"WasTyceyour job too?"
Emmy's breath caught.
"Because I saw the photos," West continued. "You on his arm at that auction. The two of you at the golf tournament. Is that what this is? You just—work your way through the client list?"
"That's not fair."
"Neither is lying to me forthree months." West exhaled hard. "Can you tell me—without a doubt—that you don't have feelings for him?"
Emmy opened her mouth. Closed it.
She should say no. It was the truth—shedidn'thave feelings for Tyce, had never had feelings for Tyce. But that wasn't what West was really asking, was it? The question underneath the question. Grant. West was asking about Grant.
And she couldn't answer that one. Not without lying again.
"That's what I thought." A pause that lasted long enough to hear the highway underneath. When he spoke again, his voice was harder. "Emmy, he's like a brother to me. You're my sister. If this goes sideways—" He stopped. Started again. "Get a handle on it. Whatever this is. Before you make things worse."
Emmy pressed her hand flat against the counter. The linoleum was cold under her palm. Solid. Real. Everything else felt like it was tilting sideways.
Get a handle on it. Like her feelings were a loose thread she could just tuck back in. Like she hadn't already made things worse—like worse wasn't the only direction she knew how to go.
And the worst part was, she didn't even know what she was supposed to get a handle on. What she felt for Grant. What she'd done to Grant. Whether those two things were even separable anymore, or whether she'd ruined the chance to find out.
"I didn't mean for this to happen." Her voice cracked on the last word. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth, holding back something that wanted to become a sob.
"You never do." West's tone was flat. "But this isn't some project you can just drop and move on to the next thing. This is Grant, Emmy. Our Grant."
She squeezed her eyes shut. "Would it really be the end of the world if Grant and I—if there was something there?"
The silence lasted long enough that she thought he might have hung up.
"Emmy." West's voice was gentler now, which somehow made it worse. "Grant's not your life raft. Stop imagining things that aren't there."
The words landed like a fist to the solar plexus. Emmy's breath left her in a rush, and for a moment she couldn't draw another one.
The silence stretched. When West spoke again, the anger had drained out of his voice, replaced by something worse. Tiredness. Distance.
"Look, I talked to Grant this morning. He's handling it. PR team's putting out a statement, we've got the away game tomorrow, he's focused on that." West paused. "And Bailey's been solid through the whole thing. Nothing ruffles her."
"You know Bailey?"
"Yeah, they came by last week for dinner." There was a warmth in his voice now that hadn't been there for Emmy. "She's great. Grounded. Real. Brynn cornered her with a million pregnancy questions—she's a pediatric surgeon, did you know that?—and she actually had answers. And Grant was..." He trailed off. "He washappy, Em. Relaxed. Made fun of my burgers the whole night."
Emmy stood very still.
"He's always had a soft spot for you," West said quietly. "You know that. And I don't know what you were doing with this matchmaking thing, whether it was just business or whether you were—" He stopped. Started again. "But he's got something good now. So maybe just... let him have it."
He's always had a soft spot for you.
Not anymore, Emmy thought. Whatever softness Grant had held for her, she'd burned it to ash in a parking lot outside the Commonwealth Club.
"I hope it works out," she said. The words scraped her throat. "With Bailey. I hope—I'm glad he's happy."
"Yeah." West's voice was distant now, already pulling away. "Safe travels, I guess. We'll talk when I'm back."
He hung up before she could say goodbye.
Emmy stood in her kitchen, phone pressed to her ear, listening to dead air. The coffee had gone cold. She dumped it in the sink and watched it spiral down the drain.
