Emmy
Code Red. I just told Tyce Duke I play tennis. I haven't held a racquet since high school
Harper
Omg. Is Tyce Duke the hot one? Ryan says he tips really well.
Emmy
Ryan? You've been talking to the doorman?
Harper
I might have passed by a few times on my way to work lol. It's only six blocks out of my way.
Ur not mad right?
Emmy
No! Of course not.
Harper
Good! Then you better learn tennis I guess. Don't die.
Emmy groaned, dropping her head onto her desk. Harper was busy stalking the doorman, and Emmy was on her own.
Her phone lit up again. A text from her father.
Dad
I read an article about cortisol levels in young women. I hope you aren't rushing about today, Emmy. Rushing is terrible for the constitution.
Emmy let out a short, hysterical laugh. She had just agreed to play tennis against a national champion. Her cortisol was currently visible from space.
Emmy
I am being very Zen, Dad. Moving very slowly.
Dad
Good. No sudden movements. I've asked Serle to make a very mild gazpacho for dinner. It requires almost no chewing. You should come by if you can.
Emmy
I'll try, Dad. Enjoy the gazpacho.
She sat up. She paced. She grabbed her phone again.
She needed a professional. And she was going to have to beg.
Grant picked up on the second ring.
"If this is about that date," his voice rough, like he'd just woken up, "I'm legally allowed to say no until I've unpacked my suitcase."
"It's not about Thea." Emmy gripped her phone like a lifeline. "It's an emergency. A sports emergency."
"A sports emergency?" Awake now. Amused. "Did you pull a muscle lifting a wine glass?"
