Epilogue
“Is that what I think it is?” Grant opened the door to the Darcy I just recognized better now that they weren’t everything. Sometimes, taking a chance was the way to go.
We pulled back slowly, and something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye.
Grant followed my line of sight and chuckled.
“Can you…put him outside or something? I don’t feel comfortable being watched.”
Grant let go of me, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “He’s cardboard.”
“It’s still weird.”
“Come on, bud,” Grant said, picking up Cam Carter. He took him out to the Love Pit and faced him away from us while I grabbed our donut box and got comfortable in one of the Affection Puffs.
“Scoot over,” Grant said when he came back.
“They’re really meant for only one person.” I made room despite that, the box perched on the shelf I made with my legs.
He half-sat on me, but it only took a few seconds to get cozy and dig into the maple bars in the sort of satisfying silence only possible with someone you’re perfectly comfortable with.
A knock on the door pulled our focus after a couple of minutes, and Brooke stepped in, holding Cam.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “We just got rid of him.”
“Did you, though?” Brooke’s face was full of news as she set Cam firmly on the floor so that he was creepily ogling us.
I stared at her for a few seconds.
She nodded, her bright optimism on full display. “Cam has agreed to come help with the Chancify rollout.”
“Wait,” Grant said. “Cam Carter is helping you?”
I blinked, still trying to grasp the news. “I…guess? Brooke sent a proposal to his agent, but I thought we were shooting for the stars.”
“Oh, absolutely we were,” Brooke said. “And the amount of money he’s asking for reflects that. Thankfully, we already have a bunch of users signed up for the Chancify beta. Which means”—she clenched her teeth—“we can probably only afford it if Stratus comes through.”
Grant and I shared glances.
“Well, sign him up,” I said. “Stratus officially confirmed.”
Brooke’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”
I nodded, my chest filling with the thrill all over again.
Brooke ran over and pulled me to my feet, then threw her arms around me. She gave amazing hugs.
“Okay,” she said, letting me go, “I’ll let you get back to…whatever. I just wanted to tell you.” She grabbed Cam and took him with her to the door.
“Brooke?” I called.
She turned toward us and waited expectantly.
“Don’t actually sign with Cam until I can look at what they sent over, okay?”
She laughed. “Of course.”
“Are you up for being the point person with him?” I asked.
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“Of course you. You’re the best person to be our liaison with him and his team. But I also want to make sure you’re okay with it.”
“Okay with it?” she repeated. “That would be a dream!”
I raised my brows. “Celebrities aren’t exactly known for being easy to work with. He might be a bit of a diva.”
“Oh”—she waved a nonchalant hand—“I’m used to working with divas.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
She winked and shut the door.
“Well,” Grant said, helping me back down into the Affection Puff, “this is quite the day for you and Matchify.”
I let out a big breath. “It is. And hey, you’ll have the type of access to Cam that other journalists would kill for. Russ will be ecstatic.”
“If there’s one thing I can’t help following, it’s celeb gossip.”
“Okay, so maybe not the greatest fit for you…” I shifted my body toward him. “How are things at Threadline?”
Grant had been working remotely for the past couple months, taking bi-weekly trips to New York.
One of the only remaining regrets I had about everything was his dream of working for The Sentinel being crushed.
He had reassured me a dozen times that he’d lost the desire to write there after what’d happened, but I wanted him to have everything.
“They’re fine,” he said. “I have some ideas I’ve been tossing around, but today’s about Matchify.”
“Grantham Wilder,” I said, christening him with a longer name for the sake of sounding severe, “tell me this instant.”
He searched my eyes for a few seconds. “Fine. But only because you’re a diva.”
I smacked his arm, and he pulled me in for a kiss.
He inhaled deeply, then let it out in a gush, fixing his eyes on me. “I don’t want to write for someone else, Viv. Even for a publication I respect as much as Threadline. I want full control.”
I nodded. I absolutely understood where he was coming from. Being CEO of my own company gave me a type of freedom and self-determination I couldn’t come by any other way.
“I’ve been thinking about all the press attention we’ve gotten over the past couple of months,” he continued. “It seems a waste not to take advantage of that.”
“Take advantage how?” I asked.
The corner of his mouth lifted, and his eyes glimmered with something new.
“I had the thought that we should write our own story. Our way. Our words. Our experience. And that idea sparked another idea.” He took in a breath.
“I want to start my own publication, Viv. One people can rely on for thorough, truthful reporting. As unbiased as possible. None of this clickbait and quick, shoddy journalism. I know it won’t be easy, but—”
“Yes,” I blurted out, unable to contain myself a second longer. “Yes. It’s absolutely perfect for you. There’s not a single doubt in my mind that you’ll find success.”
His mouth stretched into a huge smile, and I hugged him with every ounce of energy I had. I hugged him so fully that my eyes started to burn and brim with tears.
“Thank you,” he said as we held each other. “For believing in me.”
I turned my head to kiss his neck.
“And for bringing me maple bars,” he said. “I’ve been having really, really awful withdrawals.”
I gave a watery laugh and pulled back to look at him, this man who’d turned my world upside down, only for me to realize I’d landed right-side up. “I love you.”
He closed his eyes and held me with a satisfaction so deep, I felt it in my own bones. “Of all the truths in the world,” he said, “that one’s the most important to me by a landslide. Well, second most.”
I gave a bemused laugh. “And the first one?”
He brushed the hair off my forehead, tucking it behind my ear. “That I love you.” And then he pressed his mouth to mine.
Read Brooke’s story in Off Script.