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The man was in control.
Always.
Julie shifted to the corner of the elevator to make room for him, and he nodded briefly at her before turning so that he and Emma were standing shoulder to shoulder.
The doors closed, and Emma lifted her eyes to the little screen that indicated the floor number.
He mimicked her posture, his eyes also focused on the spot where the L became 1, then 2 as they ascended.
“Emma,” he said politely, not looking at her.
“Cassidy.”
“You’re looking well.”
“And you,” she said, her tone smooth. Monotone.
“You didn’t get dressed up on my account, I hope.” His voice never lost its casual politeness.
She didn’t so much as glance at him. “Oh, do you not like it? I’ve been so hoping a fancy dress is all it would take for you to ask for my number.”
The elevator stopped on the seventh floor, and Emma and Cassidy stepped to the side so the man in the back corner could exit. In sync, they moved immediately back into their previous positions as the door closed.
They still had not looked at each other.
“You know, it’s a little bright for my taste,” he mused, as though they’d never been interrupted. “I like more subdued colors on a woman. Say . . . white. I always like to see a woman in a white dress. Do you own one?”
Julie cleared her throat, although Emma couldn’t tell if it was a warning or a laugh.
The elevator stopped at 12. Emma’s stop. Finally.
“Excuse me,” she murmured to Cassidy as she stepped off, her voice sugary sweet.
Julie followed her.
And much to Emma’s dismay, so did Cassidy.
“Wrong floor, Cassidy,” Julie said sweetly, with a pretty smile for the wretched man.
Traitor.
“Not today it’s not,” he replied.
“Ah,” Julie said. “Got a meeting with Camille?”
“I do.”
Camille Bishop was the editor in chief of Stiletto magazine, and Julie and Emma’s boss. Since Cassidy was the editor in chief of Oxford magazine, Stiletto’s brother publication, it wasn’t strange that he occasionally stopped by the twelfth floor.
Didn’t mean Emma had to like it.
“See you ladies around,” Cassidy said with a smile for Julie. Emma barely warranted a glance. “Oh, and Emma, just a friendly reminder that winter’s right around the corner. Careful you don’t catch a cold with that wet head.”
He moved away before Emma had a chance to respond. Or give him the finger. Not that she would have bothered.
“Friendly reminder my ass,” Emma muttered, glaring briefly at his back before she and Julie headed toward the office they shared.
“I think it’s sweet. Maybe he cares,” Julie said, linking her arm in Emma’s.
