The scent of ozone and cheap thrills hung heavy in the air, a signature aroma of The Carnival Hook-Up. Months. It had been months of blue roses appearing on my doorstep, months of feeling Grayson's eyes on me, a prickling awareness that sent shivers down my spine. I was done. Tonight, the charade ended. I'd spent weeks rehearsing screams and perfecting my haunted house makeup, but nothing felt scarier than walking towards Grayson's office, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
The building that housed the administrative heart of The Carnival Hook-Up was separate from the sprawling tents and rigged games. It was quiet, almost sterile, a stark contrast to the chaos outside. I found his office, a single door at the end of a dimly lit hallway. Taking a deep breath, I knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness.
"Come in," his voice, low and even, sent another jolt through me.
I pushed the door open. Grayson sat behind a large, mahogany desk, bathed in the cool glow of multiple monitors. He didn't look up immediately, his fingers flying across the keyboard. He was dressed impeccably, as always, in a tailored black suit that made his pale skin seem almost translucent. Finally, he looked up, his grey eyes, the same shade as mine, met mine. There was a flicker of surprise in them, quickly masked.
"Scarlett," he said, his voice smooth as velvet. "What can I do for you?"
"Those flowers," I started, my voice trembling despite my best efforts. "The blue roses. Are they from you?"
He leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "What makes you think that?"
"Don't play coy with me, Grayson. I know it's you. I feel you watching me. Why?" My voice rose with each word, frustration boiling over.
He stood up, rounding the desk and closing the distance between us. I instinctively took a step back, but he didn't stop. "I've been admiring you, Scarlett. From afar."
"Admiring? Is that what you call it? It feels more like…stalking."
He stopped, his expression hardening. "That's not my intention. I simply…appreciate your talent, your dedication. You're captivating."
"Captivating enough to send anonymous gifts? To make me feel like I'm being watched every moment of the day?" I crossed my arms, trying to project an authority I didn't feel.
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "I know it seems strange. I just…I didn't know how else to approach you."
"Approach me? You're the CEO of this entire carnival! You could have just…talked to me!"
His gaze dropped to the floor for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were filled with an emotion I couldn't quite decipher. "I'm not good at 'talking,' Scarlett. Not…meaningfully. Seeing you perform, seeing your passion…it was the only way I could find to express…" He trailed off, seemingly unable to find the right words.
"To express what, Grayson? Your infatuation?" I spat out the word like a curse.
"More than infatuation," he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. "I...I think I'm in love with you."
The air left my lungs. Love? Him? With me? My head swam. The revelation was so unexpected, so utterly absurd, that I couldn't process it. Embarrassment washed over me, hot and prickly. My cheeks burned. He, Grayson, the aloof, enigmatic CEO, was confessing his love for me?
"I…I don't know what to say," I stammered, my carefully constructed wall of anger crumbling.
He took another step closer, and the air crackled with unspoken tension. He was so close I could smell his cologne, a subtle blend of sandalwood and something else, something uniquely Grayson.
"You don't have to say anything," he murmured, his eyes fixed on mine. "Just...know that everything I've done, I've done because I care about you."
I wanted to run, to escape the stifling atmosphere of his office and the suffocating weight of his confession. I turned to leave, my heart pounding in my chest.
"Scarlett," he said, his voice stopping me in my tracks.
I hesitated, then turned back, my face still flushed. He was holding something out to me. A single, perfect blue rose.
A wave of confusion and a strange, almost giddy sensation washed over me. I took the rose, my fingers brushing against his. A jolt, like static electricity, shot up my arm. I stared at the flower, its unnatural color suddenly more poignant than creepy. I blushed furiously again, mumbled a strangled "goodnight," and practically fled the room.