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He lifted his eyebrows. “Two years. Not insignificant.”
She shrugged. “We were together for three.”
“Look how well that worked out.”
She smiled. “Exactly.”
“So why’d you break up?”
“You’ll have to read the article.”
“Well, I would, if you’d finish it,” he said.
“It’s not done yet,” she snapped. “It’s the most time-consuming story I’ve had in months.”
Wrong. He leaned forward. “You sure the reason you’re not done yet has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been saving the most crucial interview for last?”
“You flatter yourself,” she said, looking at her fingernails.
“I proposed,” he half-snarled. “I should think that earns me a spot in your story about exes.”
She gave a bored sigh and met his eyes. “So did Joel.”
Alex’s agitated pen clicking pen stopped immediately, and for some reason, he felt like his stomach had dropped out at the thought of Emma engaged to another man.
He wanted to ask questions.
When Joel had asked. If Emma had said yes only to rip the guy’s heart out when she later backed out.
If she’d loved him.
But he was too worried about what it would give away. So instead he pushed her. “When are we finishing this, Emma?”
She glanced away. “You already know the three questions I ask every guy. Can’t you just like . . . email them to me or something?”
His eyes narrowed. “Scared, sweetie?”
Her brown eyes snapped back to his. “Disinterested.”
Alex grinned. “I don’t think so. There’s a reason you scurry away from any discussion of our past the second things start to get interesting. You’re terrified.”
“You’re not exactly pushing the topic, either.”
His smile grew. “Which is exactly why we need to have this conversation. The twelve days of exes . . . how many have you interviewed?”
“Ten,” she said reluctantly. “Number eleven is coming over tonight.”
“Perfect,” he said. “Then number twelve will be there tomorrow night.”
Emma gave him a single nod before standing and heading to the door. Apparently she’d decided their meeting was over, but he didn’t try to stop her. He’d said what he needed to say.
“Bring wine,” she said, not bothering to turn around as she said it. “Something good. God knows we’re going to need it.”
Chapter 17
Emma had known this day would be coming. From the second she’d gotten that email from Cassidy with his bullshit “Twelve Days of Exes” story assignment, she’d known that he’d chosen her to write the story because he wanted to open up this can of worms.
But that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was that Emma wanted to do this. Sure, her palms were clammy, and she’d had a glob of dread lodged in her chest for the past two and a half weeks, but deep down, she knew that they needed this.
