I wait with bated breath, blowing it out in relief as Ford rounds the corner, coming to a halt when he spots me in the kitchen. His eyes travel from my face down along my silken pajama-clad body all the way to my toes. My nipples tighten as my core clenches, and I feel my entire body tingle to life in a way I’d forgotten was possible under his perusal.
Stop that, idiot!He.Broke.Your.Heart. Remember that?
With a shake of my head, I push myself off the counter and give him my back. In an effort to give my suddenly fidgety hands something to do, I gently swirl the milk around the pan.
“Couldn’t sleep?”
His deep voice vibrates right through me, turning my bones to jelly. The deep cadence does things to my insides…things Ihaven’t felt in the longest time, and I stare at the milk, willing it to warm faster as I nod sharply.
“Mm-hmm. You?”
He walks closer to place something on the counter, but I don’t dare lift my eyes from the milk before me to find out what.
“I’m sure it’s my presence in your personal space that’s at fault. Thought this might help some.”
Then he moves past me, his scent invading my nostrils before he calls over his shoulder softly.
“Sweet dreams, Miss Hart.”
As he disappears in the direction of his temporary bedroom, I deem it safe to lift my eyes, only for them to blow wide when I find a carton of cherry juice sitting atop my counter.
A sudden lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down harshly, unwilling to allow myself to soften toward him or his thoughtfulness, not one little bit.
I quickly dump the semi-heated milk into the sink, grab the juice, and race back to the safety of my bedroom, cursing him for finding a chink in the armor that’s held me together these last five years. As I chug directly from the carton with a deep frown, I know that in order to hold it together, I’ll need to keep as much distance as possible.
If the simple act of bringing me cherry juice has already gotten to me, then setting firm boundaries between us is the only way to keep my heart safe.
CHAPTER 7
EMERSON
“It’s okay,Hayles. I mean it – you just work on feeling better soon, okay?”
My stepsister sniffles miserably on the other end of the line. “Your day is jam-packed, Em. The rest of this week, for that matter, and I—I—aaachooo!”
As Hayley violently sneezes five more times in rapid succession, I shoot an email to Simone, Hayley’s assistant, to let her know that the plans for the day have altered.
I know Simone would jump at the chance to assist me for the next couple of days while Hayley recuperates, but honestly, I’m not altogether vibing with the idea of spending today close to my ex without Hayley as a buffer.
Following the events of last night, I know his proximity is a danger to me. One I can’t risk, no matter the cost.
“I’m so sorry…” Hayley’s low tone is brimming with self-pity, and my bottom lip curls down in empathy, making an internal note to send her some chicken noodle soup from Luciano’s, our favorite deli in Tribeca.
“I’ve already emailed Simone. We’ll revise my schedule when you’re better. Just get some rest, and I’ll check in on you soon. Okay?”
Another sneezing fit ensues amid Hayley’s acknowledgment, and I hang up with a sympathetic smile as I close the laptop on the breakfast bar before me.
After placing the soup order and adding some of their vitamin-rich orange juice for good measure, I settle back into my seat and glance around the pristine penthouse.
What now, idiot?
I may have delayed spending time alongside Ford, but in the process, I’ve shit all over an insanely hectic week.
Today’s final fitting for my ICON gala dress with Ava Sinclair, the fashion community’s hottest new commodity, is just the start. Both magazine and TV interviews, several PR appearances, my fake date with Lawson this weekend, the reshoot at Vesper two days from now, not to mention needing to re-run my lines for said reshoot…
I drop my head onto the breakfast bar and close my eyes tightly before expelling a deep sigh.
What have you done, Emerson?
