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And yet he’d hired this woman to help launch a boutique project that had consumed his time and energy for months when for all he knew, the only thing she could play was “Chopsticks.”
Or “New York, New York.” Remembering what she’d said, he gave a soft laugh.
“What?”
“I was thinking about Wednesday. Just play “New York, New York” if somebody asks. You do that, everything will be fine.”
They both laughed. The palpable tension in the room eased, if only a little. Then Emily touched the tip of her tongue to the middle of her bottom lip again.
It was disconcerting.
So was the fact that his waif of the storm was gone.
No bare feet. No rain-soaked silk dress clinging to her like a second skin. No soft curls begging for his touch.
She was the epitome of professional competence. Wool suit. Silk blouse. Black pumps. Hair tamed into submission and drawn back in a no-nonsense, nape-of-the-neck ponytail.
He felt a pang of regret.
The formal Emily was as beautiful as he’d remembered but there’d been something charming about the less formal one.
And wasn’t that a ridiculous thought? Who cared about that? All that mattered was that she could pull off the performance on Wednesday…
Dammit!
“You’ll need a white formal gown.” Her eyebrows rose. “For Wednesday,” he said. “I don’t know how specific I was when I left that message, but the overall theme will be dramatic. Romantic. White candles, white flowers, white piano… And you in something long and white.”
“I don’t have—”
“Not a problem. Find something and send me the bill.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’ll pay for it. The company will pay for it the same as for the flowers, the piano… Everything.” He waited for her to say something. Anything. What he didn’t want her to say was goodbye. “Well,” he said briskly. “This was a very nice surprise.”
“I’m sorry to have bothered you. The message you left was very clear. I don’t know how things got so confused—”
“Jane. Jane Barnett. She must have misunderstood.”
“Whatever, my apologies. As for your jacket—”
“Forget the jacket.”
“Don’t be silly! I’ll have it cleaned and pressed and delivered to—”
“Emily. About that message…”
He hesitated. The lie would be so simple. Something about being busy, about being rushed for time…
But he couldn’t lie to her. He didn’t want to.
“The message,” he said in a low voice, “was stupid and self-serving.”
He had caught her by surprise. He could see it in the way her eyes widened, in the way her lips parted.
His belly knotted.
He wanted to take her in his arms and kiss those gently parted lips as he had kissed them last night, wanted her to respond to him as she had last night.
