Page 88 of Grizz

Grizz shifts, processing the sentence and also everything inside it—every implication, every door it opens.“What brand?”he asks casually.

I hesitate and his eyes narrow a fraction.“Daisy.”

“It’s… big,” I say, which is the professional equivalent ofPlease don’t make me say it out loud because then it becomes real.

“Big doesn’t mean anything,” he says.“What brand.”

I push a piece of chicken around my plate.“You wouldn’t—”

“I would,” he cuts in, calm.“Try me.”

I hate this.I hate how easily he can corner me without raising his voice.I hate how I’m suddenly twelve again, hiding a secret from a parent, except this time the person across from me isn’t going to punish me.

He’s just going tosee me.

“It’s a major fashion house,” I say, choosing words carefully.“They’re expanding.They want someone who can handle press, crisis, celebrity partnerships, all of it.They want… me.”

“And it’s in LA,” he says, not a question.

“Yes.”

He nods slowly.“When did you find out?”

I glance up.“Why are you interrogating me?”

He lifts his shoulders.“Because you didn’t tell me.”

“That’s not—” I stop because itis.It is exactly what it looks like: me tucking something enormous into my back pocket and hoping no one notices the outline.

He leans back slightly in his chair, gaze steady.“When?”

“A couple weeks ago,” I admit.

His lips purse.“And you’ve been what… sitting on it?”

“I’ve been thinking,” I say.“I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

“Figure what out?”he asks.

I laugh once, short and humorless.“My entire life?”

His expression doesn’t change, but the brightness in his eyes does.The teasing is gone.The game is gone.It’s just him, looking at me like I’m not a problem to solve.“Okay,” he says quietly.“Tell me.”

I stare at the plate because it’s safer than his face.“It’s a big opportunity.It’s… it’s everything I said I wanted.”

His voice is careful.“Everything you said you wantedwhen?”

I swallow.“When I started with the Vipers,” I say.“When I took this job.When I told myself this was my… second chance.”

His hand shifts on the table, fingers flexing once.“And now,” he prompts.

“And now,” I repeat, because the words feel strange in my mouth, like admitting a truth that will change the shape of my future.“Now I have a reason not to take it.”

He doesn’t move.He doesn’t fill the quiet with false reassurance.

He just says, “This sounds like a dream job.”I look up and his eyes are on mine, unblinking.“Likeyourdream job,” he adds.He doesn’t sound bitter or possessive.Just… honest.“This could be the second chance you were hoping for.”

It’s so hard it almost hurts because he’s right.Because if I strip everything down to the bare facts, this is the kind of email you screenshot and send to your best friends with ten exclamation points.Call-your-mother type news, the type you say yes to before the other person can change their mind.