Page 101 of No Match Found
I didn’t respond. It felt like déjà vu. Grant giving up an opportunity for my sake. Not just an opportunity.Theopportunity.
And for what? Vantive already had cold feet. That damage was done. Matchify might not receive the funding we wanted and needed, but Grant’s career dreams could still be salvaged.
“You should write it,” I said, but my voice sounded strangled.
He got up, came around the desk, and put out his hand.
After a second’s hesitation, I took it, and he pulled me up to face him.
He looked me straight in the eye. “I’m not writing it.”
My eyes stung, partially from the feeling of my work world collapsing on me but mostly because I was touched—down to my bones—by Grant’s willingness to forgo what could be the biggest move of his career.
“It’s your dream, Grant. Matchify’s already going to the dogs. Someone should benefit from the carnage.”
He studied me for a minute. “Do you think that’s what I want? To profit from your pain?”
“No. But that wouldn’t bewhyyou were doing it. You’d be doing it for your career. And with my permission. I’m the last person who’d judge you for making the smart career choice.”
It was true. I’d made a lot of hard decisions on my journey to this office.
But another thing was also true: I didn’t want Grant to write the article. I wanted his success, of course, but I was selfishenough to not want my company and my personal life to be the collateral damage.
Grant’s phone rang, and he pulled it out and sighed. “It’s Russ again.”
“Take it,” I said. I could use a minute to gather myself, assuming such a thing was possible.
He lingered for a second, then stepped out, shutting the door behind him.
I box-breathed my heart out for the next few minutes, but the cardboard was warped and flimsy, like a moving box that’d been used one too many times.
Grant came back in sooner than I’d thought, and the look on his face was…harassed and grim.
“I’m being summoned back to New York. Russ is set on convincing me to do the article. I’ve been clear that I won’t do it, so he’s insisting I come back and do damage control. I’m pretty sure he thinks he’ll be able to convince me in person.”
I let out my final box breath, and it quivered like a square of Jell-O someone had flicked.
Grant was leaving. I couldn’t even conceptualize that. I’d lived life—the vast majority of it—without Grant Wilder. But that had been before I’d known he existed.
Now, his existence was all I could think about. It was plastered all over my office, from the resin art tray and the rings from where he’d set his coffee mug every day to the lack of keyboard clacking when he was gone.
“When do you leave?” I managed.
“He wants me on the next flight out, which is in”—he glanced at his phone—“three hours.”
“But it’s Friday.” A sense of panic bloomed in my chest. “You won’t even arrive until the work day is almost over.”
“I said the same thing, but he was insistent. He’s upset. Says I should plan to be in the office all weekend.” He came over to me. “I’ll be back, though. As soon as I can. We’ll fix thingswith Vantive.”
I nodded, trying to ignore the chaos in my stomach, like someone had unleashed a box of insects inside me.
Grant put up a hand like he was about to set it on my cheek, but he checked the impulse and let it drop to his side. “I’ll be back.”
And then he was gone.
THIRTY
It was a long weekend,and Grant’s texts were short and always shot off between whatever tasks Russ was punishing him with.
