The apartment was quiet.
She opened her laptop.
‘Grant Knight personal life’went into Google, which felt faintly absurd. SheknewGrant—but the public version was a different project entirely. Carefully managed, almost aggressively private. His social media was team-managed. His personal life was a locked room.
She needed the key.
Emmy closed the laptop and stared at her water-stained ceiling.
The worst part wasn't being stuck. The worst part was the stillness. Emmy Woodhouse was not built for stillness. Her brain was a border collie—bred for work, miserable without it, and fully prepared to destroy the furniture if left unoccupied. She could feel it in her teeth, in the restless hum behind her sternum that woke her at 4 AM with nothing to do but stare at her phone and wonder who needed fixing.
Nobody, it turned out. Nobody needed her to fixanything.
But Elite Connections could change that. Could give her a place to aim all of it—the pattern recognition, the people-reading, the compulsive need to understand what made someone tick and then find the person who'd love them for it.
All she needed was Grant.
Emmy opened her phone notes and started typing:
- dating efficiency
- privacy and discretion guaranteed
- Access to women interested in genuine partnership, not publicity or status
- I already know him = better compatibility assessment than a stranger
- He'd be helping me establish my career (appeal to West friendship?)
She read it three times. It sounded logical. Reasonable. Like something that might actually convince a professional athlete to sign up for matchmaking services he didn't need.
It also sounded desperate.
But desperate was accurate.
Emmy saved the note. Opened her calendar. Stared at the next two weeks, completely empty except for a dentist appointment and daily walks with Daniel at four.
Fourteen days to turn a lie into truth.
Fourteen days to convince Grant Knight that he needed her help finding love.
Fourteen days to save her career before it even started.
Emmy closed her calendar and opened her contacts again. Scrolled to "W" for West. Her finger hovered over his name. She could call her brother right now. Ask him to talk to Grant. Use their friendship as leverage.
But that felt manipulative. And it would require explaining to West that she was on a new career path (again), which would lead to concerned questions she didn't want to answer. West was happy. West was settled. West didn't need to know his little sister was flailing.
No. She'd figure this out herself.
Emmy set her phone down and stared at the ceiling again. The water stain looked like a map of something—a continent maybe, or an island.
Now it looked like a problem she'd created for herself.
A problem she was going to have to solve.
Three hours later, Emmy was still on her couch.
At four o'clock, she put on shoes and grabbed Daniel's leash from the hook by her door.
