Page 58 of The Rival's Obsession
Because secrets like that don’t stay buried—not forever.
And I’m very good at digging.
Too much time has passed, and I need to make my presence known before I get caught eavesdropping.
I pull the door back into place just enough to feign a proper knock—one-two, polite but firm—then swing it open with an air of professionalism so smooth it might as well be choreographed.
Corrine startles like she’s been caught red-handed in someone else’s jewelry box. She straightens instantly, turning toward me a bit too fast for someone with nothing to hide.
Grant looks guilty. Of what, I’m not sure.
Could be thedayCorrine just mentioned.
Could be the fact she’s clearly up to something.
Or maybe it’s the shitstorm on the greens yesterday that’s still trickling through the tabloids.
Whatever it is, I won’t uncover it right now. What Icando is get rid of Corrine.
“Grant,” I say, offering the barest trace of a smile, “it’s time for our meeting.”
I wait, expectantly.
Corrine jumps in before he can speak, her voice syrupy with concern. “Maybe I should stay,” she says, leaning closer to him, like they’re about to share a secret. “I’d love some insight on the manner of your consultations, and Grant can sometimes be distracted around the anniversary.”
My gaze snaps to her.
Anniversary.
Maybe that was the day she meant earlier. Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Either way, the word is loaded—and she knows exactly what she’s doing.
What she doesn’t know is that I’ve had enough of her games for one morning.
“Corrine, I can manage.” Grant finds a piece of backbone, at least. I wish it were a bit firmer.
“And,” I say, calm but unwavering, “my contract has a firm nondisclosure clause exclusive to Grant and Dante. I’ll have to ask you to step out.”
Shock flickers across her face, quickly followed by irritation. She blinks at me like she’s trying to compute what just happened.
Then her eyes cut to Grant.
She’s expecting backup.
But he doesn’t give it.
He keeps his gaze on me for a beat longer than necessary. Then, with a quiet inhale, he stands. Rounding the desk slowly, he moves like a man making a decision in real time.
When he reaches Corrine’s side, he gestures toward the door—chivalrous, polished, impossible to argue with. “Eve’s right,” he says simply. “Give us the room, please.”
Corrine’s mouth tightens.
She doesn’t move at first. Just stares at him like he’s betrayed her, then turns that same scathing look on me—like I’m the piece of gum she just scraped off her heel.
Then she storms out, sharp heels clicking across the marble, the office door left wide open behind her like a final insult.
Grant doesn’t need a lecture.
He doesn’t need a mirror held up or a therapist’s tone of understanding.
