I blinked, still trying to grasp the news. “I…guess? Brooke sent aproposal to his agent, but I thought we were shooting for the stars.”
“Oh, absolutely we were,” Brooke said. “And the amount of money he’s asking for reflects that. Thankfully, we already have a bunch of users signed up for the Chancify beta. Which means”—she clenched her teeth—“we can probably only afford it if Stratus comes through.”
Grant and I shared glances.
“Well, sign him up,” I said. “Stratus officially confirmed.”
Brooke’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, my chest filling with the thrill all over again.
Brooke ran over and pulled me to my feet, then threw her arms around me. She gave amazing hugs.
“Okay,” she said, letting me go, “I’ll let you get back to…whatever. I just wanted to tell you.” She grabbed Cam and took him with her to the door.
“Brooke?” I called.
She turned toward us and waited expectantly.
“Don’tactuallysign with Cam until I can look at what they sent over, okay?”
She laughed. “Of course.”
“Are you up for being the point person with him?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“Of course you. You’re the best person to be our liaison with him and his team. But I also want to make sure you’re okay with it.”
“Okay with it?” she repeated. “That would be a dream!”
I raised my brows. “Celebrities aren’t exactly known for being easy to work with. He might be a bit of a diva.”
“Oh”—she waved a nonchalant hand—“I’m used to working with divas.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
She winked and shut the door.
“Well,” Grant said, helping me back down into the Affection Puff, “this is quite the day for you andMatchify.”
I let out a big breath. “It is. And hey, you’ll have the type of access to Cam that other journalists would kill for. Russ will be ecstatic.”
“If there’s one thing I can’t help following, it’s celeb gossip.”
“Okay, so maybe not the greatest fit for you…” I shifted my body toward him. “Howarethings at Threadline?”
Grant had been working remotely for the past couple months, taking bi-weekly trips to New York. One of the only remaining regrets I had about everything was his dream of working for The Sentinel being crushed. He had reassured me a dozen times that he’d lost the desire to write there after what’d happened, but I wanted him to have everything.
“They’re fine,” he said. “I have some ideas I’ve been tossing around, but today’s about Matchify.”
“Grantham Wilder,” I said, christening him with a longer name for the sake of sounding severe, “tell me this instant.”
He searched my eyes for a few seconds. “Fine. But only because you’re a diva.”
I smacked his arm, and he pulled me in for a kiss.
He inhaled deeply, then let it out in a gush, fixing his eyes on me. “I don’t want to write for someone else, Viv. Even for a publication I respect as much as Threadline. I want full control.”
