Page 62 of The Golden Scoop

“We’ll see about that,” she says. “I expect you on that plane.”

I stand and open the door for her.

“I will be,” I tell her. “I expect to be by myself.”

She hops down the stairs, her crisis averted, mine getting started.

“Can’t make any promises,” she calls over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell her you have a massive crush on her. How about that?”

Wonderful. Sounds like just what I need.

“We’re almost ready to go, Mr. Hunt,” Lauren says, the flight attendant who’ll be on board today.

Jennifer hasn’t gotten in contact since she left my trailer earlier. I went home, changed into a black sweatsuit, and packed strictly what I needed.

Naively, I assumed I was traveling alone.

“Welcome, Miss…” Lauren says.

I should’ve known Jennifer would pull something out of her magic hat at the last minute.

My shoes slide off the seat in front on me, and I stand, wishing I’d had a heads-up to wear something that looks less like pajamas.

“Miller. Emma Miller.”

I hear her before I can see her.

Goosebumps break all over my skin, and when she finally steps past the threshold, her emerald eyes meeting mine, I feel the heat crawl up my neck.

Everything I’ve been telling myself since Friday night proves to be useless. I have to physically stop myself from reaching for her by shoving my hands into my pockets.

I want her. Still. More than before. Too much.

“Emma. Hi,” I manage, taking a step closer. She’s carrying a duffle bag over her shoulder, a small notepad sticking out of the side pocket.

Black leggings that flare at the ankles hug her hips in a way that’s dangerous, the white spaghetti strap top showing a hint of bikini tan lines. I shouldn’t, but I look anyway. From the top of her head to her Vans.

“Matthew.”

Her voice is monotone. She doesn’t even call me out for staring.

“Please, sit,” I tell her, or I’m going to start imagining where those tan lines lead. “Before I say anything else, I want to make sure you know I had absolutely nothing to do with this. I didn’t even know you were coming.”

Emma must sense something, because the corner of her mouth curves into a faint smile.

“I know. Jennifer told me you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“Well… no. Not exactly.” I rub the back of my neck. “I thought you didn’t want to see me. That you were probably writing, and the last thing you wanted was to spend your weekend with me.”

If it were up to me, I’d have everything to do with her.

“Jennifer always gets her way. But if anyone has the guts to say no to people it’s you,” I confess. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

“I did tell her no. Our personal problems are private, so I told her I was writing.” Emma shakes her head. “She offered to convince my boss to give me some leeway. Didn’t even have her call, to be honest. Martha loves these kinds of things.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

She’s basically here against her will. Stuck next to me and expected to smile like she means it.