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When he pulled back, they exchanged a secret smile before beginning the awkward process of reclaiming their scattered clothing items.
He smiled his thanks when she handed him his belt, and then reached out a hand to smooth a section of her hair.
Emma smoothed her skirt and stepped back. “How obvious do I look?”
“Don’t ask me,” he said huskily. “I can still taste you. So to me, you look properly fucked.”
Emma huffed. Then blushed. “Do you have a mirror in here?”
He gave her a look.
“Fine,” she muttered doing her best to flatten her hair, and doing a quick under eye swipe with her fingers to catch any mascara that might have gotten out of place.
He watched her with an unreadable expression, and Emma bit her lip. “I should probably go. Riley and Grace are likely wondering—”
He smiled at that. “Yeah, I don’t think they’re wondering at all.”
She pursed her lips. “Good point. But I do have work to do. That story I turned in is complete, but I need to work with the graphics team figure out if they want to do any visuals with my story.”
“Visuals?” he asked. “What, like pictures of the guys?”
“No,” she s
aid with a wave of her hand. “Just like . . . they put girly cartoonlike figures up there sometimes. Never mind. We’ll figure it out.”
He shook his head. “Camille cannot come back fast enough.”
Emma had been on her way to the door, but she paused at that. “Did you mean what you said? About not reading the article?”
He nodded, shoving his hands in his pocket. “I don’t want to read it as your boss, Emma. I’ll let Camille take care of it.”
“Okay,” she said, forcing a smile.
Then she turned back again. “You said you didn’t want to read it as my boss. Will you read it as my friend? When it’s out on the shelves, I mean.”
His jaw shifted. “I do want to be your friend, Emma. I do. But reading about your ex-boyfriends . . . twelve of them? Don’t ask that of me.”
She smiled, strangely elated by his answer. “I won’t. But you only have yourself to blame. Your idea and all that.”
He rolled his eyes. “Trust me. I know. It’s going on my list of life regrets.”
“Huh. And this,” she said, gesturing between them and then at the desk. “Will that be one of your life regrets?”
He gave her a hooded look. “What do you think?”
Emma turned away, not wanting him to see what she was pretty sure was a goofy happy smile.
Her hand reached for the doorknob and twisted.
Nothing happened.
She tried again. Nothing.
Then her fingers found the lock. Flicked it.
It had been locked the whole damn time.
This time, the door opened, and she gave him an accusing look over her shoulder.
