Page 5 of The Matchmaker's Cottage

“There’s more.”

He glanced up, catching her eye. That hesitation again—rather than coming out and saying it, she was waiting to gauge his reaction first.

“What is it, Gayle?” he asked eventually.

“It’s Emily.” The executive assistant pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “She’s still talking. Planning on going on another media run over the next few days. Her agent just broke the news.”

Ethan’s mind went blank in self-preservation at the news.More bad press?

With his mind a carefully curated chasm of nothingness, it was easily swarmed with the images he’d seen that morning—everything that had caused the current implosion of his life.

It had been Emily who had caused the largest disturbance about the whole thing. Starting with the massive scene inside theGood Morning Americastudios, where she’d accused Greg of being a “terrible fake boyfriend” in front of the perpetually cheery host who had asked a seemingly innocuous question. Greg, unwilling to participate in a reputation-killing debacle, tried to laugh it off and calm her down before promptly beingtold by the other host, known for not mincing words, to “stop mansplaining” and let Emily speak.

It devolved exactly as spectacularly as one might expect from that point onward, with Emily sobbing in the arms of the two female hosts, Greg banished to the other couch, and the wordsFordham PR,Ethan Duchamp, andfraudbeing thrown around liberally enough to stick in the minds of everyone taking notes.

“Why?” Ethan asked eventually, his words even and carefully moderated in a way that belied the utter turmoil in his chest.

Gayle shrugged, and it was so laconic he wanted to scream.

“She has obviously seen what kind of attention it will get her, and she’s interested in capitalizing on it. It’s not wholly unheard-of in this industry.”

“I know what this industry is like,” he snapped, and immediately regretted it once Gayle’s gaze turned icy. He couldn’t afford to make an enemy of her now; in fact, it was the last thing he wanted or needed. Taking a deep breath and exhaling evenly, he adjusted his tone. “Why don’t we come up with an action plan—”

“We’ve been a bit busy around here,” she interrupted coolly. “And not all of us have been hiding in closets.”

Ouch. The shot landed where intended, and Ethan felt appropriately chagrined.

“I wasn’t hiding,” he muttered, stepping around her to enter the main hallway of the sleek office building once more. “I just needed a quiet place to think.”

“Well, time’s up,” she said ruthlessly, following him out and closing the door decisively behind them. “Now decisions need to be made.”

Sighing, Ethan looked heavenward once more, still neglecting to find any answers in the paneled ceiling.

“Go to your office first,” Gayle suggested, perhaps taking pity on him. “I’ll tell Henry he can expect you in a couple of minutes.”

It didn’t seem like much, but he knew she was granting him all the seconds of grace she could afford, before he had to face his fate.

He followed Gayle down the hall, then she gave him one brief, loaded yet commiserating glance before she veered left toward Mr. Fordham’s office and he turned right, walking straight into his.

The view from his nineteenth-floor window was, in a word, spectacular. A partial view of the park on the left, with the glittering city skyline to the right, all the glass and metal of the buildings reflecting the setting sun in flashes of gold and red, which illuminated the walls and floor of his office in burnished streaks of amber.

He barely noticed any of it, however, as all his attention was focused on the woman unexpectedly sitting across from his desk. The root cause of all the issues he was dealing with.

Emily Sattler.

“Hi, Ethan.” She looked perfectly put together and not even a tiny bit chagrined, sitting there in a blouse and tailored pants, hands loosely linked in her lap.

“Good evening, Emily.” If she was going to be unfazed by all of this, so was he. At least on the surface, if not beneath it. Striding to his desk, he took a seat across from her. “Quite the day we’re having over here.”

Despite his blatant reference to the debacle, she met his gazesteadily, almost looking pleased with herself. “Yes. It’s unfortunate the way it all played out, but I could no longer live a lie.”

He nodded carefully, feeling his jaw tense and trying to inconspicuously take deep breaths to calm himself down.

“I wish you would have talked to me about things before—”

“Would you have listened?” she snapped, and he met her gaze, nonplussed by the sharpness in her tone.

“I would have done what I needed to do to ensure the least amount of damage to—”