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Poor, poor Emelia.
I hold my hand out for her to come closer, and she lets me capture her wrist and tug. I don’t pull her down onto my lap. I’m practicing restraint. I turn her hand so it’s facing up, and then I drag the pad of my pointer finger along her palm lines, feeling her slight shiver.
“What did you do last night when you got home?” I ask.
“Made myself dinner, took a shower…”
“And?”
She tries to close her hand and curl her fingers as if all the evidence of what she did last night is right there for me to see.
I doubt I hide the fact that I’m gloating when I respond suggestively, “You could have called me…”
“I could have…yes. The other day, I was so annoyed with myself for looking at your business card so much I threw it in the trash. I buried it way down at the bottom, under some takeout containers, but it doesn’t matter—I have your number memorized.”
The edge of my mouth tips up.
I release her hand and sit back in my chair. She’s still standing before me, and I simply take her in, memorizing the pink hue of her lip stain, the way it complements the color on her cheeks.
“What do you want from me?” I ask, hoping if I catch her off guard, she’ll feed me the truth for once.
She takes a long time answering and finally does it with a shake of her head. “I don’t know.”
There’s our problem.
Emelia can seem meek and small at times, but that means she can be elusive too. She’s so good at escaping and slipping away.
“You told me the other night you were pretending,” I offer, trying to see if that gets her talking.
She nods but otherwise doesn’t reply.
I don’t fight against the silence. What more can I say?
She tips her head to the side, studying me, and her eyes narrow.
“I’m not sure if I ever told you, but I’d just gotten out of a long relationship when I moved to Boston. My boyfriend at the time had cheated on me.”
I hum, though inside, I battle against a bout of rage. How could anyone be so foolish?
“Did you love him?”
“No,” she says confidently, assuredly. “But that doesn’t negate the fact that I just got out of a relationship.”
Ah, I see what she’s doing here: building her case against us.
“And besides that…you’re my boss.Andyou’re too old.”
That makes me almost laugh, but I hold it together as she continues her list.
“You live in another world. Your bathroom is the size of my entire apartment…”
“Emelia.”
Her gaze suddenly ignites. “That.” She points her finger at my chest accusingly. “You say my name, and it sends a shiver down my spine. You hold entirely too much power.”
She’s really trying to make it out like I’m a villain.
I raise a brow, sounding less than impressed. “Are you done?”
