CEO Escapes a Boring Party and Finds a Woman Alone by the Buffet, Not Knowing He Will End Loving Her
The Escape from Westbridge Gala
Grayson Adler tugged at the stiff collar of his tux and exhaled loudly, glaring at the room full of people who all looked like they were pretending not to be miserable.
The annual Westbridge Foundation Gala was supposed to be the highlight of the season, at least according to his assistant, who insisted he make an appearance.
But after two hours of shallow conversations and fake laughs, Grayson had had enough.
He slipped past the ballroom doors, ducked away from the murmuring crowd, and made a quiet beeline for the only area that seemed remotely tolerable: the back buffet table.
And that’s when he saw her.
She was standing alone near the shrimp cocktail, wearing a simple navy dress that didn’t try to scream, “Look at me.”
But somehow, it made it impossible not to.
Her dark curls were pinned up in a messy twist, and her heels dangled from one hand while she balanced a full plate of appetizers in the other.
She looked like she belonged in a different movie than the rest of this place.
And he didn’t know why, but he couldn’t stop looking.
Grayson approached without thinking, loosening his bow tie.
“You know you’re not supposed to actually eat at these things, right?”
The woman turned, startled for half a second before a crooked smile tugged at her lips.
“Well, good thing I’m not here for the social climbing.”
“The mini crab cakes are the only thing keeping me alive right now.”
He chuckled.
“Finally, someone honest.”
She took a bite of her crab cake.
“You’re not sneaking out of the party too, are you?”
“I was hoping to disappear completely, but apparently people notice when you’re the one hosting the event.”
Her brows lifted.
“You’re the host?”
“Grayson Adler,” he said, offering his hand.
Her eyes widened slightly, and she wiped her fingers on a napkin before shaking his hand.
“Oh, wow. Okay. I thought you were just another bored guest looking for the free food.”
“That too,” he said, grinning.
“And you are?”
“Mara Kent.”
He repeated it to himself mentally, slower.
Mara.
It suited her.
“I’m here with my sister. She works in PR for one of the sponsors. I just came for the free drinks and shrimp.”
“An honest woman and a realist,” he said.
“Dangerous combination.”
She laughed, and the sound reached his chest in a way that made him forget about the donor he’d left mid-conversation.
“So tell me, Mara Kent,” he said, stepping a little closer.
“What are you doing hiding back here when you could be charming the whole room?”
Her smile softened.
“I don’t really do well with crowds or small talk. Or men who wear tuxedos with pocket squares that cost more than my rent.”
He looked down at his pocket square, then pulled it out and handed it to her.
“Then here. I officially don’t own one anymore.”
She blinked, surprised, then laughed again.
“You’re strange.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
They stood there for a beat, surrounded by the clink of glasses and faint piano music from the ballroom.
“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked suddenly.
She blinked.
“I… What?”
“There’s a little diner down the street, probably still open. No tuxedos, just decent coffee and real food.”
She looked down at her bare feet.
“I’m not exactly dressed for a second location.”
“You look perfect,” he said without hesitation.
There was a pause.
Then she gave him a cautious, amused look.
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
She stared at him for a second longer, then nodded slowly.
“Okay, but I’m not putting these heels back on.”
“I’ll carry them.”
He did.
They left through the service exit, Grayson holding both their plates and her heels.
And twenty minutes later, they were sitting in a red booth at a greasy spoon diner with mugs of coffee between them.
“This is so much better,” Mara said, sipping her coffee.
“I can finally breathe.”
“You didn’t like the champagne tower and the violin quartet?” he teased.
She raised an eyebrow.
“You know what happens when people drink too much champagne next to a violinist? Awkward dancing. I saw a woman try to waltz with a chair.”
He laughed.
“I missed that. Damn.”
They talked for hours.
It started with safe topics: books, music, movies.
But then, slowly, they slipped into deeper things.
She told him about her job at the library and how she sometimes made up stories about the people who checked out romance novels.
He told her about how exhausting it was pretending he didn’t hate half the people he did business with.
“You’re not what I expected,” she said eventually.
“What did you expect? A guy who owns three yachts and says things like ‘synergy’ without irony?”
“I only have two yachts,” he said.
“And I hate the word ‘synergy’.”
She laughed again, and this time it lingered.
So did the look in her eyes.
It was nearly 2:00 in the morning when he finally walked her to her building.
“Thank you,” she said softly as they stood at the steps.
“This was the best-worst party I’ve ever been to.”
“Can I see you again?” he asked.
She hesitated.
“I don’t do this kind of thing, Grayson.”
“Neither do I.”
She looked up at him.
“Okay then. Maybe.”
He reached into his jacket, pulled out a black fountain pen, and wrote his number on her wrist.
“Call me when maybe turns into yes.”
She looked down at the ink on her skin, then back up at him.
“You really are strange.”
He leaned in just enough to whisper.
“That’s why you like me.”
And then he turned, walked away, and didn’t look back.
But Mara stood there for a long time, staring at the place where he’d been.
She didn’t know it yet, but that night was the beginning of everything.
