Chapter 12
TWELVE
Grant was in and out of the office over the next couple of days, and the lack of keyboard clacking made his absence more conspicuous. I was curious what he did when he was gone, but he wasn’t my employee, so I didn’t ask. And of course, he never told me.
He never missed our daily question, though.
I had wondered if, after his innocuous flower question, he’d go for something deeper just to surprise me, but his next three questions were: what movie I’d seen the most times in my life, what I wish I had more time for, and whether I had any siblings.
As a result, I tempered my own questions for him and found out he could name every country on earth, but only if he sang them via a continent-based song. I learned that the only acceptable form of eggs for him was benedict, and that he’d believed in Santa until he was ten.
Was that what he’d meant when he’d said his biggest fear in life was believing a lie again? If so, that was quite the grudge to hold onto—and a lot of Christmas trauma. It would make him a prime specimen for a Hallmark Christmas movie.
I had so many other questions for him, and the more I learned about him, the more I wanted to know, like it was some addiction where he was both dealer and drug.
When Saturday rolled around, I came into the office for a few hours to work on pitch decks—funding from Vantive was far from an assured thing at this point, and Grant’s article was a variable I couldn’t control for.
I needed to hedge my bets and keep courting other investors.
Vantive was the only firm who was interested in putting up the full amount we were looking for, though. They were our ideal.
A couple of people on the client support team had been around when I’d arrived, but by two, it was just me in the office.
I took off my heels and my glasses as I went through my newest pitch deck, slide by slide.
Every single number, letter, and graphic on each page had to be 100% necessary.
Matchify had data coming out of its ears, but for a pitch deck, I had to find a way to select the most meaningful statistics and package them in a way that made investors push and shove each other for a piece of our pie.
“Afternoon.”
I jumped so hard, my pen holder tipped over and spilled its contents onto the desk.
“Sorry,” Grant said.
I blew out a puff of mixed relief and aggravation. “What are you doing here?”
He set down the Affection Puff he was holding. “I’m here for my daily question.”
“You came all the way here on a Saturday for that?” I grabbed my glasses and put them on, followed by my shoes.
He looked amused as he watched me. “It’s a ten-minute walk, and it’s a nice day. Plus, we agreed on daily questions.”
“Yeah, but it’s the weekend.” I didn’t know why I was arguing the point. My brain had already latched onto the fact that I’d been given two bonus questions if we were counting Saturdays and Sundays.
Grant had been on the verge of sitting in the Affection Puff, but he paused and looked at me for a second, then grabbed it with a shrug. “All right. We can wait until Monday.”
“Wait!”
He glanced at me with a cocked brow.
I took a breath. I wasn’t the type to have outbursts, and I hated that it had happened in front of Grant, of all people. “It’s fine. You’re already here. May as well make the walk here worth your time.”
He smiled, then set down the beanbag again and settled into it. “You’re up first today.”
I considered a few questions I’d thought of, but there was one that I’d been stewing over for days, like it was raising its hand and jumping up and down. I could only ignore it for so long without going crazy. On some level, I felt like this question would unlock Grant for me.
My heart thumped uncomfortably, but this man was literally observing me on dates. He owed me something more substantial than his go-to fast food place. “What made you so afraid of believing a lie again?”
He’d been looking at the Affection Puff tag, but his eyes swept to me and locked there. “Aiming for center mass today, are we?”
I shrugged like it was simply a random question I’d come up with on the spur of the moment.
He considered me a little longer. “Pass.”
My eyes widened. I’d forgotten about the whole pass thing, and the reminder was a rude awakening. I’d asked the one question I wanted an answer to, and he was passing? That little “pass” clause had been for my protection, not his.
Beneath the annoyance was a dull stinging. Passing meant he didn’t trust me enough with the answer. It also made me more certain that I’d been right in my assumption: whatever lie he’d believed was more recent—and more potent—than Santa Claus.
“My turn,” he said.
I pushed aside my disappointment and braced myself for a retaliatory question.
“What color do you consider the perfect ripeness for eating a banana?”
I stared at him.
“What?” he asked, all wide-eyed innocence.
“I just…” I tilted my head to the side and looked at him through completely bemused eyes.
“That’s the question you walked here to ask me on your day off?
What banana peel color I prefer?” For some odd reason—a masochistic one, probably—I was disappointed.
I wanted him to ask me something real. To feel like he was interested in me on a deep level, the way I was interested in him.
He lifted a shoulder. “Most people have strong opinions on the topic. But I’ll happily ask a different question if you prefer.”
I didn’t even know what I preferred. All I knew was, every time I thought I knew what to expect with Grant, I was wrong. Was I any closer to understanding him than I’d been the day he’d waltzed in here in his jeans and loafers (which he was still wearing, by the way)?
I felt like I was, but I also suspected that might just be an illusion.
“When did you start wearing glasses?” he asked.
I went still.
I should’ve answered the banana question.
Should I use my pass?
It felt like such a waste. I had a sneaking suspicion that the moment I used it, he’d bring out the big guns and delve into all my trauma.
Or maybe he’d just ask me whether I liked basmati or jasmine rice better.
What I was discovering with Grant, though, was that he could ask me what laundry detergent I used, and it would always lead to an interesting, deeper discussion.
It made me think of that phrase—it’s not the tool but the person using it.
Grant might be using an Allen wrench, but I had the sense he was taking me apart little by little.
I cleared my throat. “Um…about six years ago, I think?” Like I didn’t remember the exact day.
I’d been trying some blue light glasses in one of my classes after developing headaches, and I’d been struck immediately by the difference it made in how people talked to me.
Like they were finally taking me seriously.
He nodded, then sighed and got up from his Affection Puff.
Shortest question-and-answer session ever. He spent less time here than he’d spend walking back to his hotel.
But instead of taking the Affection Puff back to its place, he walked over to my desk.
I looked up at him. “What’re you doing?”
He made a come on motion with his hand. “Lemme see ‘em.”
“See what?”
“Your glasses.”
My eyes widened, and I drew back. “What? No.”
He smiled. Smiled like he knew. “Why not? I’m very gentle with glasses.”
I put a hand on either side of mine, protecting them. “Your crooked frames beg to differ.”
His smile morphed into a frown. “They were my grandpa’s before he died.”
My hands dropped out of sheer dismay. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, Grant.”
Brow in a deep V, he took a seat on the edge of my desk.
Every muscle in my body went on alert as his shoe bumped my leg in the process. Was he getting comfortable to talk about his dead grandpa? After all the questions I’d asked him over the past few days, was he finally about to show a bit of vulnerability? Over his glasses, of all things?
He took them off, and I was momentarily mesmerized by the sight of him without them. They were such a Grant Wilder staple that my brain didn’t know what to do with his naked face. There was something boyish about him without them.
He looked at them for a second, then set them down on the desk and met my gaze, a little twinkle in his eye. “I’m totally kidding. My grandpa’s still alive. Nearly perfect vision too. I bought these on a clearance rack a few years ago.”
I smacked his arm. “You’re the worst. So much for the truth.”
He just grinned. “Come on. If you show me yours, I’ll show you mine.”
I pushed my chair away from my desk and stood. “Really generous offer, but I’ve got stuff to do.” That stuff happened to be at my desk, but I would find other things to attend to elsewhere.
Some part of me understood that I was only making things worse for myself. There was no reasonable explanation for my reluctance to let him have my glasses.
My choice to wear them had always been a business decision, but just now, it felt desperate and cringey. I really didn’t want Grant to think me desperate or cringey, and it wasn’t only because I worried how it would reflect on Matchify.
His grin held as he followed me, matching every step I took backward with one toward me, like a spontaneous tango.
I glanced over my shoulder at the approaching glass wall.
“What are they, some kind of AI glasses?” He tried to swipe them, but I dodged him—barely. His brows went up as though he’d thought of something. “A Matchify version? Maybe it gives compatibility data for whoever you’re looking at based on publicly available information.”
I huffed. “That’s ridiculous.” It was actually an interesting idea—if it hadn’t been so ethically questionable. My heel caught on the edge of the rug, and my ankle wobbled dangerously.
Grant gripped my arm and pulled me toward him before my body could go down hard.
“Whoa,” he said, his fingers pressing into my skin. “You okay?”
I nodded, but my regular heartbeat had been replaced by something chaotic and riotous.
“Good.” He snatched my glasses.
“Grant!”
He dodged my attempt to get them back and hurried to the other side of the office and out of my reach.
I could’ve followed him, but I knew when I’d lost. There was no way I was getting those things back if Grant didn’t want me to have them. I held my breath while he put them on and looked around.
His eyes fixed on me like he was expecting something to happen. Did he really think they were about to go Tony Stark and give him our compatibility data?
And if he did, what would he expect—or hope for?
He lifted them up, then lowered them again, his brow furrowed. “What are these, -0.15?”
My heart pounded. “Um, yeah, I think that’s right.”
He looked through them for another second, then nodded and took them off.
He walked over to me, his loafers stopping just shy of my heels. He set the glasses back in place on my face, his gaze intent as he made sure they were even.
I stood impossibly still, my eyes fixed on his, trying to make sense of them without their usual tortoise-shell border. It felt like seeing a painting outside of its frame. The art hadn’t changed, but it looked different anyway.
Once the glasses were stable, he slipped my stray lock of hair behind my ear, sending chills across my arms and down my back.
“That’s how you like it, right?” He asked it like he’d ask how I took my coffee.
It robbed the gesture of any flirtatious undertones, but my voice didn’t care. It was paralyzed, just like my muscles, so I nodded, wondering how many things he’d noticed about me that I hadn’t realized.
He didn’t move away. He just looked at me. Through me. “You don’t actually need glasses, do you, Vivian?”
I didn’t respond. I couldn’t.
But I hadn’t fooled him. Of course I hadn’t.
His lip tugged up at one edge. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He held my gaze another second, then turned away. “But just know, I take it personally.”
The teasing in his voice unlocked mine. “Take what personally?”
He grabbed the Affection Puff. “Your cheapening the pain of every legitimate four-eyes like me by wearing glasses when you don’t need them. It’s offensive.” He winked at me and grabbed the door handle to leave.
Tomorrow was Sunday. What would he do about our daily question then? Show up on my doorstep? Float down to my balcony like Superman and Lois Lane?
Grant opened the door, and I straightened, remembering something.
“Tanner got back to me,” I said. “He asked if we could do brunch on Monday.”
Grant paused. “Brunch, huh?” The way he said it made me think that that one word told him a whole lot of things about Tanner that I hadn’t put together.
“I’ll text you the information,” I said. “But it’s okay if you can’t come.”
He smiled. “Nice try. See you at brunch.” The door closed behind him, and there was one stupid thought in my head: What about tomorrow?