Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
Grant couldn’t have looked more surprised if I’d thrown rotten fruit in his face.
He barely spoke for the last couple minutes of the call, and that alone was enough to make me glad I’d said yes. Would I ever not find joy in taking Grant Wilder by surprise?
On some level, I was aware that this was getting out of hand.
What I’d originally thought was an hour-long interview with him had morphed into turning my dating life into a spectator sport.
Now, I’d agreed to go out with the man I was trying to fight feelings for as some sort of twisted experiment to save my company.
But I was going to win that experiment. Grant and I were going head-to-head at the science fair, and I was taking home the gold medal.
When the line clicked off, Grant slowly reached for his phone, a furrow between his brows. He held it in his hand for a second, staring at it, then looked up at me.
I met his gaze, unflinching.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked.
I raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Was he genuinely worried I wouldn’t be able to handle one measly date with him? That I’d be so overwhelmed by his charm that I’d throw my hands in the air and admit Matchify was a scam?
“I’m just not sure you had time to think it through properly.”
I stood and rolled my chair so that the seat was under the desk. “What’s there to think through? It’s a date, Grant. Not a career change.” I grabbed my mouse and leaned forward, pulling up my calendar. “When works for you? I’ve got something tomorrow night, but I could do—”
“Vivian.”
I jumped. He was standing right next to me. I hadn’t even noticed him get up from his chair.
I stood straight to face him. “What?” The quickness of my heartbeat was because he’d surprised me. That was all.
His eyes searched mine. They were more serious than usual. Not dark and dangerous like they’d been at the club, but there was none of the usual twinkling behind the frames.
I adjusted my glasses and waited for him to talk.
“If we go on a date, it won’t be just a date.” He said the words slowly, deliberately, and there was a keenness in his eyes, like he needed me to understand this.
My pulse fluttered. “Meaning?”
“I’ll be pulling out all the stops. Testing Matchify’s algorithm.” There was a pause as his eyes searched mine. “I won’t be going easy on you.”
My breath hitched, but I smiled patronizingly and patted his shoulder. “Noted. So…Wednesday?”
He watched me for a second, then gave a nod and stepped back. “Wednesday.”
Only once he’d turned away did I let out a long, slow sigh and start to question what I’d gotten myself into.
“I said to let the forbidden fruit go bad, Viv—not stuff your face with it.” Katie flipped through the pieces of clothing in my closet. “Maybe I should be coming with you on this date—make sure you don’t do anything self-destructive.”
I pulled out a linen blazer, then hung it up again.
“I’m not stuffing my face with forbidden fruit.
I’m…” I struggled with how to continue the metaphor, then let out a gush of frustration.
“Look. You’re the one who said I’m a professional, right?
This isn’t a pleasure date. It’s a business date. It’s a professional date.”
Katie looked at me with pained sympathy. “That’s so not a thing, Viv. Unless you’re an escort. Did Grant hire you as an escort?”
I shot her an unamused look. “I just need to know what to wear. That’s why you’re here.”
“Well, what’ll you be doing?”
“No idea. All Grant said was to dress comfortably.”
She shut her eyes as if to pray for patience. “Men are the worst. Comfortable like post-workout Target run? Or comfortable like oops I didn’t mean to look this sexy?” Her mouth twisted to the side. “We have to do our best and decide what message you want to send.”
She said it like it was so easy. What message did I want to send? I wanted to come out of this date thoroughly unimpressed by Grant, but I wanted him to physically hurt with the realization he couldn’t have me.
I couldn’t admit that to Katie, though.
I couldn’t. I shouldn’t. I wouldn’t.
She’d rake me over the coals for being dumb enough to want him to want me when I was supposed to be focusing on my unassailable professionalism.
“Obviously, you’ve got to make his jaw drop,” Katie said, pausing on a silky button-down, then moving on.
“What?” I asked, uncertain I’d heard her right.
She raised a brow. “Come on, Viv. That’s a given.”
“Right…I just…”
“Thought I’d want you to look like a homeless person?
” She rolled her eyes. “Do I think you should’ve said yes to the date?
No. But you did, so now your job is to look amazing, act nonchalant, and leave him panting like a dog.
Think of it like revenge-dressing, except this time it’s not an ex; it’s a man who thinks he can out-charm your algorithm. ”
I stared at her. “I love you.”
She grinned. “I know. And Grant’s going to be in love with you by the end of the night while you”—she pulled out a long, polka dot skirt with a high front slit and smiled at it—“will be examining your nails and thinking about your next board meeting. Pair this with a fitted white shirt, a red lip, a watch-check mid-date, and voilà! Mission accomplished.”
I took the hanger she extended toward me, imagining the picture she’d conjured. She was way too good at this. Whether I could actually pull off her vision was the thing I questioned. I hadn’t exactly nailed the show-up-to-lunch-late thing.
Katie insisted I have my hair down. I refused. Grant had specified comfortable, and nothing was less comfortable than having my hair in my face constantly. It was already a big enough problem with my unintentional curtain bangs.
After twenty minutes of debate, we compromised, and I put my hair half-up. Of course, the unruly side bangs joined the hair that was down.
Once Katie left—she’d begged to hide out in my apartment so she could observe a little of the date—I considered my small collection of perfumes, wondering which one might be Grant’s kryptonite.
Did anyone make a maple donut perfume? Maybe that’d just remind him of Jill.
I’d kind of thought maple donuts were our thing, but apparently, I’d been wrong.
There was a knock on the door.
My heart took off like a flock of doves, but I forced myself to take a beat and stare in the mirror. I hardly recognized myself with my makeup more embellished than usual and my hair half-down. “Do not let him get to you, Vivian Marie West.”
I took a breath, fixed my shirt, then made my way to the front door. Part of me wished Katie could come with us. It might help Grant and me stay on our best behavior.
Grant’s threat to not go easy on me had been playing intermittently in my mind like a wind chime in a light breeze—just enough of an eerie tone to unsettle me. I had no idea what it meant, but I was determined not to let him have the satisfaction of seeing he’d rattled me at any point tonight.
I opened the door and found Grant with his gaze lowered, like he was staring at the floor.
His head came up, and his lips parted, an arrested look in his eyes as they traveled over my face, then slowly down and down until they finally flicked back up and he cleared his throat.
I love you, Katie. She deserved a raise. Whatever else happened tonight, I’d remember this moment.
“Wow,” Grant said.
A smile tugged at my lips, but it couldn’t decide whether it was satisfied or bashful, so I turned away to reach for my purse. “Ready to go? Do you want to drive? I can.”
His expression grew amused. “You don’t know where we’re going.”
“And you’ll probably forget where we park,” I shot back.
“That was one time.” Instead of his usual button-up shirt, tonight he was wearing a t-shirt—not unlike the one I was wearing, but it hugged his chest and shoulders just enough to tease what was underneath. He wore slim-fit khaki pants, and I realized he was holding a small box.
He held it out. “It’s for you.”
My heart skipped like a scratched CD. He got me a gift? Was this what he meant when he’d said he wasn’t going to go easy on me?
“What is it?” I asked like he might be handing me a grenade.
He chuckled. “Just open it.”
I took the box and fiddled with the top.
I hated that my heart was beating like this was an actual gift from Grant rather than part of all the stops he’d promised to pull out.
That was how I needed to think of everything he did tonight—as stop signs.
I needed to come to a complete halt, look in all directions for anything about to t-bone me, then proceed with caution.
I released the little hook latch on the box and lifted the lid.
I stared at the contents for a second, then my gaze flicked to Grant. “Uh…what is it?”
“My take on flowers.” He shrugged. “It reminded me of you.”
I’d had some offensive things said to me over the years, but that might have taken the cake. This reminded him of me? This thing that I could only describe as a dried-up, miniature tumbleweed?
I relatched the box lid. “Is this you not going easy on me? Gifting me a decrepit baby bush?” I set it on the entry table, though I’d have been tempted to chuck it in the garbage can if there’d been one within reach.
I’d assumed that pulling out all the stops would’ve meant him trying to do everything he could to sweep me off my feet. Maybe I’d been wrong, though. Maybe in his twisted mind, testing the algorithm meant doing everything in his power to insult me?
I didn’t really see the path forward, but Grant Wilder’s mind was a mysterious place.
He grinned. “I guess you can water it later.”
I flipped off the light switch and rolled my eyes at him. “I think we’re a bit past that point.”
He offered me his arm, and I shot him a quizzical look. What was this, 1800 at Netherfield Park?
From any other man, it would’ve felt like he was trying too hard, but somehow Grant managed to make it seem charming and fun. I hated that.
He kept his arm out until I took it reluctantly.
We made our way to the parking garage, and he led us straight to the red Corolla, smiling at me like he’d found his car using echolocation and it hadn’t been in the spot right next to the elevator.
He walked me to my door and opened it, and I suddenly realized how long it had been since I’d had someone do that for me. I’d worked hard in life to be seen as independent and capable, which meant people often assumed I didn’t like chivalrous gestures like opening doors or pulling out chairs.
And I didn’t—when it was done in a patronizing way. But Grant wasn’t patronizing me. I almost wished he would. It would make tonight easier.
I tried not to betray my interest in where we were headed. Where did Grant take women on a first date—especially a woman he’d warned he’d be doing his level best to woo? He’d failed with the tumbleweed thing, but maybe that was just to throw me off the scent. Maybe he was about to blow my mind.
The fact that I cared so much was problematic. I needed to be less invested in every aspect of this date. Stop signs, I reminded myself.
We pulled into a strip mall, and my eyes scoured the storefronts, trying to locate our destination. Grant guided us into a parking space in front of a restaurant called Hungry Hank’s.
I’d never eaten there, but I knew the place by reputation, and they could’ve been considered the baby tumbleweed of restaurant chains. What was Grant’s angle? Or was he just this bad at dating?
He was a smart guy, so that was hard to believe. Then again, I’d known too many incredibly intelligent men with the social skills of hermit crabs to write off the possibility entirely.
“I’ll get your door,” Grant said, getting out of the car.
I waited patiently as he came around, opened my door, and put out his hand to help me. Some part of me realized that allowing these little chivalrous acts wasn’t in my best interest, but it seemed so petty to refuse the help that I took his offered hand.
I’d seen the Kiera Knightley Pride and Prejudice plenty of times in my life, but I’d never understood the Darcy hand flex better than the moment Grant let go of my hand. I needed to reset the nerves and their connection to my brain. Or heart, maybe.
Why had Katie let me come on this date?
“Where are you going?” Grant asked.
I stopped mid-stride and gave him a funny look. “To dinner?”
The corner of his mouth lifted in uninhibited amusement. “You thought I was taking you on a date to Hungry Hank’s?”
A flicker of annoyance shot through me. “Well, Grant? I don’t know. You gave me a tumbleweed instead of flowers, so it’s not a huge stretch, is it?”
His smile only grew. “Did you want flowers?”
“No, but I didn’t want tumbleweed either.”
“Good thing I didn’t give you any.” He jerked his head to his right. “We’re headed this way.”
I looked at the shop sign. Swirl, it said in black, loopy script. Below it, in sans serif lowercase letters were the words Art Workshop. The shop windows were framed with twinkle lights that couldn’t compete with the setting sun.
I looked at Grant, certain this was just another part of his never-ending quest to mess with me, but he grabbed the door handle and pulled.
I stayed rooted in place. “We’re doing art?”
“Yep.” He was dead serious.
I had no response. If someone had asked me where I thought Grant would be taking me on a date that would put both Matchify and me in grave danger, an art workshop wouldn’t have even made the list.
So far, he’d gifted me a dead weed and brought me to the sort of place I’d have expected to go for a tween girl’s birthday party.
“You coming?” he asked, vaguely amused by my reaction.
I girded my loins and went through the door of Swirl, preparing to channel my inner twelve-year-old. If tonight was any indication of Grant’s approach to romance, I couldn’t help feeling a sliver of sympathy for his ex.