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CHAPTERFOUR
By the timeEmma dragged herself into the office on Friday, she was eighteen degrees beyond exhausted. Thankfully, David had survived surgery—a double bypass with two stents placed—but was still hospitalized. He was out of the Intensive Care Unit, though, so everyone was hopeful.
Mary had popped in and out of the office that week, but she never left her husband for long periods, which left Emma as de facto managing partner, with Brad as her right-hand man. With all that was going on, she hadn’t brought up the whole “don’t call Emma” thing, and he hadn’t mentioned it. She still planned to have it out with him, but as with examining a witness, timing was important. And right now, the timing was as far from perfect as it could be. She was too damn exhausted as it was. If she said the wrong thing and Brad walked, his departure would double her workload.
The suffocating fatigue may have been worth it, though. She was on to something hinky regarding the Lone-Star Tech lawsuits. If her hunch bore fruit, Mr. Bishop and his daughter would have a truly awful day in court.
Work, however, wasn’t the only thing keeping her up at night. Fending off intrusive thoughts of a certain gorgeous billionaire also kept her nights occupied. When she actually drifted off to sleep, thoughts of him wormed their way into her dreams, and there, they morphed and intensified until she woke breathless and needy.
Maybe she was about to have another nervous breakdown.
As she stepped to Gwen’s desk, in a vestibule down the hallway from Emma’s office, she curled her lips into something she hoped passed as a smile. “Is it time to go home yet?”
“Oh, sweet, naïve, Lady Boss. I’m not gonna answer that.” Gwen offered a placating smile and held out a steaming purple mug. “Instead, I’m gonna tell you how pretty you look while shoving this latte into your hand.”
“Caffeine!” Emma hugged the cup to her bosom. “I mean, I’d prefer to be home in bed, but I’ll take this. Strike that. I’dpreferto be on the beach in Cancún with a margarita in both hands, but this will do.”
“I could probably scrounge up one of those cute little drink umbrellas to add a little ambiance to your latte?”
“I’ll allow it.”
“Or better yet…” Gwen pushed to her feet and leaned over her desk, lowering her voice. “I could add some coconut rum, too. That way, we’d have ourselves the makings of an interesting Friday.”
“Don’t push your luck.”
“But I live to push my luck.” Gwen tossed her head back and laughed maniacally. “Love the outfit, by the way.”
“Thank you.” Emma did her best to channel about ten percent of Gwen’s energy and did a little twirl so that her blue, tan, and yellow skirt flared out. She’d paired the skirt with a deep blue button down that tied at the navel. Unlike Monday’s accidental work outfit, no midriff showed.
Gwen fanned herself overly dramatically. “Is it another beach buy?”
“Sorta. I had to tweak it to make it work appropriate, but yeah, I bought this for the beach.”
“Either way,” Gwen said with a wink, “you look great.”
After arranging lunch—they’d have tamales delivered for their weekly Friday working lunch—Emma headed to her office. Brad gave her a brief salute as she passed by the front glass-way of his office. She waved back and did her best to smile, all the while seething inside.
Soon,she thought as she pushed open her office door. They’d have it—
Emma froze. Her sudden stop sent her latte swooshing over the rim of her mug. Caramel-colored liquid rushed over her hand and dripped to the hardwood floor like liquid applause to her embarrassment. She did her best to ignore it.
“What’re you doing here?” The question tumbled from her mouth.
“And good morning to you, too, Emma.” The left side of Noah Whitlow’s mouth tipping up, he unfolded himself from the chair in the corner sitting area. He looked so dang gorgeous that she had to will her heart back into a normal rhythm.
“What’re you doing here?” she repeated.
“I wanted to check on you. You were upset the last time we were together.” He snagged some tissues from the container on the corner of her desk. “Here. I’ll trade you. You seem to be dripping.” He lifted the mug from her hand and pressed the tissues into her palm before grabbing some more and cleaning off her cup. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m fine,” she stammered.
“Is that why there are circles under your eyes—circles that were not there on Monday?”
“I’ve put in a lot of hours to get caught up.”
“Yes, you have, and your dedication hasn’t gone unnoticed, which is why I want to take you to dinner tonight.” He finished with her cup and then moved on to cleaning her hand.
“You want to-to-towhat?”
