I close my eyes, his words echoing in my head. Tomorrow, I'm going to walk into that meeting and prove I can do this. That I can build something meaningful without compromising who I am or becoming dependent on anyone else.
And Grant will be here when I get back, proud of me no matter what happens, ready to celebrate or comfort as needed.
For the first time in weeks—maybe ever—the competing pieces of my life feel like they might actually fit together. The business I'm building. The man I love. The family we're creating.
Maybe I don't have to choose. Maybe I can have it all.
The thought is intoxicating. Everything I've ever wanted crystallized into one beautiful possibility.
Grant's breathing evens out, his arm still wrapped around me. I lie awake a little longer, fighting sleep and looking out at the city lights.
I think about tomorrow—the pitch, the potential yes that could change everything. The future that's finally within reach.
I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.
Tomorrow, everything changes.
Chapter 15
Grant
The Henderson contract sits on my desk, twenty-three pages of dense legal language that needs my review before the three o'clock meeting. I've read the same paragraph four times, and I still couldn't tell you what it says.
My mind is three miles downtown, in a sleek conference room where Emma is walking into the most important meeting of her life.
I check my watch. Ten forty-five. She should be there by now. Lawrence Vance's office is in the Financial District, a converted loft space that his venture capital firm uses to make entrepreneurs feel simultaneously inspired and intimidated. I've been there twice—once to pitch him on a mixed-use development, once to discuss a potential collaboration that never materialized.
He's smart. Shrewd. And he has an eye for companies with genuine potential, not just flashy presentations.
Emma's going to impress the hell out of him.
The thought makes my body warm with pride. I watched her refine her pitch until every word landed with precision. The passion in her voice when she talks about building a brand thatactually means something—that's the kind of thing investors like Vance respond to.
My phone sits face-up on my desk, silent. I told Emma to text me when it's over, said I'd be thinking about her. What I didn't say is that I've been useless all morning, thinking about how she’s going to do.
Michael, my COO, noticed during our nine o'clock strategy meeting. Caught me staring at my phone instead of the quarterly projections and raised an eyebrow. I waved him off, forced myself to focus, but the numbers might as well have been hieroglyphics.
All I can think about is Emma.
The way she looked yesterday, lying in my bed with her presentation notes spread across her lap, her bottom lip caught between her teeth as she reviewed her talking points one more time. The small swell of her stomach visible beneath my t-shirt—she's started stealing my clothes, says they're more comfortable now that her shirts are getting tight.
She had a fierce determination in her eyes when I asked if she was ready.
I have to be, she'd said.This is it.
And she meant it. Essence isn't just a business to Emma. It's evidence that she’s got what it takes to do this on her own. With no one’s help.
Especially mine.
The familiar frustration rises in my throat, and I force it down. We've had this conversation—multiple times. I understand why she needs to do this on her own. I totally respect it, even if every instinct I have screams to just write her a check and solve all her funding problems in one stroke.
But that's exactly what I can't do.
Because the money would come with conditions, whether I intended them or not. It would shift the power dynamicbetween us, make her dependent in ways that could poison our relationship. She'd always wonder if we were equals.
And I'd become exactly what she's been running from her entire life.
So instead, I sit in my office, pretending to review contracts while my girlfriend pitches an investor who could change her life, and I do absolutely nothing to help.
