"But I don't think I'm what he's looking for." Madeline's voice was gentle, matter-of-fact. "And I don't mean that as a criticism of him or of you. He was a perfect gentleman. But I've been on enough dates to know when someone's heart isn't in it."
Emmy's grip tightened on her coffee mug. "What do you mean?"
"He was present. Engaged. Asked good questions, remembered details from my profile—he even asked about my sister's gallery opening, which I'd only mentioned once during our vetting call." Madeline laughed softly. "Someone prepped him well. But there was this... distance. Like part of him was somewhere else the whole night."
Somewhere else.
"I'm sorry," Emmy said, and meant it. "I really thought you two would be a good match."
"On paper, we probably are." Madeline's tone held no bitterness. "But paper doesn't account for whatever's already taking up space in someone's heart. And something is, Emmy. I'd bet money on it."
The line went quiet. Emmy pressed the phone harder against her ear, as if the problem were reception.
"Anyway," Madeline continued, "I wanted to tell you directly rather than just submitting a form. You were so thoughtful during our coffee meeting—I figured you'd want the real feedback, not the sanitized version."
"I appreciate that." Steadier than she felt. She'd take it. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"Don't be. He's a good man. He'll make someone very happy." A pause. "I hope he finds her."
Her. Like there was a specific person Madeline had glimpsed in the spaces between Grant's polite attention.
"Thank you, Madeline. Really."
"Of course. Good luck, Emmy."
The call ended. Emmy sat at her kitchen counter, phone in hand, staring at nothing.
Three dates. Three misses. She tried to console herself with statistics—the average person went on dozens of first dates before finding a long-term partner. Three was nothing. Three was barely getting started.
But those people weren't working on a deadline set by a despot of a woman who could end Emmy's career with a single phone call.
She should be worried. Cecelia's voice echoed in her head:Grant Knight is your only asset right now. Deliver.
But underneath the professional anxiety, underneath the pressure and the stakes and the growing certainty that she was failing?—
Relief.
Sudden and sharp and completely inappropriate. Relief that Madeline had ended it herself. Relief that Emmy wouldn't have to watch Grant fall for someone who wasn't?—
She cut the thought off before it could finish.
Harper
brunch? I have THINGS to tell you
Emmy
yes please. where?
Harper
that place on newbury with the bottomless mimosas. I need alcohol and carbs
Emmy
give me an hour
The restaurant was packed with the usual Saturday wreckage—hungover college students, couples on lazy dates, groups of women in oversized sunglasses nursing regret and orange juice. Harper had snagged a corner booth and was already halfway through her first mimosa when Emmy slid in across from her.
