The rooftop lights painted everything in gold, but it was the city stretching endlessly beyond that caught your breath. Glass in hand, you stood near the railing, letting the hum of the party fade behind you.

“Beautiful night,” a voice said from your right, smooth and deep enough to make you glance over.

He stood there—Grayson. Dark suit, no tie, the top button of his shirt undone as if the night had asked him to relax. His gaze flicked briefly to the skyline before returning to you, as though the view didn’t matter as much as your reaction to it.

“It is,” you said, turning back toward the lights below. “New York always looks better from up here.”

He stepped closer, leaning on the railing beside you. “Or maybe it just looks better when you have someone to share it with.”

You laughed softly. “That’s your opener?”

“That’s me being honest.” His lips curved into a half-smile, and then, without breaking eye contact, he gestured toward the bar. “Let me get you a drink. Promise I’m better at choosing those than pickup lines.”

You let him lead you to the bar, curious. He ordered for both of you without asking—yet when the glass was in your hand and you took a sip, you had to bite back a smile. “Lucky guess?”

“Calculated risk,” he replied, eyes glinting.

Back at the railing, you talked. About the music floating up from the street below, about your favorite places in the city, about how neither of you really knew half the people at this event. Hours slipped by as if the clock on the opposite tower wasn’t moving at all.

At some point, the music dimmed behind you, replaced by the quiet thrum of the city. Grayson glanced at you, his expression softer now. “You know, I came here tonight thinking I’d stay an hour. Now I don’t want to leave.”

You smiled, tilting your head. “What changed?”

His gaze held yours steadily. “You did.”