Becoming Lailah: Married to my Twin Sister's Billionaire Husband-Chapter 92: The Company Dinner 3

"SIMPLE DOESN’T MEAN INFERIOR," Grayson said finally, pitching his voice as carefully as he would during a delicate business negotiation.

The silence that followed was so profound that the sound of someone’s stomach rumbling—definitely Tom this time—was clearly audible.

Mark stared at him with the expression of someone who had just witnessed a miracle, while Janet appeared to be having some sort of religious experience.

"You... you really think so, sir?" Mark asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"I think," Grayson said, surprising himself with how much he meant it, "that your wedding should reflect what makes you and your fiancée happy, not what makes your families comfortable."

The transformation on Mark’s face was remarkable—relief, gratitude, and something approaching joy replacing the previous terror.

Around the table, his other employees were exchanging glances that seemed to communicate entire conversations.

"That’s actually really good advice," Janet said thoughtfully, though she was still speaking in the hushed tones usually reserved for libraries and funeral homes. "I might steal that for my next conversation with my mother about my life choices."

Grayson felt Mailah’s fingers squeeze his knee approvingly, and emboldened by the success of his previous attempt at human interaction, he decided to venture further into uncharted territory.

"Your mother doesn’t approve of the competitive knitting?" he asked, turning to Janet, drawing on Mailah’s earlier research.

The effect of his question was immediate and catastrophic.

Janet’s wine glass slipped from her fingers, sending Chianti splashing across the white tablecloth.

Tom made a sound that was somewhere between a cough and a choke.

Sarah from HR went so pale he was genuinely concerned she might faint into the antipasto platter.

"You... you know about the knitting?" Janet whispered, staring at him as though he had just revealed he possessed the ability to read minds.

Grayson began to understand that knowing personal details about his employees was apparently as shocking to them as if he’d announced he’d taken up interpretive dance.

"My...wife...mentioned you have a passion for it," he said carefully, then paused, realizing he knew nothing about the activity beyond its existence. "Is it... competitive in the traditional sense?"

Janet’s mouth opened and closed several times without sound, like a fish gasping for air.

Finally, she seemed to remember how words worked.

"Oh, you have no idea," she managed, her voice gaining strength as she spoke. "There are speed rounds, pattern complexity challenges, yarn weight categories. Last month I placed third in a cable-knit sweater competition, and the woman who won first place had been knitting for forty years. She was basically a yarn goddess. I thought I was going to have a panic attack when they announced the results, but then—"

She stopped abruptly, her face flushing red as she realized she’d been babbling enthusiastically at her notoriously terrifying boss about fiber arts.

"Please continue," Grayson said, genuinely intrigued despite himself. "The level of technical skill required sounds significant."

Janet stared at him for a long moment, then glanced around the table as though seeking confirmation that this conversation was actually happening.

Receiving encouraging nods from her colleagues—who all looked equally bewildered—she continued with growing confidence.

As she spoke, gesticulating enthusiastically about tension gauges and stitch consistency, Grayson found himself genuinely fascinated not by the knitting itself but by the passion she brought to describing it.

The way her entire demeanor transformed, the pride in her voice, the pure joy of sharing something she loved with others.

When was the last time he’d felt that way about anything?

"That sounds incredibly complex," he said, and meant it.

Sarah from HR finally found her voice, though it came out as something between a squeak and a whisper. "Mr. Ashford, Sir, did you just compare competitive knitting to psychological warfare?"

"The parallels are undeniable," Grayson replied matter-of-factly, as though this was a perfectly reasonable observation to make at a dinner table. "Both require strategic thinking, resource management, and the ability to perform under intense scrutiny while your competitors attempt to undermine your confidence."

"I’ve never thought of my knitting group as a collection of psychological warriors," Janet said slowly, "but now that you mention it, Margaret from the advanced cable section does have this way of looking at your work that makes you question every stitch you’ve ever made."

"Classic intimidation tactic," Grayson nodded sagely. "She’s undermining your confidence to establish dominance. In my experience, the most effective counter-strategy is to maintain eye contact while executing your most complex pattern work. Show no weakness."

"I agree!" Janet beamed, clearly delighted by his interest. "Most people think knitting is just a hobby, but the precision required for competitive work is intense. Every stitch has to be perfect, the gauge has to be exact, and don’t even get me started on color work alignment."

Grayson nodded thoughtfully, filing away this unexpected insight into the complexity hidden within seemingly simple human activities.

Around the table, his other employees had begun to relax, drawn into the conversation by Janet’s enthusiasm and his own apparent interest.

Sarah launched into a detailed explanation of her marathon training schedule, complete with nutritional strategies and injury prevention techniques that sounded more comprehensive than some business plans he’d reviewed.

Tom from IT turned out to have an encyclopedic knowledge of craft brewing that rivaled Grayson’s understanding of international shipping regulations.

As the evening progressed, he found himself genuinely engaged in conversations that had no bearing on profit margins or strategic positioning.

These people—his employees, he realized with growing surprise—were far more complex and interesting than he’d ever bothered to discover.

"You’re staring," Mailah murmured in his ear during a lull in conversation, her breath warm against his neck.

"I’m observing," he corrected quietly, though he couldn’t deny the accuracy of her assessment.

For the first time in decades, he was looking at humans not as resources to be managed or threats to be neutralized, but as individuals with their own intricate lives and fascinating passions.

"Observations?" she prompted, her voice pitched low enough that only he could hear.

"They’re far more interesting than I realized," he admitted, his own voice barely above a whisper. "I’ve been missing... everything."

Mailah’s smile was soft with understanding. "It’s not too late to start paying attention."

"Mr. Ashford?" Sarah’s voice drew his attention back to the table. "Can I ask you something?"

Every muscle in his body tensed instinctively.