"George." Evelyn's voice is cheerful.
"I should have told you earlier," I say, and I don't preface it or reach for the professional language I'd normally use as scaffolding. "Tessa and I were involved. It started as a favor. A fake dating situation. But things got messier. The truth is… I fell in love with her." I lay out the facts in order, no softening, no careful framing. I misjudged the professional implications. I should have come to her directly.
"If this reflects badly on ERS," I say, "that's my responsibility."
I mean it, stating it that way. I'm not offering Evelyn a liability shield. I'm offering her the actual truth, which is different, and heavier, and considerably less comfortable.
"I don't know if she still wants anything to do with me." My voice drops slightly on that sentence. "But if she does—I'm not backing down from her. Not for ERS. Not for anybody."
A silence. Then Evelyn exhales through her nose, a sound that is almost, but not quite, a laugh.
"George," she says, "do you think I built a matchmaking company that collapses when two people fall in love?"
The plainness of the question does something unexpected to the tension I've been carrying in my shoulders for three weeks. It doesn't dissolve it so much as make it seem, abruptly, like a great deal of weight to have hauled around for something this obvious.
"The issue was never the relationship." Her voice sharpens only slightly at the edge. "We are the best in the industry when it comes to spinning a relationship into good PR."
Then, quieter: "For what it's worth, I hope it ends well for you two. You both deserve happiness."
The call ends.
I lower the phone and stand in the late light, which has lengthened across the floor while I wasn't paying attention. Chairs straight. Programs stacked. Every small, invented task complete.
There's nothing left for me to manage in this room.
On the other side of the reception doors, the band starts playing. An invitation to join the reception.
I button my jacket once. A reflex. A habit. The last piece of armor I apparently still reach for, even now.
When there is nothing left to hide behind.
Not ERS. Not reputation. Not timing.
Just the door in front of me, and on the other side of it, whatever comes next.
