Page 18 of No Match Found
“That’s not Hilary Duff, Nick. It’s Babe Ruth.”
“Either way, a babe said it and it’s good advice.” He closed the door.
I shook my head. Was he really urging me to make Grant Wilder my re-entry point into the dating pool? A pool I’d nearly drowned in?
No, thank you.
If I ever risked my heart and sanity dating again—something I had no intention of doing at this point in time—it would be done strategically, dipping one toe into warm water with a lifejacket and an oxygen tank. Dating Grant Wilder would be like cannonballing into a shark tank with a raw steak strapped to my chest.
He’d eat me alive and still have room for dessert.
A curious thought struck me.
Did he open up to the women he dated? It was hard to imagine.
It was entirely possible he already had a girlfriend—maybe that was why he’d been resistant to filling out a profile. Most people might’ve mentioned that detail to justify not using Matchify, but Grant Wilder wasn’t most people.
And now I was stuck wondering what he would be like as a boyfriend.
Thanks a lot, Nick.
It was the last thing I needed as I tried to keep my cool and finish this never-ending interview-from-Hades on a strong note.
I grabbed my phone and navigated to my messages, then scrolled and scrolled until I got to the one at the very bottom. After a split-second of hesitation, I tapped on it.
You’re so intense.
The black text stared back at me, stark against the bright white background of my phone.
I’d never responded to it. It had been the last communication Chase and I had exchanged. I’d thought about deleting it a million times. I should have. Instead, I looked at it every now and then and remembered what it had felt like to be dumped for being too much. For being me.
The most ironic part? Chase had been attracted to me initiallybecauseI was motivated and determined. So many people had been intimidated by my drive that meeting him had felt like finally being seen—and liked, not in spite of, butbecauseof it.
Apparently, I’d cured him of that, though. The woman he was with now looked like the kind of person who lit sage before bedtime and went for mid-morning walks after yoga. No spreadsheets, constantly dinging reminders, or cold coffee on her desk.
Beautiful and mellow.
“Sorry about that.”
I turned off my screen as Grant came back into the office and set my phone down like I’d been looking at something far more incriminating than an old text.
Grant’s gaze flitted to the dark screen of my phone. Those eyes didn’t miss a thing. He probably thought I was cyber-stalking him or something.
I couldn’t decide if I’d prefer his believing that or knowing the truth.
“No problem,” I replied with an overly bright smile. “I had to shoot off a couple messages.”
He sat back down and got comfortable again. “That was my editor.”
“Oh?” I replied politely. Grant wasn’t the type to offer up information willingly, so I assumed there was a reason he was telling me this.
“Yeah.” His eyes fixed on me, and I was annoyed to find my hand stealing to the same place it always did when I felt like someone was evaluating me: to my rogue strands of hair. I tucked them behind my ears.
“I promised I’d float his idea to you,” Grant said.
My stomach clenched. “What idea is that?”
“He wants more.”
