

She was here.

Twenty feet away, separated only by a wall of tinted glass.

And he had no idea what the hell to do about it.

His hands curled into fists on his desk, jaw clenched so tight it ached.

He'd called off the bet. That had to count for something, didn't it? He'd told Ivan and Jake to back off, told them he was done playing their stupid games. He'd fallen in love with her—really, genuinely fallen—and he'd been ready to tell her everything.

But she'd disappeared before he got the chance.

What had happened that night? What had driven her to run?

The questions had eaten at him for seven years, and now—finally—she was close enough to answer them.

If she'd even speak to him.

Grayson leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing.

She was his assistant now. That meant daily interaction. Meetings. Emails. Close proximity.

Either this was fate giving him a second chance—

Or it was karma preparing to destroy him completely.