Bound by Fate, Freed by Love

Grace Nwosu liked her mornings quiet, her coffee black, and her plans completely her own. At least until the universe or, more accurately, her mother decided otherwise. She had just finished her second cup when her phone buzzed across the kitchen counter. The screen flashed MOM CALLING, which usually meant one of two things: somebody had died, or somebody was about to. "Morning, Mom," Grace answered, balancing the phone between her shoulder and ear while spooning oats into a bowl. "Grace, darling." The silky, measured tone made her stop mid-stir.

Her mother only used darling when she was about to drop a bomb. "Your father and I need you to come home this weekend. There's something important we have to discuss." Grace frowned. "Important like... church fund-raiser important, or important like you've-got-me-engaged-to-a-stranger important?" A pause. A nervous laugh that didn't reach her mother's voice. "Don't be dramatic, Grace. Just come home, okay? Saturday, six o'clock. Dress nicely." Dress nicely. Those two words always meant trouble. After hanging up, Grace stared at her reflection in the window the city skyline gleaming behind her. She had built a life she was proud of in Atlanta: a marketing job she loved, her own apartment, weekends with friends, and no man dictating her choices. Her parents, though, never understood why their only daughter was still unmarried at twenty-seven. "Because I'm busy living," she muttered to her coffee mug. "Not auditioning for Mrs. Somebody." Still, a little part of her it always did felt that familiar tug of obligation. Nigerian parents didn't ask for things; they expected them. And no matter how independent Grace acted, she couldn't ignore them forever. Saturday arrived with too much humidity and too many butterflies. Her childhood home sat on the edge of Buckhead, an expensive testament to her father's real-estate empire. The marble foyer gleamed like it was auditioning for a magazine cover. Her mother, immaculate in white silk, swept forward with a smile that was all teeth and control. "Grace, you're late." "It's 6:05," Grace said, hugging her stiffly. "Traffic." "Excuses." Her mother waved a manicured hand. "Come, everyone's waiting." Everyone? Her heart sank. That meant more than just family. As they entered the dining room, Grace froze. Her father sat at the head of the long mahogany table, two crystal glasses of wine already poured. Beside him, a man she didn't recognize a gray-suited stranger with a gold wristwatch that screamed expensive. And on the table, a sleek black folder. The stranger stood when she walked in, smiling politely. "Ms. Nwosu." Grace's brows furrowed. "Uh... hi. Do I know you?" Her father gestured for her to sit. "Grace, this is Mr. Jacobs. He represents the Cole family." The name made her pulse stutter. She'd heard it before everyone had. Cole Industries: luxury real estate, tech ventures, and, if gossip columns were right, one devastatingly handsome heir named Adrian Cole who collected women like business deals. Grace slowly lowered herself into a chair. "Okay... what does the Cole family want with me?" Her father smiled the way he did when closing a lucrative deal. "To propose an alliance." Grace blinked. "An alliance? Dad, are we opening a trade route or something?" Mr. Jacobs chuckled softly. "Actually, Miss Nwosu, the proposal is rather more... personal. Mr. Adrian Cole has agreed to an arranged marriage between himself and you." For a moment, silence swallowed the room. Then Grace laughed a sharp, incredulous sound. "I'm sorry, I thought you said arranged marriage. Like, in real life?" Her mother's gaze sharpened. "Don't be disrespectful, Grace." "I'm not" Grace looked from one solemn face to another. "You're serious? You've arranged my marriage? Without asking me?" "Grace," her father said calmly, "this is an opportunity of a lifetime. The Coles are influential. They admire our family's integrity. Adrian needs a grounded, respectable woman by his side someone like you." Grace's spoon clattered onto the table. "Respectable? Dad, you make me sound like a Labrador." Her mother's sigh was pure exasperation. "You're nearly thirty. You work too much, date too little. Adrian Cole is a wonderful match handsome, wealthy, educated. Every girl in Atlanta would kill for this chance." "Then maybe let one of them marry him," Grace shot back. Her father's eyes hardened. "You will do this for the family. The contract benefits both sides. It's already in motion." "Contract?" she echoed. "You mean there's paperwork? Like I'm a merger?" Mr. Jacobs opened the black folder and slid it toward her. Legal pages, embossed with gold lettering, filled her vision. Her name. His name. Signatures waiting. Grace pushed the folder back as though it burned. "Absolutely not." Her mother's expression turned icy. "You're behaving like a child." "No," Grace said, standing, "I'm behaving like a woman who deserves a choice." Her father's voice dropped to a warning tone. "Grace, sit down." She met his gaze squarely, heart pounding but chin high. "I love you both, but I'm not marrying a stranger just because he's good for business." Mr. Jacobs cleared his throat. "Perhaps I should return another time." "No," her father said firmly. "She needs to hear the rest." Grace crossed her arms. "Fine. Enlighten me." Mr. Jacobs hesitated, then spoke gently. "Mr. Cole has agreed to meet you next week. He wishes to keep this civil. If, after meeting him, you still decline, the families will withdraw." Her father glared but said nothing. Grace's pulse quickened. "So all I have to do is meet this Adrian guy, say no thanks, and it's over?" Her mother frowned. "At least be polite. The Coles are old friends." Grace smirked. "I'll be the picture of politeness, Mother. I'll even wear pearls." Later that night, back in her apartment, Grace tossed her purse onto the couch and flopped down beside it, groaning. "Arranged marriage. Seriously? What century are we in?" Her phone buzzed again this time a text from her best friend, Maya: Girl, dinner tomorrow? You sound stressed. Spill. Grace typed back: My parents want to sell me to a billionaire. Bring wine. Maya's reply was instant: Wait, like Adrian Cole billionaire?? 👀 Girl, SAY YES! Grace rolled her eyes, though a reluctant smile tugged at her lips. She opened her laptop and typed the name into Google. And there he was. Adrian Cole. The first image made her inhale sharply. Dark hair that looked soft enough to grip, gray eyes cool and unreadable, jawline cut from marble. He was sitting at a charity gala, tuxedo perfect, expression somewhere between boredom and danger. Grace stared longer than she intended. Then scowled. "Figures. Of course he's gorgeous. Even his smirk looks expensive." She clicked another article Adrian Cole: America's Most Elusive Bachelor. Elusive, right. Probably because no one could survive his ego. Still... her heart gave a stupid little flutter she refused to acknowledge. She slammed the laptop shut. "Not happening," she told the empty room. "I don't care if he looks like sin in a suit. No one tells Grace Nwosu who to marry." But somewhere, under her irritation, curiosity whispered: What kind of man agrees to marry a woman he's never met? And why did the thought of meeting him make her pulse race? Grace did not intend to meet Adrian Cole. She intended to cancel the meeting, block the family lawyer, and book a one-way ticket to anywhere with decent Wi-Fi and no parental interference. But her mother had a gift for emotional blackmail. "You don't even have to like him," she'd said that morning. "Just meet him. For the family's sake." Which was why Grace now found herself in the gilded lobby of The Halston Hotel, clutching her purse like a lifeline and silently praying that "for the family's sake" wouldn't ruin her life. The elevator doors opened with a discreet ding, and there he was. Adrian Cole. Every carefully rehearsed insult fled her brain. He stood near the lounge bar, tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a charcoal suit that looked like it had been sewn directly onto his body. His tie was loosened just enough to suggest rebellion against perfection. When he turned toward her, those infamous gray eyes swept the room and landed on her. Time hiccuped. Grace had seen photos, but photos hadn't prepared her for the quiet power of him in motion. The air seemed to shift, as if even oxygen respected his space. He crossed the room with measured steps. "Grace Nwosu?" She nodded, forcing her spine straight. "Adrian Cole, I presume. The man my parents think I should marry." One dark brow lifted. "I see subtlety isn't part of your charm." "Neither is obedience," she said sweetly. The corner of his mouth twitched almost a smile. "Good. I dislike obedience." A spark zipped through her stomach, annoying and electric. She looked away first, pretending to study the chandelier. "So, how does this work? Do you usually order fiancées off a menu, or am I your first?" He chuckled, low and unexpected. "First time. My mother insisted. She seems to think a wife will make me more... approachable." Grace tilted her head. "And do you think so?" He shrugged, eyes gleaming. "I think I don't need a wife. But I'm curious why you fascinate her enough to arrange one." Curious. The word rolled over her like a slow caress. "Well," Grace said, finding her footing again, "maybe she read my résumé. I make great coffee and refuse to be controlled." "Dangerous combination." He gestured toward a table. "Sit? I promise I don't bite unless provoked." She ignored the shiver that traveled down her neck and sat. "I'll keep that in mind." A waiter appeared with champagne. Adrian didn't order; apparently, people simply knew what he wanted. Grace took a sip just to buy time, tasting bubbles and nerves. "So," she said finally, "why agree to this circus?" He leaned back, studying her like she was both a puzzle and a challenge. "Because my father believes stability impresses investors. Because your family's name is clean. And because saying no would've caused a scandal." "Wow," she said dryly. "You make romance sound so thrilling." His smile flashed brief, wicked. "And you? Why are you here instead of running for your life?" Grace opened her mouth, then closed it. Honesty won. "Because my mother would hunt me down with holy water and guilt." He laughed outright this time, the sound rich enough to make her chest ache. "At least we're honest." "Honesty's cheaper than therapy," she muttered. Their gazes met again his calm, hers defiant. Something unspoken stretched between them: attraction laced with irritation, recognition wrapped in denial. Adrian broke it first. "Tell me, Grace Nwosu, what do you actually want from life?" She hesitated. No one ever asked that like they meant it. "Freedom," she said softly. "To live on my own terms." He nodded, almost respectfully. "Then you and I have that in common." "Really?" she scoffed. "Because you seem perfectly comfortable being told what to do by your family." "Appearances," he said simply. "I let them think they win. They rarely do." Grace frowned. "So this marriage you'll pretend to go along?" "Depends." His voice dropped. "Some things are worth pretending for. Others aren't." The intensity in his eyes pinned her to her chair. Heat crawled up her throat; she broke the stare by grabbing her glass again. "You talk like every sentence is a dare." "Maybe it is." He leaned forward slightly. "Maybe I want to see if you'll take it." Grace's pulse stumbled. For a man she'd sworn to dislike, he had an unfair advantage: charisma sharpened into challenge. "Careful," she said, forcing a smirk. "You'll make me think you're flirting." "Would that be so terrible?" "Yes," she said too quickly. "I'm not flirting back." He smiled lazily. "You're doing an excellent job convincing me." Before she could retort, her phone buzzed. Mom. She declined it without looking away from him. "Well, Mr. Cole, consider the meeting civil and complete. I've met you, and I'll be telling my parents this is a hard no." He regarded her for a long moment, then stood, buttoning his jacket. "Do that, if it makes you happy. But something tells me we haven't finished talking." Grace rose too, refusing to be intimidated by his height. "That sounds like a threat." "An observation." His gaze softened, just barely. "You strike me as someone who runs from cages but doesn't notice when she builds her own." Her breath caught. "Excuse me?" He smiled, slow and knowing. "Until next time, Ms. Nwosu." And then he walked away, leaving her surrounded by polished marble and the echo of her racing heartbeat. Grace sank back into the chair, staring at the untouched champagne. "What the hell just happened?" She wanted to hate him should hate him but instead she felt... alive. Annoyed, intrigued, maybe even a little unsteady. No. She shook her head hard. Do not even start, Grace. He's infuriating. And smug. And entirely too good-looking. Her phone vibrated again. This time a text from her father: Dinner tomorrow with the Coles. Confirmation of engagement terms. Be ready. Grace typed back: Not happening. But even as she hit send, she couldn't shake the sound of Adrian Cole's voice or the way his eyes had lingered on her as if he already knew the ending to a story she hadn't agreed to start.

Grace didn't sleep that night. She spent hours pacing her apartment, phone in hand, hair twisted into a messy bun, muttering arguments to the empty walls. Every time she replayed Adrian Cole's calm, unreadable face, her pulse jumped. Not from attraction at least that's what she told herself but from sheer, infuriating disbelief. He'd talked to her like she was a chess piece. Like the decision was already made and she was simply the most logical move on the board. "Not happening," she whispered for the hundredth time, stabbing the air with a spoon.

"I am not some business acquisition." By morning she'd drafted three emails: one to her father, one to her mother, and one to Adrian himself. She deleted all three. Words never landed the way she wanted with them. They twisted, softened, disappeared beneath family expectations. So instead of typing, she decided to show up. Her parents' mansion gleamed in the Sunday sun, every window reflecting wealth and control. Grace barely knocked before a maid ushered her inside. Her mother appeared at the top of the staircase, pearls perfectly aligned, eyes sharp. "Grace, dear. You look tense." "Good observation," Grace said. "Where's Dad?" "In his study, with Mr. Jacobs. They're reviewing the announcement draft." Grace blinked. "Announcement what announcement?" "The engagement, of course." It took every ounce of her restraint not to scream. "You're actually planning to announce it? I told you I said no!" Her mother's smile didn't falter. "You'll thank us later." "Sure," Grace shot back, stalking toward the study, "right after the lobotomy." Her father's study smelled of cigar smoke and ambition. He looked up from behind his mahogany desk, irritation flickering in his eyes. "Grace, you could at least call before barging in." "I tried calling. You ignored me. So now I'm here." She crossed her arms. "We need to talk." Mr. Jacobs rose politely. "Perhaps I should" "Stay," Grace said. "You started this circus; you can watch the fireworks." Her father sighed. "Grace" "No," she snapped. "You don't get to smooth this over. I met him, Dad. Adrian Cole. And guess what? He's every bit as arrogant as you'd expect from a man who signs marriages like contracts." A muscle ticked in her father's jaw. "He's successful, intelligent, and from a respected family." "He's a stranger." "He's a partner," her father corrected. "This marriage benefits both families. Our companies merge, our reputations strengthen" "And my feelings?" she cut in. "Where do those fit in the spreadsheet?" Silence stretched. Mr. Jacobs cleared his throat, murmured something about "stepping outside," and slipped out. Grace rounded on her father. "You raised me to think for myself. To fight for what I believe in. And now you want me to hand my life over for your portfolio?" Her father's tone softened just enough to hurt. "Grace, sometimes love comes later. Your mother and I" "Please don't." She held up a hand. "If this is supposed to sound romantic, it's not working." Her mother entered quietly, as if she'd been listening all along. "We're only doing what's best for you, sweetheart." "What's best for me," Grace said, voice trembling, "is not being forced into a marriage I don't want." Her mother exchanged a look with her father. "This isn't force, Grace. It's guidance. Adrian is a good man. You could build something real with him." Grace laughed bitterly. "You mean he's rich enough to forgive my independence?" "Stop being cynical." "Stop selling me!" The shout startled even her. For a moment the house went silent except for her ragged breathing. Her father rose, calm but firm. "You will meet with the Coles tonight. We'll handle the details. If, after the dinner, you still object, we'll reconsider. That's fair." Grace wanted to argue but she saw something in his eyes that reminded her of the man who had once sold property during a market crash just to keep his promise to a friend. Stubborn. Principled. Exhausting. "Fine," she said at last. "One dinner. Then I'm done." "Agreed," he said. Her mother smiled, relieved. "You'll wear the blue dress I bought last month." "I'll wear whatever makes me look least available," Grace muttered, storming out. The drive home blurred past in a haze of anger and coffee fumes. By the time she reached her apartment, she'd talked herself in and out of attending a dozen times. She flopped onto the couch, texting Maya: Dinner with the Cole clan tonight. Send prayers and bail money. Maya replied instantly: You got this. Just remember you're the prize, not the product. Grace smiled despite herself. That was exactly the pep talk she needed. She looked at her reflection in the mirror a few hours later hair swept up, eyes fierce above a simple black dress. Understated. Controlled. Ready for battle. "Okay," she told the mirror. "You're not there to impress him. You're there to end this." Her reflection didn't answer, but the tiny flutter in her stomach did and she hated that it felt like excitement. The restaurant gleamed like a crystal box soft jazz, low golden lighting, waiters gliding by as if on cue. Grace's heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she followed the maître d' toward the private dining room. Her heart was doing the most ridiculous thing: pounding. Not because she was nervous, she told herself just annoyed. Furious, even. Then she saw him. Adrian Cole. Perfect posture. Perfect suit. Perfectly calm eyes that had no business being that blue. He stood as she entered, polite, unreadable except for the faint, almost mocking curve of his mouth. "Miss Lawson," he said, voice smooth as midnight coffee. "You came." "Don't sound so surprised," she shot back, sliding into her seat across from him. "I keep my promises, even bad ones." His smile deepened a fraction. "Good. I respect follow-through." "Then you'll love me after tonight," she said sweetly, "because I'm about to follow through on ending this madness." Her parents exchanged tense smiles with his. The air hummed with restrained politeness two powerful families pretending this wasn't a battlefield. Dinner began like a performance. His mother complimented Grace's dress. Her father toasted to new beginnings. Adrian listened, occasionally replying in that smooth, collected way that made everyone else feel slightly less composed. Grace hated it. And worse she noticed everything about him. The way his fingers brushed the rim of his wine glass. The quiet confidence when he spoke. The flash of amusement in his eyes every time she challenged him. Stop it, she told herself. He's the enemy. "Grace," Adrian's mother said warmly, "Adrian mentioned you're a communications consultant. That's impressive for someone your age." Grace smiled thinly. "Yes. I like helping people say what they actually mean." Adrian's eyebrow lifted slightly. "Do you?" "Yes. You should try it sometime." His mouth twitched definitely trying not to laugh. "Noted." The main course arrived. Grace stabbed her salmon like it had personally offended her. "So," Adrian said, leaning back, "you've made it very clear this arrangement isn't your choice." She set down her fork. "Good. Saves me from repeating it." "But," he continued, unbothered, "if you weren't so determined to hate the idea, you might admit it could work." She blinked. "Work? You mean the part where I lose autonomy and gain a last name?" He chuckled softly, infuriatingly calm. "I mean the part where two capable people combine strengths. You're sharp, direct, unafraid to speak your mind. I like that." Grace froze for a second. Compliments weren't supposed to sound like challenges. "Flattery won't save you," she said. "Not trying to save myself," he said, eyes locked on hers. "Just being honest." Her pulse betrayed her just a little jump, quickly buried under sarcasm. "Honesty from a man signing contracts about marriage? That's cute." "Would you rather I lied?" She hesitated. "You already are. By pretending you want this as much as our parents do." His expression changed just enough to catch her off guard. Something raw flickered there. "You think I wanted this?" he asked quietly. The table went silent. Grace frowned. "Didn't you?" He held her gaze for a long moment. "No. But unlike you, I learned that sometimes what we want isn't the same as what's right." Her chest tightened unexpectedly. That... wasn't arrogance. That was honesty, and it rattled her. She broke eye contact first, muttering, "Spare me the life lesson, Mr. Cole." "Adrian," he corrected gently. "Fine. Adrian. Still not marrying you." "Understood," he said calmly. "But if you're going to keep rejecting me, at least have dinner with me properly first." That shouldn't have sounded flirtatious. It did. Her cheeks warmed before she could stop it. "You're impossible." "Occupational hazard," he murmured. When dessert came, the parents were deep in conversation about logistics, leaving the two of them in their own little world of charged silence. Grace leaned closer, lowering her voice. "You could help me end this, you know." "How?" "Tell your parents I'm unbearable." He smirked. "That would be a lie." "You don't even know me." "Not yet," he said. "But I want to." The way he said it wasn't teasing it was quiet, steady, and too sincere. Grace swallowed hard, suddenly unsure of her armor. "You really think you can charm your way into this?" "Charm?" he said softly. "No. I don't play games, Grace. But I don't run from challenges either." She hated the way her heart stuttered. The way the word challenge sounded like you. When the dinner finally ended, she escaped to the night air outside the restaurant, exhaling like she'd been underwater for hours. He followed a moment later, stopping beside her on the pavement. "Are you always this fiery," he asked, "or am I just lucky?" Grace turned to him, fire flashing in her eyes. "You call this lucky?" "Yes," he said simply. "You make it hard to stay indifferent." Her throat tightened. For a second, the city lights blurred around them. She looked away first, whispering, "Goodnight, Mr. Cole." "Adrian," he corrected again, voice low. "And it's not goodnight, Grace. It's just a pause." She walked away before her heart could betray her. But long after she reached her car, she could still feel his eyes on her steady, patient, and maddeningly sure. And that terrified her more than anything.

Grace hadn't planned to show up. She'd told her father a dozen times she wouldn't go through with "the introduction." But then the secretary from Cole Holdings called polite, professional, impossible to ignore and somehow, she found herself standing in the sleek marble lobby of one of the most intimidating corporate towers in the city. The air smelled like money and expensive cologne. "Miss Lawson," the receptionist greeted her with a polished smile. "Mr. Cole will see you now." Her stomach twisted. Mr. Cole. Even the title annoyed her.

She straightened her blazer, forced her chin up, and followed the assistant into the top-floor office. He stood by the window, back to her, city skyline glittering behind him. Tall. Perfectly tailored suit. Calm posture that screamed confidence. He turned. And for one terrifying heartbeat, she forgot every speech she'd practiced. He wasn't just handsome. He was... precise. The kind of man who seemed carved, not born sharp jawline, cool blue eyes that assessed everything, even her. Especially her. "Grace Lawson," he said smoothly, voice low and steady. "Finally." Her pulse kicked. "I didn't realize you were waiting." "I was," he said. "I like to meet the person I'm supposed to spend the rest of my life with before I sign my name to it." "Good," she replied, matching his tone. "Then you'll know exactly who to blame when I refuse." That earned the faintest smile. "You're direct. I expected that." "You expected me?" she asked, folding her arms. "I did my research," he said simply, stepping closer. "You're a communications strategist, work with NGOs, known for being outspoken. Your father says you inherited his stubbornness." "And your parents say you inherited their arrogance," she shot back. He chuckled a soft, amused sound that made her more irritated. "Touché." For a long moment, silence stretched between them. The city hummed below, sunlight spilling through the glass and catching the angles of his face. She hated how aware she was of him. The quiet power. The steady gaze. The faint hint of cologne that made it hard to think. "So," she said briskly, "let's skip the polite nonsense. I'm not doing this." His brow arched. "Doing what?" "This arranged marriage. Whatever alliance or merger or social chess game our parents are trying to play I'm not a pawn in it." He didn't look offended. If anything, he looked intrigued. "You always lead with defiance?" "Only when someone tries to own me." He stepped closer, hands in his pockets. "I'm not trying to own you, Grace. I'm trying to understand you." "Don't." "I can't help it," he said, voice calm but with a dangerous edge of curiosity. "You walk in here like you're already fighting a war, but you don't even know me." "I know enough." "Do you?" His tone softened, but his gaze didn't waver. "Because from where I'm standing, you're angry at your parents, not me." The words hit too close. She hated that he was right. She took a step back, needing space. "Don't analyze me, Mr. Cole." "Adrian," he corrected, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You can drop the formality." "I'd rather drop this entire meeting." "Then why are you still here?" That one landed. Her throat tightened. "Because I wanted to see what kind of man thinks he can marry a stranger just to make his parents happy." He tilted his head slightly. "And what's your verdict?" "You're exactly what I expected." "And what's that?" "Arrogant. Charming in a rehearsed way. The kind of man who knows he's good-looking and uses it like a weapon." His eyes gleamed. "And yet, you noticed." She blinked. "Excuse me?" "You said I use it like a weapon. That means you saw it." Her cheeks warmed. "Don't flatter yourself." "Wouldn't dream of it," he said lightly, though the corner of his mouth betrayed amusement. "But you're blushing." "I'm furious." "Of course you are." Their eyes locked again sharp, defiant, electric. The tension felt dangerous, like standing too close to a fire and pretending not to feel the heat. He moved behind his desk, giving her a chance to breathe. "Our parents are... old-fashioned," he said. "This arrangement isn't about control. It's about legacy. Stability." "Those are just pretty words for business transaction," she snapped. "Maybe. But there's more to it. I don't need your money, and you don't need mine. So what if we redefined what this could mean?" "Redefined?" "Yes." His eyes caught hers again, thoughtful now. "What if we made it ours, instead of theirs?" Grace stared at him. "You actually think you can turn an arranged marriage into some sort of romantic partnership?" "Why not?" "Because it's insane!" He smiled faintly. "So is refusing something before you've even considered what it could become." "You're impossible." "And you're stubborn." "Good," she said. "Now that we've identified our fatal flaws, can I go?" "Of course," he said easily, leaning against the desk. "But before you do" He handed her a slim black card. "Dinner. Tomorrow. One hour. Neutral territory. You can yell at me in public this time." She blinked. "You're kidding." "No. I'm curious to see if you're this fiery outside of an office." Her fingers itched to throw the card at him. Instead, she slipped it into her bag. "You won't get what you want." He smiled slowly. "I already got something I wanted." "What's that?" He didn't look away. "Your attention." Her heart skipped. Just once. She covered it with a glare. "Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Cole." "Adrian," he corrected again, with maddening calm. "And I'll see you tomorrow, Grace." Outside, the air felt colder than she remembered. Her pulse refused to slow. She leaned against her car door, muttering under her breath. "Arrogant, infuriating, impossible man." And yet... she caught herself smiling. Just a little. Maybe she wasn't mad because he was arrogant. Maybe she was mad because he wasn't what she expected at all.