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What he needed was another plan.
Big steps required big plans. Part A and Part B, the first to take care of the nonsense about not letting people know about them, and the second…
The second involved a stop at Tiffany’s.
Dio!
He took a deep breath. Exhaled. Took another. Exhaled again. Then he reached for the intercom and called Emily.
“I’m going to stay a little late tonight. Tidy up some loose ends.”
“That’s fine. Just tell me what files we’ll need and—”
“No, you go on. I’ll tell Charles to meet you at the usual place. I’ll grab a taxi later.”
Silence. He almost smiled. He had confused her. That had been his intention. He’d just done away with what had become their new going-to-and-returning-from work arrangement, now that they were living together. Each morning, they rode together in the Mercedes, but Charles dropped her off a couple of blocks from the office. They picked her up at the same place each evening.
At least she wasn’t experiencing the joys of the subway system anymore.
Now, tonight, Marco was telling her that he was sending her home alone.
“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because I don’t mind staying.”
“Positive. Is that OK?”
“OK,” she said, and, rat that he was, it pleased the hell out of him that she sounded not just confused but unhappy at the prospect of not being with him.
Promptly at 6 p.m. she knocked politely at his door, then opened it. He looked up from the papers he was pretending to read.
“I’m leaving now.”
He nodded, waved his hand. The distracted CEO at his best.
“Fine.”
She didn’t move. He knew she had to be waiting for him to get up, come over and kiss her. Instead, he kept his eyes on the papers. After a few seconds, the door closed.
Marco looked up. Plan A was underway.
He counted to ten. Then he shot from his chair, grabbed his suit jacket, stepped into the hall and checked to make sure Emily was not in sight. His heart was pounding. What if she wasn’t ready for Plan A? Even worse, what if she didn’t like Plan B?
Stop thinking, he told himself. Just run.
The receptionist looked up as he skidded past her desk.
“Mr. Santini? Is there something I can—”
Marco pulled open the heavy glass doors. Dio, his timing was off! The elevator was directly ahead and the doors were staring to shut.
He flew. Stabbed the call button. Jammed his hand between the doors.
They opened.
Emily looked at him and blinked.
“Marco?”
“Emily,” he said, and he stepped into the car and took her in his arms.
