Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(16)

He blinked. “You need a fake date.”

I sighed and sat down at the bar. “You remember how my boss mentioned a cocktail party the other night?”

Emerson said nothing, just nodded slowly.

“Well, as you can guess, he thought that I would be taking you. That we were . . . a couple.”

“You don’t have to say it like that.” Emerson winked at me. “I’ll have you know that I’m an excellent date—fake or not.”

“Well, I need a fake one,” I told him, wanting to be clear. “But I need you to pretend that we are dating. That we’re together.”

Emerson leaned forward, his elbows on the bar.

“How together are we?” he asked, his voice going low and husky.

Heat spread through me, and I tried to focus on the topic at hand, not on the way his eyes kept dropping down to my lips.

“Together enough that I would bring you to a party to meet my co-workers,” I said. “My firm is a little . . . old fashioned. Apparently being a single woman doesn’t fit into the corporate culture there.”

“So this is just to convince your bosses that you’re not single?”

I nodded. “Besides, you owe me.”

His eyebrows went up. “Oh, I do?”

“For the noise.” I gestured at the bar. “For keeping me up.”

Emerson grinned at me. “I guess I do.”

“So, Saturday night then?” I asked, feeling relieved. “I can meet you here at seven?”

“Sure,” Emerson said, but before I could turn away, his hand had reached out and grabbed mine.

His skin was warm, and I felt heat rush through me. It was as if the whole world slowed around us and it was just me and Emerson. Nothing else. I felt my breath leave my lungs as he ran his thumb across my palm.

“For the record . . .” Emerson’s eyes were intense, focused on mine. “I would have said yes. No matter what.”





7





Alex





I was nervous. I didn’t have any reason to be nervous, but I couldn’t help it. Tonight had to go well. I was pretty confident in my own abilities to schmooze and make small talk with my co-workers, but how would Emerson do? Would he have anything in common with stuffy lawyer-types, or would they look down their noses at him, the way they did to everyone—including me sometimes?

But it was too late to do anything about it. My firm had all but demanded I bring a date—and I was bringing a date.

At least I didn’t have to worry about what to wear.

I pulled out my trusty Donna Karan little black wrap dress—the one I had found five years ago in a consignment shop for a steal. It was my go-to outfit for any semi-fancy work functions—one that I could change up with jewelry and shoes. I wrestled my blonde hair into a sleek twist and applied some makeup. Nothing too outrageous—if anything, I needed to look generic and respectable. That meant nude lips, minimal eyeliner, and just a hint of blush. I added some faux diamond studs to my ears and slipped into my trusty black pumps, and I looked like I was ready. For a funeral.

Exactly how I had intended to look.

Even though it was spring, I grabbed my black pashmina and headed downstairs to meet Emerson. Construction was still in full swing, so I wove carefully through the sawdust and noise, hoping that Emerson was dressed appropriately for the evening.

When I spotted him, all of my fears dropped away, replaced by something a little more intense. Because he was dressed perfectly for the event, in a suit with a tie. He even had a pocket square and cufflinks. And he looked good.

Really, really good.

The suit, which was black, fit him perfectly, emphasizing his broad shoulders. His shirt was light gray with a patterned black tie—but subtly patterned, nothing that would make him look out of place among my co-workers. His hair was combed, but still had a hint of unruliness.

He was delicious.

Well, technically, he was leaning over the bar, examining a document. He hadn’t noticed me yet. I sidled up to him, the click of my heels on the hardwood floors muffled by sound of construction.

“What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?” I purred, once I had gotten close enough.

Emerson jumped in surprise, and I laughed.

“Getting the shit scared out of me, apparently,” he said, smiling as he turned to face me.

But the smile faded as he got his first look at me.

“Wow.” He let out a low whistle. “You look gorgeous.”

I could feel my blush rising from my chest, up my neck and across my cheeks. The look in his eyes practically set me on fire—all hunger and lust—exactly the way you wanted your date to look at you.

Too bad this was all pretend.

“You look pretty good yourself,” I managed, my voice husky.

“Thanks.” Emerson kept staring at me, his eyes sweeping up and down, as if he was imagining what I was wearing underneath my simple black dress.

For a brief moment I thought of informing him about my black lace bra and matching thong. But I knew that doing so would be setting us down a dangerous road. A sexy, hot road, but a dangerous one.

“Shall we go?” I asked.

Emerson blinked, as if trying to rid himself of his own naughty thoughts.