She went quiet, and he could see her recalculating. Whatever pitch she'd rehearsed in the mirror this morning, she was adjusting it now. Reading the defense, calling an audible.
"Okay," she said quietly. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped a note—professional, polished. Her hands started moving as she talked, gestures for emphasis, the way she always did when she was building an argument.
Grant slid her water glass six inches to the left without looking at it. Muscle memory. Emmy knocked things over when she got animated. She didn't notice. She never did.
"Grant Knight," she began, and he bit back a smile at the formality. "You are thirty-two years old. You are a three-time MVP, a team captain, and the face of a franchise. You just signed a $150 million contract extension. On the field, you are untouchable."
She slid a piece of paper across the table. Not a contract. A printout of a Google search regarding his dating life. Thorough. Slightly terrifying. Very Emmy.
"Off the field," she continued, "you date beautiful women. Models. Actresses. The kind of women who look perfect on your arm at charity galas and terrible in your kitchen at 7 AM." She tapped the printout. "But none of them last more than three months. And the media narrative is starting to shift from 'eligible bachelor' to 'commitment-phobic.' Or worse—'player.'"
Grant opened his mouth. Closed it. She kept going. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.
"I know that's not fair. I know you'reprivate, not a player. But in your market, perception matters. 'Stoic Leader' is good. 'Happily Settled Leader with the Right Person' is better. Itscreams stability. Maturity. Legacy. Look at West—he's settled with Brynn and somehow more popular than ever. Everyone wants to sponsor him."
“Em,” he said. “I don’t want to be popular. I don’t need any more sponsorships.”
She leaned forward, eyes bright, and kept going. "But you… Right now, you look like a guy who doesn't do serious. What if, instead, you looked like a guy who's beenselectivebecause he was waiting for somethingreal?"
She paused. Let that land. Working him like a closing argument.
"I can give you that. Efficiently. Discreetly. No apps, no blind dates with women who just want to tag you in an Instagram story. I can filter the noise and find you someone whoactuallyfits."
He watched her hands while she talked. The way she timed her gestures to land with key phrases, shifted her weight forward at the right moments, paused before the verdict to let the jury feel the weight. She'd built her case the way his mother used to build a closing argument—every exhibit in order, every objection anticipated, the kill shot saved for last.
If it had come from a stranger, he might have been impressed.
But he was still looking at her hands. Her knuckles were white where she gripped her pen, like she was trying to strangle a confession out of it.
Antonio returned with their order. He set the hazelnut latte in front of Emmy, then placed both paninis in front of Grant without a word.
"That's the benefit for me," Grant said slowly, watching Emmy eye the second panini. He pushed the plate across to her. "Now tell me the truth. What happens if I say no?"
Emmy pushed the plate back toward him. Not breaking eye contact. Stubborn. "If you say no," she said, her voice tighter now, the professional polish cracking, "I tell Cecelia I overstepped. I lose the job. I go back to the soul-sucking marketing assistant roles I'm overqualified for to make rent, and I try to apply again at Elite Connections after I have more experience under my belt. Though I doubt Cecelia would see me again.”
Grant pushed the panini back to her. Quietly insistent. A negotiation within a negotiation.
Emmy's mask slipped. Just a fraction. She gave him a wry grin—self-aware, a little embarrassed—and picked up the sandwich.
"I need this, Grant." She looked down at her coffee cup like it held answers. "I'm good at this. Iknowpeople. I know what makes them work together. I just need the chance to prove it on a stage that matters. Cecelia Ferrance is the best in the Northeast. Maybe the country. If I can make it there, I'm set."
Grant let himselfseeher. The ambition, sharp and hungry. The thing that had always driven her—the need to prove herself, to be taken seriously, to be more than West Woodhouse's little sister or John Woodhouse's carefree daughter. And underneath it, the precariousness. The tightrope she was walking between the person she was and the career she wanted to deserve.
He knew the industry. Not matchmaking specifically, but the ecosystem around it—the sharks who built empires on other people's insecurities, the consultants who promised discretion and delivered gossip column fodder, the whole predatory apparatus that fed on people willing to pay for the illusion of exclusivity.
He'd met women like Cecelia Ferrance. Self-made, ruthless, brilliant at reading what people needed and packaging it back to them at a premium. The kind of operator who'd chew througha twenty-five-year-old with good intentions and never look back to see what was left.
"Em." He set his sandwich down, met her eyes. "I'm not looking to settle down. I'm horrible to date right now, because football comes first. Always. No woman who's in it for the right things is going to stick around for that."
Emmy's expression shifted. Not defeated. Recalculating. Always recalculating.
"That's exactly why this works," she said quietly. "You're not looking for forever right now. You're looking for a partner who understands that football is the priority. Someone whose life is full enough that they're not waiting around for you to be available. Someone who gets that September to February is yours, and February to September is negotiable at best."
Grant felt a muscle in his jaw jump.
He didn't need a matchmaker. He needed a quiet season to get his team to the playoffs.
Emmy must have seen the refusal forming on his face because she leaned forward quickly, words tumbling out. "I have some other athletes on my radar too. If I can bring them in as clients, you'd be off the hook eventually. I just need you to say yes for now. Cecelia wants a big name to prove I can deliver. Once I have a few others onboarded?—"
