"She would. You told me yourself she's the best in the business." Grant's voice softened slightly, but didn't waver. "You think she got there by respecting boundaries?"
Emmy was quiet. They both knew what Cecelia Ferrance was.
"So here's the deal," Grant continued. "Cecelia can know I signed. She's your boss—she needs the paperwork, the contract, whatever. But my name doesn't leave her office. No marketing. No whisper campaigns. No 'you didn't hear it from me' at donor dinners. No one else on staff knows I'm a client. As far as the rest of Elite Connections is concerned, I don't exist in your system."
"And if Cecelia pushes back?"
"Then I walk." His voice softened, just slightly. "I'm not trying to tank your career, Em. But I'm not anyone's trophy client. I'm doing this for you. Not for her PR budget."
Emmy looked down at her portfolio. Grant could see her running the math—what she'd promised Cecelia versus what Grant was offering. The gap between them was significant.
"She's going to be frustrated," Emmy said finally. "She wanted the credibility. The feather in her cap that her company matched notorious playboy Grant Knight."
He gave her a look. "She can have that. Eventually." Grant met her eyes. "If you actually find me someone, and it sticks, and I'm happy—then fine. She can take credit. I'll do a testimonial, shake hands at a gala, whatever she wants. I'm sure I’d be thrilled to shout from the rooftops about how I met my dream woman.”
He couldn't keep the mocking tone from his voice. He couldn't imagine it any more than she could.
"But not before. And not without my explicit permission."
"So I have to deliver results before she gets any value out of you."
"Welcome to performance-based contracts. You're in sales now."
A startled laugh escaped her—half frustration, half genuine amusement. "You're a nightmare client. You know that, right?"
"I'm fully aware." Grant allowed himself a small smile. "But I'myournightmare client, princess. Congratulations. I'll show up. I'll take it seriously. I'll give your matches a genuine chance. I just won't be paraded around like a prize stallion at auction."
Emmy shook her head, but she was smiling now. "Fine. Complete confidentiality until you're successfully matched. Cecelia gets the paperwork, no one else on staff knows, and the world finds out only when and if you want them to."
"And West?"
"And West doesn't know." Emmy's expression shifted—understanding now, not just negotiating. "Because he'd make it weird."
"He'd make itunbearable. He's been on me about 'settling down' since he met Brynn. If he finds out I actually signed up for matchmaking, he'll have us double-dating by Thursday. Brynn will be planning the engagement party before I've had a second date."
"God, he would." Emmy grimaced at the mental image. "Okay. Not even West. This stays between us and Cecelia."
Grant nodded, satisfied. "What else do you need?"
Emmy's pen started moving again, back in business mode. “Conditions?”
"I have veto power. If you set up a date and I think it's a bad fit, I can decline."
"Within reason?—"
"I told you I'll take it seriously," Grant said. "But I'm not going through with something that feels wrong just to make your numbers look good."
Emmy nodded slowly. "Fair."
"And no involvement with the team. No networking events at games, no using my teammates as leads without asking them first. I don't bring work drama into the locker room."
"I wouldn't?—"
"Youwould, if you got desperate enough." Grant said it gently. "I'm not saying you'd do it on purpose. I'm saying you're building a career in a cutthroat industry, and pressure makes people creative. My teammates are off-limits unless they come to you."
Emmy's jaw tightened, but she didn't argue. She pushed a heavy cream-colored document toward him. "Sign at the bottom."
Grant picked up the pen. The cap clicked under his thumb.
