Page 65 of The Golden Scoop

Emma nods, tugging on her bag until it slides down my arm.

“Imagine how different things would be now if you’d been honest since the beginning.” She rises onto her tiptoes, one hand on my shoulder, her lips brushing the edge of my ear. My breath catches.

“Trust me, I know,” I mutter.

Emma kisses my cheek, lingering long enough to mess with me.

She pushes me back, and I clench my hands into fists to stop myself from grabbing her waist and pulling her back into the elevator.

“I accept your apology. Quit fussing,” she says, a subtle, but seductive sway in her step. “See you tomorrow, Matthew.”

I suppress a groan, along with the need to follow her into the room.

She forgives me, alright.

Doesn’t mean she’s letting me off easy.

SIXTEEN

Emma

Before today, I would’ve told you my twenty-dollar bedsheets at home were perfectly fine. Nothing like sleeping in Egyptian cotton to ruin my nights for the foreseeable future.

I reach for my laptop without slipping out from under the covers. It’s not until room service knocks at ten that I, begrudgingly, leave the comfort of the mattress for the first time. I consider yelling at them that they got the wrong room, but I don’t think that’s acceptable for a hotel with this much class.

“Good morning,” I say, offering the uniformed man a smile. “I didn’t order anything.”

“Good morning, miss. Mr. Hunt took the liberty of sending you some food.” He hands me a note on stationery paper.

“Oh. Okay. You can leave it right there.”

He rolls the cart in and sets the tray on the living room table. I rummage around my bag, praying I have some cash in my wallet. Bills never seem to last long in there, so I’m relieved when I find a crumpled twenty tucked at the bottom.

I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’s all I have.

“Thank you, Aaron,” I say, reading his tag.

“Enjoy,” he says before taking his cart and leaving for his next duty.

I lift the silver cloche to find not one but two Egg McMuffins. On the side: orange juice, a proper takeout coffee that’s not from the hotel, and a bowl of fruit.

Fuel for the day. Can’t wait to see you. M.

My mouth waters. I grab the tray, get back into bed, and pull out my phone.

“You didn’t have to do this,” I say when he picks up.

“Morning, honey. Slept well?” Matt says, that familiar edge of charm slipping back into his voice.

“Wonderful. Did you walk the entire city to get me breakfast?”

“I went for a run. That’s the best coffee in New York,” he answers.

“I’m surprised you didn’t deliver it yourself,” I tease.

“Did you want me to?”

My throat tightens for a second. It would’ve served for an interesting morning, that’s for sure.