He was supposed to be working on the financial reports. He was also supposed to be on the phone with a business partner, parsing through the latest quarterly numbers with a sharp eye and sharper focus.

Technically, he was doing both. Just… not exactly in the way anyone else might picture it.

Grayson had one arm loosely wrapped around your back, fingers drawing absentminded circles along your spine while your head rose and fell gently on his chest. Your soft, even breathing and the occasional sigh made a quiet counterpoint to the chaos spilling through the phone pressed against his ear. The laptop balanced precariously on his thighs blinked with half-finished spreadsheets and unanswered Slack messages, long since forgotten.

The big couch beneath you both had become a sort of sanctuary, a comfortable trap that neither of you had any real motivation to escape. Grayson shifted slightly, careful not to jostle you, using his shoulder to brace the phone as he rubbed at his temple with his free hand.

His voice, low and even but tinged with frustration, broke the soft bubble of calm surrounding the two of you.

"What do you mean he said no?" he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose as the muffled voice on the other end of the call droned on. His brows drew together, eyes flicking briefly down to you. Your nose twitched in your sleep, a small wrinkle of protest against whatever nonsense his voice had stirred.

He sighed—long, weary, but not without affection—and rested his cheek lightly on the top of your head.

Multitasking had never looked so domestic. Or so complicated.

But then again, he'd take late-night spreadsheets and business blunders any day—if it meant having you there, warm and snuggled up against him, like this.

Even if it meant doing everything one-handed.