Chapter 42
forty-two
. . .
Grant
My office feels colder than usual. Or maybe that's just me.
I watch Sophia settle into the chair across from me, noting the careful way she arranges herself—professional, composed, distant. Gone is the woman who'd curl up in my office chair with her feet tucked under her while we discussed production scenes for Survivor.
"Vancouver?" I keep my voice neutral, though the word feels like gravel in my throat.
"Eight-episode limited series." She smooths her already-perfect hair—a tell, I've learned, that means she's nervous. "It's with Netflix. Good script, talented team."
"When do you leave?"
"Monday. Blair's finalizing the details." Her eyes finally meet mine for the first time since she walked in. "I think we both know this is for the best."
The rational part of me agrees—the part that remembers Hazel's tears, sees the strain around Sophia's eyes from the constant camera flashes, and hears the whispers in board meetings. But the other part—the part that wakes up reaching for her in the night—that part is screaming.
"It was never supposed to be complicated," I say instead.
A ghost of a smile touches her lips. "I don't regret our time together, Grant."
That stings. I want to reach for her hand, to pull her close and promise we'll figure it out. Instead, I straighten the papers on the table, a habit from a thousand other meetings where I've needed to maintain control.
"The post-production schedule—"
"I've arranged everything," she says. "The team knows what they're doing. I'll be available remotely for any major decisions."
Professional. Practical. Perfect.
"Lucas will handle the press if needed," I say. "We can keep it simple—amicable parting, focus on respective careers. He'll make sure everyone knows your producer credit was earned."
"Grant." Something in her voice makes me look up. "I don't need you to protect me."
"I know."
And I do. She's the strongest person I've ever met.
A knock at the door saves me from saying anything more. Lucas steps in, and his expression shifts as he reads the room. "Sorry to interrupt. The streaming team is waiting for us."
"It's fine," Sophia says. "We're done here."
Her words are like a punch to my stomach.
She picks her bag off the floor as she stands, and then she walks toward Lucas. "Thank you so much for everything you did for us. I know we didn't make your job easy."
"I've really enjoyed getting to know you better, Sophia."
She pauses at the door, not quite looking back. "Take care of yourself, Grant. Hazel, too."
"You, too, Sophia."
After she leaves, Lucas lingers, watching me with knowing eyes. "Want me to start drafting statements?"
"Only if you have to." My voice sounds foreign to my ears. "Protect her career. Make sure everyone knows she's brilliant."
"And you?"
"I'm fine." The lie comes easily. "It was never meant to be permanent."
The words echo in the room, and I let them fuel the careful wall I'm building in my mind. This is exactly why I've never wanted anything serious. Relationships mean complications, vulnerability, risk. I'm angry with myself because I knew better.
I've built my life around certainties. The studio.
My reputation. Hazel. Especially Hazel. She needs stability, a father who isn't distracted by romantic entanglements that could implode at any moment.
The past three months have been a departure from everything I believe in, everything I've promised myself—temporary insanity born of attraction and convenience.
This is better. Cleaner. A return to the way things should be.
I repeat it like a mantra, ignoring the voice in my head that sounds suspiciously like Geneva asking if I'm protecting Hazel or hiding behind her.
Later that night, I find Hazel in the living room, curled up on the couch and watching Beauty and the Beast.
"Dad?" Hazel's voice is careful. "Is Sophia coming over tonight?"
I rehearsed this moment, but the words still stick. "Actually, sweetheart, Sophia took a job in Vancouver. She'll be away for a while. She wanted me to tell you goodbye and she's sorry she wasn't able to come see you before she left."
"Oh." Hazel is quiet for a long moment. "When is she coming back?"
"I'm not sure. I think she'll be up there all summer."
"Did you tell her you love her before she left?"
The question hits like a physical blow. "It's complicated, nugget."
"That's what grown-ups always say when they're scared." She turns off the TV and looks at me with eyes that are much too wise for a six-year-old. "Mom says, sometimes, people only get one big love. What if Sophia was yours?"
I stand there, speechless, as she gathers her things and heads upstairs. Through the window, I can see the spot where Sophia's car used to park, now empty in the growing darkness.
What if Hazel's right?
What if I just let my one chance at love walk away because I was too afraid to fight for it?
The house feels impossibly quiet, filled with the echoes of everything I didn't say.