Emmy kept walking.
Cecelia's office door was closed. Through the glass, Emmy could see her on a call, pacing behind her desk, gesturing with one hand while the other held her phone. She was smiling.
Emmy stood outside the door and waited.
A television in the corner of the reception area was tuned to a local news channel, muted but captioned. Emmy watched the words scroll across the bottom of the screen:
...ELITE CONNECTIONS FOUNDER CECELIA FERRANCE SAYS MATCHMAKING INDUSTRY "HAVING A MOMENT"...
The segment cut to footage of Grant at the airport—that same shot from the sports article, cap pulled low, sunglasses hiding his eyes. Then a photo of Bailey, pulled from what looked like a hospital staff page. Then Cecelia's headshot again.
...FERRANCE DECLINED TO CONFIRM WHETHER DR. BAILEY LIM WAS AN ELITE CONNECTIONS MATCH, BUT SOURCES SAY...
Emmy looked away.
Cecelia's door opened.
"Emmy." Cecelia's voice was warm, professional, terrifying. "Come in. Close the door behind you."
Emmy walked into the office. Closed the door. The sounds of the chaos outside went muffled and distant.
Cecelia settled behind her desk, folding her hands in front of her. She didn't offer Emmy a seat.
"Well," Cecelia said. "What a weekend."
Emmy opened her mouth to respond—to apologize, to explain, to beg—but her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She ignored it.
Cecelia raised an eyebrow. "You can check that. I'll wait."
Something in her tone made Emmy's stomach drop. She pulled out her phone.
The notification on the screen:Grant Knight
Her heart stopped. Then started again, too fast.
She opened the email. No message. No words at all. Just an attachment: the termination contract, signed and dated.
She stared at it for a long moment. His signature, neat and familiar. The same handwriting she'd seen on birthday cards, on the original contract, on the note he'd left with the flowers after the golf tournament. You're right. I'm sorry.
He'd apologized to her, once. For interfering. For taking ownership of something he had no right to.
And she'd repaid him with this.
No acknowledgment of her apology. No "I understand" or "I forgive you" or even "Go to hell." Just the clean, efficient severance of everything they'd been.
Emmy put her phone back in her pocket.
Cecelia was watching her with an expression Emmy couldn't read.
"Bad news?" Cecelia asked.
Emmy met her eyes. "Grant Knight is no longer a client of Elite Connections."
Cecelia's smile didn't waver.
"I know," she said. "Now. Let's talk about what happens next."
