He always had a soft spot for you.
Past tense now.
She thought about the photo on Grant's mantle. Fifteen-year-old Emmy with braces and terrible hair, caught mid-laugh at West's graduation party. Had Bailey noticed it, asked about it, learned the story of the girl who'd grown up to be the family friend who'd grown up to be the matchmaker who'd destroyed his privacy for a career that wasn't even going to survive the week?
Something ugly moved through her chest—not one feeling but several, tangled together like Christmas lights pulled from storage. Grief, first: for the friendship she'd torched, for the easy warmth that used to exist between them. Jealousy underneath it, sharp and specific: Bailey at that dinner table, Bailey making Grant laugh, Bailey getting the version of him that Emmy had glimpsed and fumbled and lost. And underneath both, something she couldn't name—a hollow ache in her sternum that felt like watching someone else open a present that was supposed to be yours.
Three hours later, Emmy sat at her kitchen table with her laptop open.
She'd showered. Changed into leggings and an oversized sweater that had once belonged to West—the soft cotton of defeat. Made herself eat half a piece of toast that tasted like cardboard.
The cursor blinked in an empty email draft.
Dear Grant,
She deleted it. Too formal. They'd known each other twenty years.
Grant,
Better. But what came next?
Emmy had written hundreds of professional emails. Client outreach, feedback summaries, carefully worded rejections. She knew how to phrase things. How to manage expectations. How to deliver bad news wrapped in corporate pleasantries until it barely stung at all.
This wasn't any of those things.
She'd spent the last three hours composing apologies in her head, and every single one of them had dissolved before she could type the first word. Too defensive. Too groveling. Too much like she was asking for something she didn't deserve. "I'm sorry" didn't cover it. "I ruined your life" made it about her own guilt. And "I didn't mean to" was what people said when they meant "I didn't think about the consequences."
She typed:
Grant,
I'm not going to make excuses. What happened last night was my fault—not just the moment with Petra, but all of it. The arrangement, the pressure, the months of treating your privacy like it was mine to spend. I told myself I was being professional. I was being selfish.
Per our agreement, I'm terminating the Elite Connections contract, effective immediately. The NDA is in effect upon termination—I won't speak about our arrangement to anyone.You never wanted this arrangement in the first place, and I should have respected that instead of talking you into something that only served my career.
I've attached the termination documents. You don't owe me anything—not a response, not an explanation, not forgiveness. I just wanted you to know that I understand what I did, and I'm sorry.
I think it's best if I take some time away, so please don't avoid my parents or West on my account. And for what it's worth—you turned out to be a much better matchmaker than me. You were right about Tyce, and Bailey is great.
—Emmy
She read it three times. Attached the contract PDF with the termination clause highlighted, her signature already at the bottom.
Her finger hovered overSend.
This was the right thing to do. Give him a clean exit. One less thing to handle while he was managing the press and preparing for a busy post-season and figuring out his life with Bailey.
She stared at the cursor for a long moment. Then she hitSend, because West was right, and this was all she had left to offer.
The rest of Sunday passed in a blur.
Emmy checked her email obsessively—every ten minutes, then every five, then every time her phone so much as vibrated. Nothing from Grant. She told herself that was fine. He was busy. He had a game to prepare for. He had a life that didn't revolve around her.
She forced herself to look at her other messages. Most were noise. A newsletter about winter skincare. Spam offering discount matchmaking services, which felt like the universe's idea of a joke. Work emails she couldn't bring herself to open.
One text from Sabine.
Emmy almost scrolled past it. But something made her stop.
