He didn’t bother backing up. Instead, he looked over my shoulder, craning his neck to see what I’d been looking at.
“I was…making a call,” I said, forcing composure into a shaking voice. “Should we go inside?”
With a glimmer of a smile that told me he wasn’t buying my excuse, he put his hand out, inviting me to lead the way.
I shut my eyes, willing the burn in my cheeks to subside before we got to the table. I was an accomplished businesswoman. I had two degrees and owned my own company. Why did I feel like a 13-year-old tripping in gym class when Grant was around?
“I was wondering if you’d changed your mind again,” he said as we took our seats.
“I assured you that wouldn’t happen, didn’t I?”
“You did. But you also assured me you had no interest in pursuing my editor’s idea, so…you can understand why I went with the cancelable option for my return flight.”
My lips pressed together, but the waitress came totake our drink orders, so I was denied the chance to snap back. Probably for the best, since Ihadno quippy retort. I always regretted it when I responded emotionally.
“Should we discuss specifics?” I asked. “What exactly do you and your editor envision?”
He set his menu down and sat back in his chair, making me ultra-aware of my rigid posture.
“The vision is for me to observe the whole process—from the app end of things to the dates themselves. And then a debrief after each one to get your take.”
I shoved down the whispers of panic this vision generated.
“Does that conflict with the terms you mentioned?” he asked.
“It might. It might not.”
“Let’s hear the terms, then. I’m sure we can come to an agreement that works for Threadline andMatchify.”
I tucked the stray hairs behind my ears.
Grant clocked the gesture, and I realized why as my left hand came into contact with something that was definitely not my hair. I threaded it out and looked at the little topiary leaf.
He said nothing.
“First and foremost,” I said, letting the leaf loose at my side where Grant couldn’t see, “your piece is about Matchify, not me. I may be the lens through which Threadline is looking at Matchify, but the main focus needs to be on the app.”
He nodded.
“On that same note,” I continued, “this isn’t a documentary. No cameras, no mics.”
“Agreed.”
“Good. Next, this project has to have a clear end date—for your sake and mine. Four dates is my limit.”
It had taken the persuasive powers of Brooke, Katie,andJackie for me to agree to that number. I’d wanted to cap it at two.
“Then it’s alsomylimit.”
“And obviously, the men will be informed they’re being observed.”
“Obviously.”
I’d expected more pushback from him, to be honest. I was starting to feel like a villain with all my demands. But I wasn’t finished.
“And,” I said, “Matchify gets to review the final draft of the article.”
There it was. No immediate response this time—I’d found the sticking point.
