“Everything. You take pride in running your life on robust statistical models, Viv. Those models told you that you can’t have Grant. Boom”—she snapped—“instant fixation. Classic forbidden fruit problem.”
“What in the world are you talking about?”
“The good news,” she continued, “is that fruit goes bad. You just have to give it time.”
My mind conjured an image of Jenna biting into a juicy peach, a lustful pout on her full, red lips. “Can’t I just chuck it at Grant’s face?”
Katie grinned. “I like your style. But no. Grantisthe fruit in my metaphor. Speaking of which, shouldn’t he be wrapping up here soon? How in-depth is this article he’s writing?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I put a four-date cap on things, which seemed reasonable at the time, but I’ve only done three, and I already want to crawl in a hole.”
Katie grimaced sympathetically. “Dating is hard enough without an audience—especially one as attractive as Grant.”
“Not helpful.”
She lifted her shoulders. “I’m just being honest. The man is a fox. And I know you can handle hearing that from me. You know why? Because you’re aprofessional, Vivian. You built this company out of sheer gray matter. You’re not about to let some attractive, hotshot, foxy journalist destabilize youorMatchify. Right?”
“Of course not.” I tried not to fixate on her unnecessarily generous description of Grant.
She was absolutely right, though. I’d worked for years to get to this point with Matchify. I’d given my blood, sweat, and tears to this company. Not just to the company. To the idea behind it: data-driven matches.
I stood behind that idea—personallyandprofessionally. Men had hurt me; data had not.
“Thank you for the pep talk,” I said genuinely. “I needed it.”
She slipped off the desk and stood in front of me with a sympathetic expression, then put out her arms. “Bring it in.”
I rolled my eyes, then pulled her toward me. Katie was what some people might call spicy, but she was also the type of person you wanted by your side when the going got tough. She could be fierce, but that fierceness extended to her love and loyalty, and I’d seen both of those time and again over the years.
Thanks to our chat, I was totally composed once Grant came in from his extensive flirting session with Jenna.
I even managed a genuine smile as I asked him how his date had gone.
“It was good,” he said, getting situated in his seat.
Classic Grant response. Told me nothing. It could’ve been the most incredible date of his life and he’d have said that same thing.
He raised his brows at the sight of Cam. “Welcome back, buddy.”
I was saved the necessity of explaining the return of the cardboard cutout when a call I’d been waiting for came in, and I stepped out of the office to take it.
When I returned twenty minutes later, it was to find Grant on the phone. He glanced at me. “She just finished up, so I’d better go.”
I paused at the implication that they’d been talking about me—whoevertheywas.
Grant’s brow furrowed. “Why?” There was a pause, and his eyes flitted to me. “Okay, fine.” He pressed his phone to his chest. “He wants to talk to both of us on speaker.”
I shut the door behind me. “Who does?”
“Russ,” he said.
I puzzled my brow as I went to my chair. Russ was his boss. I’d heard about him but never talked to him. “Okay.”
Grant tapped the speaker button and set the phone on my desk. “We’re listening, Russ.”
“Hey, Vivian,” he said. “Nice to finally talk to you after hearing so much about you.”
“Likewise,” I said politely, wondering what in the world he could have to say to me—and what Grant had told him.
