Page 31 of No Match Found
“All right,” I said after closing out the chat. “Showtime’s over. I’ve got real work to do.”
“Not so fast,” Grant said, stopping my attempt to push his chair away by holding onto mine. “Today marks the beginning of our question-for-a-question game.”
I’d anticipated this, but a small part of me had hoped it would come at the end of the day. I hadn’t decided what question to ask him yet, but I was more nervous about what he would askme.
Nervous and curious. What did Grant Wilder want to know about me?
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms and facing him. “You first.”
He mirrored my body language, but on him it looked less like a challenge and more like settling in for an interesting chat. But those eyes...they raked over me like a full-body scanner. They were looking for chinks in my armor, though, not weapons or contraband.
I suspected if they watched me long enough, I’d start spilling my deepest secrets just to end the scrutiny.
“Maybe we should implement a time limit,” I said as theseconds dragged and my nerves startled to wriggle under his constant gaze. “Or we can skip today.”
The edge of his mouth tugged up. “Not a chance. I have about a hundred questions for you, and I only get a handful. I’ll be taking advantage of every last one.”
My pulse skipped. “Not if it takes you half an hour to decide every?—”
“What incorrect assumption do people make about you?”
I blinked, mouth still open from my unfinished threat.
I didn’t know what question I’d been expecting, but that wasn’t it. I figured he’d ask me about my childhood trauma or something else gritty and invasive.
As I considered how to respond, Grant watched me like most of my answer wouldn’t be coming out of my mouth.
We’d agreed to be truthful, but just how forthcoming did I have to be? There were a dozen different answers I could give to that question, ranging fromyour red hair isn’t realtoyou never laugh.
He’d know if I held back, though—he was too perceptive not to—and if I held back,he’dhold back. I was too greedy to know more about Grant to be okay with that.
I waited for him to tease me about implementing a time limit for responses, but he just watched me with the expression I was beginning to feel familiar with: the ghost of a smile under keen, attentive eyes, almost like he knew something I didn’t and was waiting to see if I caught on.
My pulse hummed. It shouldn’t be this hard to answer a simple question. The longer I waited, though, the harder it got—and the more interested he’d be in my answer.
I had to say something.
“That I don’t feel anything.”
His brows pulled together. Like he thought I was lying.
“What?” I said. “It’s true.”
“I’m not doubting the truth of it. I just figured it was an assumption you’d cultivatedon purpose.”
It was my turn to frown. “Purposely cultivated the assumption that I’m a robot?”
He seemed mildly amused. “Who called you a robot?”
I pressed my lips together. “You’ve already used your question for the day.”
The way he looked at me made me feel like that answer had given away plenty. He could probably see Chase’s name reflected on the lenses of my glasses.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t know what it’s like to be a woman in tech, but I can’t imagine it’s easy. And you’re not just a woman in tech. You’re a young, beautiful, femaleCEOin tech.” He shrugged. “Appearing unemotional has to be a basic survival mechanism.”
Beautiful. Of all the words he’d used to describe me, my brain snagged on that one. Did he really think I was beautiful?
Get a grip, Vivian.
