The Trouble With Love(41)

Alex winced.

“There’s a how-to on under-the-tree sex?” Emma asked. “Don’t you just do it?”

Riley gave her a patient look. “Five words: pine needles up the ass.”

“Jesus,” Alex muttered. “Julie, how’s your story?”

“Not started,” she said with a cheeky grin. “I get married in two weeks. I’ve been prioritizing. But it’ll get done.”

He clicked his pen. “Refresh my memory?”

“?‘Surviving the In-Laws.’?”

“Speaking from personal experience?” Riley asked.

Julie sighed. “Mitchell’s mom is planning ahead and insisting on a posed family photo in front of the Christmas tree. She bought me a red headband. With sparkles.”

“Pretty,” Emma said. “Do you get to wear a jumper, too?”

Alex rubbed his temple. A headache was definitely on its way. “Emma? Your story?”

Her eyes locked on his. “It’s fine.”

Everyone looked at her, waiting for her to say more.

She didn’t.

Then everyone looked at him, waiting for him to demand more.

He didn’t.

Alex looked away from her as though he didn’t care one way or another about her story. As though he didn’t want to know every little detail about the guy who’d been kissing her in the hallway the night before.

He did want to know.

But he didn’t trust his own reaction. Not with an entire conference room full of women watching him.

“Okay, fitness team, you’re up.”

He swore he saw Emma give her friends a smug smile out of the corner of his eye, and he gritted his teeth. If she thought she’d gotten out of having to update him on her progress, she had another think coming.

The second the meeting was over, Alex was the first one to the door, but he stopped and let everyone else exit before him. He did so under the guise of calling them each by name and letting them know he was here if they needed him, despite the fact that he didn’t understand girly bullshit.

But mostly he was waiting for her.

She was the last one out. Intentionally so, if he knew her at all. Which he did.

She was set to walk right past him, when he said her name. “Emma.”

She paused, not looking at him, and he almost smiled. He was almost starting to enjoy this game they played. A few months ago, the ignoring of each other had been complete and genuine. But watching her ignore him now, even though they’d shared a hamburger and wine last weekend, gave him a strange sense of intimacy. As though the two of them held a secret.

“Can you come by my office later?”

She looked at him then, her eyes wide. “You mean I’m actually getting a meeting with my illustrious boss? I hope you let me type something for you. Maybe I can bring you coffee? Do you need me to fetch your dry-cleaning first?”

He rolled his eyes. “Just be there. Two o’clock?”

She rolled her eyes back and walked out of the room without a response.

He figured there was a fifty-fifty chance of her showing up. He almost relished the surprise.

Alex went back to his office on the Oxford floor of the building, only to have a cluster of fires to put out. The most recent cover shoot had been a disaster because the action-movie star had been stoned. Yet another advertiser had pulled out. Two of his designers had called in sick. One of Cole’s scorned women had come by seeking vengeance. Two of Lincoln’s women had come by looking for an office booty call.

Two o’clock rolled around before he knew it, and he hated himself for checking his watch and the door every thirty seconds.

She arrived at 2:10.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said, gesturing her in.

She put a hand over her chest, and her pretty eyes went wide as she slipped into a southern accent. “Why, goodness me, Mr. Cassidy, I should never think to stand up a man expectin’ me—you just never said whether I should be gettin’ you a coffee or pickin’ up your dry-cleanin’ or—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he muttered. “I’m sorry I issued a command like that. It was poorly done.”

She studied him, then entered the office and sat across from him. She was wearing a dark green dress with a high neck and wide belt. Her heels were at least four inches high, her hair pulled back into some sort of knot thing, and she looked…untouchable.

Which was too bad, because his hands itched to untidy her hair, to wrinkle the too-perfect dress, to remind her of how it had been— He cleared his throat.

She crossed her legs and leveled a stony stare at him.

He stared right back. “Give me a break, Emma. You think I want to be your boss right now?”

“You didn’t hesitate to use the opportunity to give me a story you knew would be miserable.”

“You didn’t look so miserable the other night when some guy had his tongue down your throat.”

She tilted her head. “You know, if Camille were here, she’d tell me that kiss would only serve to make my story more interesting.”

Alex clicked his pen and fought for calm. She was right, of course. He should be responding to her as editor in chief. Not as personal anything.

But with every day that passed, Alex seemed to grow more aware of their history. More conscious of their unfinished business.