Grant's expression shifted. Closed off, just slightly. "Okay."
"Madeline Talbott. She runs her own PR firm, works with nonprofits. She's smart, warm, has her own life." Emmy kept her voice brisk. The professional register came back like muscle memory, and she clung to it. "I vetted her myself. She's good, Grant. Really good."
"Where?"
"Oleana. Eight o'clock. I'll send you the details."
He nodded slowly. "Okay."
Emmy shoved her phone back in her bag. "I'll have the questionnaire processed by tomorrow. Cecelia will be thrilled."
Grant followed her to the door. They stood in his entryway, close enough that she could smell him—woodsy cologne and something clean underneath, soap or laundry detergent or justhim—and Emmy's whole body was humming with something she refused to name.
Madeline Talbott's profile sat in her bag, next to the questionnaire with Emmy's handwriting going sideways across the page.
"I should go," she said again.
"Yeah," Grant said. He didn't move.
Neither did she.
"Goodnight, Grant."
"Night, Em."
She left. Not because of anything he did—because of what she felt. Because staying felt dangerous in a way she couldn't afford to examine.
The walk to her car felt like a mile. The quiet street, the gas lamps flickering, the weight of everything they'd said pressing against her ribs.
Her fingers were shaking on the steering wheel the whole drive home.
Emmy was on her second cup of coffee and elbow-deep in the Elite Connections database, scrolling through profiles she'd already rejected twice, when a number she'd saved just last week lit up her screen.
Madeline Talbott
Hi Emmy. Do you have a few minutes to talk? I wanted to give you feedback on last night before I submit the official form.
Emmy's stomach tightened. Feedback before the form meant something had gone sideways—or Madeline wanted to say something she couldn't put in writing.
Emmy
Of course. I can call you now if that works?
Madeline Talbot
Perfect.
Emmy took a breath and dialed.
Madeline picked up on the second ring. "Emmy. Thanks for calling."
"Of course." Emmy kept her voice professional, pleasant. "How was dinner?"
"The restaurant was wonderful. And Grant was..." Madeline paused, and Emmy heard her choosing her words with the care of someone who writes press releases for a living. "He was lovely.Genuinely. Kind, attentive, easy to talk to. I can see why you think so highly of him."
Thebuthung in the air like smoke.
"But?" Emmy prompted.
