“Perhaps she’ll be in a better mood when you see her this afternoon. She’s going to receive some very good news.”
“Really?” Emily dropped her shoulders and eased back into her chair with a happy sigh. “What do you know that I don’t? Does Hattie have a secret admirer?” A slow smile lightened her face as she considered the puzzle. “Would someone tell you if they were interested in her? A certain security guard, perhaps?”
Not answering and letting her think that could be fun but wrong. “Unless he’s changed his mind, Martin Merrick plans to invite Hattie Smith to be his date for the ball.”
Emily’s cheeks paled, and she took a sip of her melting ice water. “What makes you think she hasn’t already received his invitation—” She hesitated but held on in a way that said there was more. “—and turned him down?”
“Why would she say no?” Martin was crazy for her, and she’d be crazy not to reciprocate. Grant studied Emily’s expression. Was that guilt? “You had something to do with this.” Frustration flared inside him. “You told her to say no because you want her with Elton.”
Emily’s fists clenched around the various straps and bags around her. “Elton would be better for her.”
“Why?” Anger boiled up inside him like hot lava. “Why would Elton be better for her when I can guarantee he isn’t interested in Hattie Smith and Martin Merrick is?”
Emily glared at him, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
“Surely this isn’t because Martin drives the trolley. Even you’re not that shallow.” The last sentence slipped out, and he wished he could pull it back.
“No,” she exploded with anger. “How about the fact that he’s unstable? They go on a couple of dates, and then he won’t speak to her for a week or two at a time. He’s messing with her heart, and she deserves better.”
“Ever consider you don’t have the whole story?” Grant said low and controlled. He dialed back the emotion, but he wouldn’t let the subject drop without defending Martin. Emily had only heard Hattie’s side, but from what Grant had heard that morning, problems had come from both directions.
“Martin admitted getting together has been difficult.” Grant rubbed his palms down his thighs. “He’s had responsibilities that took him out of town. But that’s over, and he’s ready to devote himself to her.” He shouldn’t be telling her all the details, and he wouldn’t. It wasn’t his story to tell. Grant shook his head. “And here I thought the romantic in you would be excited for them.”
During their argument, splotches of red had crept from under her neckline, coloring her fair skin as it rose with each of his points until it covered her cheeks. Now she sat silent, fire in her eyes and coldness in her stony posture.
“You won’t stand in their way, will you?” he pleaded as if more was riding on this conversation than Hattie and Martin’s happiness, and maybe there was. Had the tense words between them overshadowed the joy they’d shared a few moments before?
“It doesn’t do you any good to lecture me.” Her voice was cold. “She made up her own mind, and by now, she’s already told him no.”
Good riddance, really. “Martin will survive and be better off in the long run.” He cleared his throat. “If you push her into going after Elton, she’ll be crushed. She’s not his type.” He should have warned Emily before, but he’d wanted to stay out of it. He hadn’t anticipated the hurt it would cause, and he was certain Emily hadn’t either. She was only trying to help.
The lift to her chin said she wasn’t convinced she was wrong this time. “If that proves to be the case, I’m done matchmaking.”
Was that a threat, or a promise—or a resolution?
“That sounds like a challenge.” Grant was careful to keep his voice playful.
“It is. I’m so sure Elton’s interested in her, I won’t make another match if I’m wrong.” She slid from the booth and shouldered her purse. “Thanks for lunch, but I need to get back to work.” The light was gone from her eyes. “Don’t worry, I won’t send Annalise the other matches I had for you. Perhaps you’ll have better luck finding someone on your own.”
The last half hour had his emotions going up and down like spikes in the stock market. In the wake of Emily’s departure, the transition from best lunch ever to worst lunch ever was complete. If she never spoke to him again, at least this time he’d know why. The problem was, he doubted he’d ever be able to convince his heart that this was an improvement.
12
It was a good thing Grant went out of town after the wonderful and disastrous lunch at Freddy’s. Emily had so much on her plate, she was stress-eating her work—bringing home paperwork and phone calls, knocking back emails and feasting on meetings—and there was always more to be done. As soon as one big event was over, she and her team started work on the next.
With a packed spring calendar, she must be harebrained to squeeze in a Regency ball on top of everything else. It didn’t benefit the town or fulfill her job description; she just added it in like a glob of peanut butter on a perfectly good sundae—it might make things taste a little better, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to be messy in the process. And now that she and Grant seemed to be on the outs and her matchmaking job was forgotten—and unpaid—she regretted the decision more and more. But the ball was happening, and she couldn’t change that now or she’d look even worse.
She could rearrange the budget to hire another assistant at the chamber of commerce. Or delegate more. The problem was letting go. It wasn’t that it wouldn’t get done right if she didn’t oversee it; she just liked being in control of the outcome. There. She said it. She was a control freak.
Today, though, Emily had another planning meeting at Dawnwell with Annalise, and somehow that made it easier to hand the chamber workload off. This ball required many of the same types of tasks Emily did at the chamber, but on a personal scale. And no, it had nothing to do with the proximity to the certain handsome man who had briefly slipped back into the best friend role they’d carved out years before. Not anymore, anyway. After that lunch, she couldn’t get it out of her head.
She tried to focus on the meeting rather than obsessing about Grant. He wasn’t avoiding her because of their little spat; he was working. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in days; he was busy. She closed her eyes and her heart. Focus. There would be time for brooding later.
“That’s everything I can think of.” Emily scanned the checklist with satisfaction. Every one of her responsibilities was finally marked off. Annalise’s checklist had been completed last week, but she had the advantage of living in the venue, for goodness’ sake, and having access to the client every day.
“Any last-minute additions to the guest list?” Annalise asked in her clipped business voice. “More potential matches for Mr. Robbins, or do you think you have enough?” As if girlfriends could be ordered like costumes and hats.
“I’m pretty sure your employer changed his mind on the purpose of the ball, or at least my part in it,” Emily replied as casually as she could manage. “Our last conversation was clear on his opinion about my matchmaking abilities.”
“Or disabilities.” The joking male voice behind Emily startled her. When did he come back?
She tensed, preparing for more biting comments. Was he still upset? He didn’t sound over it. Sadness sank in. After only a few weeks of getting to know each other again, she already missed him when he wasn’t talking to her.
Back stiff to Annalise’s office doorway—and Grant—Emily didn’t know how to react. She swallowed and waited for her heartbeat to regulate.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Grant strode into the room at an angle to be seen by both women. “But it sounded like you’re done?” The audacious man looked at her as if they hadn’t argued. “You promised me a chance to redeem myself.”
Was this an apology? Hope sprang in her chest.
“How are you with a gun?”
If he was going to act like nothing had happened, she would t
oo. “We haven’t shot anything yet, so what do you mean, redeem?”
“You beat me.” He raised both hands in the air as if the answer should be obvious. “Fighting.”
He chose the perfect word to keep it vague. Did he mean sparring, or their argument at the diner? It didn’t matter. The week and a half since that altercation had given them both time to cool off. She wouldn’t bring it up and hoped he didn’t either. As long as the two of them didn’t end up with the same awkward tension Emily had seen between Hattie and Martin the weekend before at the Kite Festival. That had been painful to watch. They’d seen each other, almost hugged, hesitated, and then exchanged a couple of words before shuffling on. When Hattie returned to say she was over Martin, the Shakespeare quote “the lady doth protest too much” leapt to mind. But, true to her word to Grant, Emily had stayed out of it.
At her desk, Annalise had moved on to another task, busily typing at a thousand words per minute.
“Bye, Anna.” Emily stood from her chair and grabbed her things.
Annalise gave Emily a sideways glare, narrowing one eye more than the other. Apparently, that was the wrong thing to say.
“You’d better amend that to Annalise,” Grant hiss-whispered, and once again, he and Emily were co-conspirators toward the same cause.
Emily really did know better. She ought to be respectful and professional; she’d just been so thrilled to feel the old friendship with Grant again. Why had she pushed him away so hard in high school and then again at Freddy’s? “Thanks, Annalise. Shoot me a text if you think of anything else you need.”
This time Annalise looked up and smiled.
Grant led Emily through corridors she hadn’t seen before. “The shooting range is past the gym.”
At first, she couldn’t get over the hugeness of Grant’s house, the opulence, the things that cost a fortune. Until she tried to see them from Grant’s point of view. Considering each piece individually, she could see how he’d made this his home—like the vintage spy gear displayed on a bookshelf in a cozy reading nook they passed. Who else would have a wall like that? Well, other than her father, if he could.
Grant stopped at a steel door with a keypad. He punched in the code and opened into a room with glass cases of guns, knives, and all sorts of scary-looking weapons. “Welcome to Dawnwell’s secret armory.” Grant bowed and swept his arm forward with a flourish.
Emily was in awe. “Are you for real?”
“Not always.” Grant walked to a rack of various handguns and pistols.
“What does that mean?” She followed him across the room, but her interest was more with the swords and other long blades than the guns he was looking at.
“Just that a lot of these aren’t real. The blades are dull or the guns are lasers.” He threw up his hands. “Apparently, Callum thinks I’m a klutz and didn’t want to be responsible if I hurt myself training.” He waved her over. “They’re made to look and feel real, though, for research purposes.” When she got close enough, he slipped a hand into hers and tugged her toward him before pointing at some guns in the case. “We do need real bullets for target practice. Are you okay with that?”
“I don’t know.” She leaned away from him. “How klutzy are you?”
He gave her a bored look. “He was talking about knife fights and quick draws. I promise not to try anything fancy.”
She laughed, but her mind was back on the Cold War equipment she’d seen in the hall. “Do you remember that contraption we dreamed up in algebra class? I don’t even remember what it was exactly. Were we trying to spy on the teachers’ lounge or something?” The details were beyond fuzzy; they were downright murky, they’d been buried in her head so long without seeing the light of day.
He chuckled and pressed a gun into her palm. “How does that feel?”
She bounced it up and down, gauging the weight. She had no idea what she was doing, so whatever she was supposed to be testing, it wasn’t going to make a difference.
“You do know that’s why I wrote that scene in my first book, right?”
Shocked, Emily’s mind snapped right to it. She’d read his books so many times, she had no trouble remembering. “The one where Cruise Donnelly works alongside that female spy from England?” Her heart stopped. “You mean I’m Zara Keyes?” This was a fantasy come true.
He switched out the first gun out for another and wrapped her fingers around it—probably checking it against the size of her hand.
She ran through her favorite scenes, putting herself in Zara’s shoes. “She kicked his . . . well, you know, his trash.”
“Yes, I do know.” By the look on his face, Grant loved this as much as she did. “But it was only because she surprised him. He couldn’t think straight after she planted that kiss on him out of nowhere.”
His voice was low but playful, and standing so close, with his hands wrapped around hers, Emily sensed there was something behind his words. An invitation? Grant’s eyes locked on hers. Her throat ached with their closeness and her lips tingled with desire, and in that moment, Emily wanted nothing more than to lean forward and brush her lips against his. It had been so long since she’d had the overwhelming desire to kiss someone, and here was Grant, joking about their shared memories and basically professing—in her favorite book of all time—that he’d had a crush on her. She would do it. She would kiss him, just to see how he’d react. She considered the angle between them. She would have to shift to do it comfortably. Would that scare him off?
Grant leaned back with a wistful smile. “That was when Cruise realized he needed to train harder—because he never wanted to leave his heart vulnerable like that again.” He shifted and retracted his hands. “I think this gun will do.”
The moment was gone. Emily hoped her face didn’t show her disappointment. Grant had felt the moment too—he had to have. She’d probably warned him—gazed too longingly into his eyes, glanced at his lips, or shown some other telltale sign—that she was about to do something rash. Which was why he’d interjected. At least he’d stopped her before she’d done something embarrassing. His deflection was a declaration that he was emotionally unavailable—at least to her.
On clay feet, she trudged behind him to the adjoining room, divided into long and narrow lanes with soundproofing and protective walls. At the end of each alley were body-shaped targets on mechanical pulley systems.
“Did your dad tell you he roped me into the dominoes tournament last weekend? I didn’t even know that was a thing.” Grant’s conversational tone was forced. So much for getting past the awkwardness; now they were at a whole different level.
“He did.” She’d been to Highbury the day before to wish Mrs. Bates a happy birthday. “Miss Bates talks incessantly about your kindness in playing dominoes with them every week.” She should have put it together that Grant was no longer out of town if they were talking about seeing him yesterday. “They said either you or Jaden win every time, but that Jaden won every game in the tournament, and you were especially gracious about it.” Emily chuckled dryly to cover the hurt she’d felt during her visit. What Miss Bates had actually said was that Grant’s being such a gracious loser proved how much he liked Jaden.
“She’s a good player.” His smile ignited a spark in his eyes. “Jaden’s wit keeps the game pretty lively.”
Emily’s stomach clenched, but she had no one to blame but herself. She’d been the one to set them up. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to kiss her.
Grant took a few shots at the target, and when all was quiet again, he spoke. “Your father is coming to the Regency ball, right? I had another scene I wanted to run past him.”
“Only if you’re more persuasive than I am. I tried, but he says evenings in early April are too unpredictable. Who knows, a freak ice storm-hurricane-earthquake-tornado might spontaneously descend upon your house.” She lined up her gun, but wasn’t ready to pull the trigger just yet. “Okay, maybe he didn’t mention that particular weather pattern, but he did mention som
ething about spring being rife with colds and flu and being too dangerous with that many people in a small space.” She pretended to shudder, but it still made no sense. How a decommissioned CIA officer could go from thriving in dangerous situations to being afraid of the everyday cold confused her. Maybe it was something about crowds he didn’t like. “Word to the wise: don’t try to use dancing as an enticement, because he’d be afraid of passing germs hand to hand.”
By the time they finished shooting and ate a light lunch prepared by Grant’s chef, the shadow of their former disagreement was part of the landscape of their friendship, blending behind their laughter and ribbing and making it all the more beautiful by contrast. Though Emily had felt a passing desire for more in their relationship, she was satisfied to have her friend back. Since that was what he offered, she would take it. She’d have to settle for Finn Weston, or better yet, live alone and get a cat.
13
When the limo that carried Emily and her father pulled up in front of Dawnwell Mansion, she had to blink. The mansion looked spectacular for the Regency ball. It was generally impressive during the day, asymmetrically stacked like Jenga blocks on the side of a cliff, but at night, it was simply breathtaking. Rock and wood, metal and glass were lit beneath an inky black sky in surprising angles and pleasing curves. Perhaps it was not the style Emily pictured for the Regency period, but it made a perfect contrast to the gowns and waistcoats, a mash-up of history and the future.
It was Grant with a lock of his dark hair falling across his forehead who opened the limo door, and her heartbeat sped up at the perfectness of the scene. In a gold waistcoat with a dark dress coat on top, Grantham Robbins looked every bit the part of a Mr. Knightley or an Edward Ferrars, and when he took her hand to assist her out of the vehicle, her breath caught.
The Matchmaker's Billionaire (Billionaire Bachelor Mountain Cove Book 2) Page 11