Chapter 26
TWENTY-SIX
When I got to work the next day, there was a maple bar sitting on top of the tray Grant had designed for me at Swirl. Now that the tray was out of the silicone mold, the light reflected off the gold flecks and amber streaks in a way that held me captivated even more than the warm donut.
I picked up my phone to text him three times only to decide against it. My brain was staging a full-scale blitz on my heart. I’d always considered myself a rational person, but the assumptions my brain had ready like a full chamber in a revolver made me wonder if I’d always been wrong.
It was ridiculous that Grant could bring me a donut and that my first thought was whether he’d seen Jill there. Maybe seeing her had made him realize what a better option she was and that was why I’d noted the little frown yesterday—and why he wasn’t here and hadn’t texted me.
I knew my mind was running wild with limited data, and yet I still felt sick.
I opened my Matchify inbox, then closed it just as quickly. There was nothing new there—not from Jeff, Tanner, or Leo. Just the continuing echo of my own voice reminding me that I’d built a company I couldn’t even put my trust in.
My foot tapped anxiously on the floor, and I forced it to go still for the third time in fifteen minutes. My gaze flicked to the eerily silent Truth Machine.
I pulled in a long, slow breath, then got up. I needed to walk around. I was bursting with nervous energy.
I opened the door of my office and stood in the threshold, looking over the Love Pit with its long rows of employees. These were people who relied on Matchify for their homes, food, health insurance, and even social lives in many instances. Matchify wasn’t possible without them.
A wave of gratitude washed over me, and in its wake a rush of responsibility.
Was I toying with the stability they relied on by being in this little…situation with Grant?
Or was it pure hubris for me to believe my personal love life was relevant to the company?
One of the developers who worked with Jackie looked up from her computer and met my gaze. She smiled, and I returned it.
I happened to know she and the other developers had worked until eight o’clock the other night when an app update issue had cropped up.
I’d thanked them, but I suddenly felt the desire to do something more. Instead of sitting in my office, trying not to miss Grant, or flipping through every possible scenario for why he hadn’t come in yet, I could go get a little treat for my employees.
I discarded the idea of Dawson’s—seeing Jill would not help me at the moment—and decided to get cookies instead. Cookies were delicious. Everyone liked cookies. I could’ve ordered them to be delivered, but I needed the excursion.
I took the elevator down to the parking lot, and the doors opened to reveal Grant.
He stepped in, and I was so stunned that I didn’t register when the doors closed. We were on our way back up.
“I was supposed to get out at the parking lot,” I said, pressing the button for it.
“But you didn’t.”
“You took me by surprise.”
“I hope I always will.”
I looked at him, wondering where he’d been. “Most of my employees come in at 8 o’clock, not”—I glanced at my watch—“11:45.”
“I’m not one of your employees.”
The doors opened, and Jenna looked up from the reception desk.
Grant waved, then pressed the button to close the doors.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Coming with you.”
“You don’t even know where I’m going,” I argued.
“Surprise me.”
My eye caught on the buttons at the top of his shirt. The ones he always left undone. They’d always bothered me. For a while, I’d thought it was because it was sloppy. But I realized two things now.
The undone buttons weren’t sloppy; they were relaxed, confident, and uncontained. They were Grant.
The second thing was the shift that had taken place. When I’d first seen those free-range buttons, I’d wanted to do them up—match them to the others. Now, I wanted to unbutton the rest.
Grant had told me he’d been fighting his feelings for me—fighting for his job and his life, he’d said.
I was in that exact place now, and I was losing. This wasn’t a buzzer-beater game, either. It was shaping up to be a blowout.
Grant glanced down at his shirt as if to see what I was looking at.
His eyes flicked to me followed by a lopsided grin.
“My eyes are up here, Vivian.” He did up the buttons as the door opened and—because what other person in all of the building would possibly require the elevator at this precise moment? —the woman from the law firm appeared.
She clocked Grant’s eyes on me and the fact that he was doing up his buttons, and her brows rose slightly as she stepped into the elevator.
Grant fastened the last button and made room for the woman by shifting so he was beside me.
The woman stood with the toes of her heels almost touching the doors, while Grant and I were at the back.
There was plenty of space for all three of us, but Grant’s entire arm pressed against mine. I shifted away, and he shifted toward me.
A floor down, the doors opened, and the woman stepped out.
The doors closed again, and we continued our descent toward the parking levels. Grant stayed right next to me.
“What happened to giving me space?” I asked, ignoring the thrill I felt at being so close to him and the balm it was to my overactive assumption generator.
His eyes roved over my face, darkening in a way that made my pulse race. “This is me giving you space. In my mind, I’ve got one hand on the small of your back and the other threaded through your hair right now.”
My vision wobbled as the doors to the parking garage opened.
“So, where are we headed?” Grant asked, stepping out like he hadn’t just wreaked havoc on my respiratory system.
“To get cookies for the employees,” I said, picking up the scattered pieces of my composure.
“Cookies?” he repeated as we walked to my car. “Why not donuts?”
“I just…thought I’d try something different.”
He looked at me through narrowed eyes but didn’t press for more of a response as we walked through the lot—yet another experience to solidify the connection my brain had formed between Grant and parking garages.
“I’ll drive,” he said.
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”
And I wanted him to. I wanted him to want to. My heart wanted every possible piece of evidence that Grant was as into me as I was into him. My heart was busy gathering data to confirm the hypothesis while my brain was on constant lookout for any data to counter it.
Once we reached his car, he went to my door.
“Grant,” I said as he opened it, “I’m not so fragile I can’t drive or open my own doors.”
He stepped between me and the passenger seat, his gaze fixing on mine. “When have I ever made you believe I think you’re fragile?”
I tried and failed to come up with an example.
“I don’t open your doors or offer to drive because I think you’re weak. I do it because I see firsthand how hard you work and how much pressure you put on yourself to make sure others are taken care of, and I think you deserve to be taken care of sometimes too. Do you want me to stop?”
Heart sputtering, I shook my head, and he moved out of my way.
Once the door was shut, I blinked to get rid of the stinging in my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat.
I’d been the CEO of Matchify for a few years, but for some reason, I’d never considered how much pressure I felt being in charge, making final decisions, and acting as the face of the company.
When things went wrong—as they often did—I was the one ultimately on the hook, no matter whose fault it was.
I had twenty-eight employees relying on my ability to steer the Matchify ship through whatever storms and squalls we faced.
It was an honor to be trusted with that.
It was also a crazy amount of pressure and responsibility.
It felt good to be taken care of, even in the small ways Grant was offering.
The cookie shop was a ten-minute drive, but since I got a call from Jeanine at Vantive, there was no time for Grant and me to talk.
She wanted clarification on the second quarter numbers I’d sent them a few days ago. She also asked how things were going with the Threadline story.
I shot a glance at Grant, who was pulling into a parking space at the cookie shop. How in the world was I supposed to answer that question? “It’s going…well.”
“Glad to hear it,” Jeanine responded. “We’re getting anxious to see the result.”
When I hung up a minute later, the car was off, and Grant was staring at the keys in his hand. He looked up at me.
The look on his face sent a jolt of nerves through me. It was so somber.
“I can’t write it.”
“What?”
“The article. I’ve been trying for the past couple of days to figure out a way to make it work, but…” He shook his head. “I can’t do it.”
My chest clenched. Somewhere in my mind, I knew what had happened between us had thrown the article out of whack. I guess I’d been ignoring it because I didn’t want to face it.
I felt sick. For Matchify, but also for Grant.
What would this mean for him?
“What if we just…keep our distance? Couldn’t you…” I didn’t know how to finish.
He smiled ruefully. “Perfect objectivity doesn’t exist, but I try as hard as I can to achieve it. At this point, I’m about as far from objective as a person can be when it comes to you, Vivian.”
“But…” I didn’t know what to say.
All the work and time Grant had put into this article…would it really be for nothing? I hated the thought that I would be responsible for it. That if—or when—things went sour between us, he might blame me.
“There has to be a way to make it work,” I said.
“Vivian.” He waited until I met his eyes. “I have to recuse myself.”
I took a slow breath and stared at the dashboard for a few seconds. It was flattering in a way. His feelings for me had grown too strong for him to be objective. And yet, the guilt and fear were too strong for me to appreciate it. “Have you told Russ?”
“I’ve been putting it off. He’s at a conference, so he’s busy anyway, but I plan to tell him Monday.”
I nodded.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I know a lot hangs on the article for you and for Matchify.”
I shook my head, even though my stomach tightened. “Don’t worry about that.”
He smirked. “Maybe you shouldn’t have been so damn irresistible.”
I gave a little laugh, but the question of what this would mean for Matchify’s funding hung over me. Heavily.
“I’m going to do everything in my power to smooth things over with Vantive,” he said, as though reading my thoughts. “I’m hoping Matchify will come out relatively unscathed. You shouldn’t be punished.”
“Thanks,” I said, but I didn’t know that I believed that. I’d said yes to Russ’s idea about a date with Grant despite knowing I was playing with fire.
It was quiet for a few seconds as we both sat with our thoughts.
“Should we get some cookies?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I unbuckled my seatbelt. “But I’m going to need a lot more than cookies if Vantive decides not to fund us.”
“We’ll always have maple bars.”