Bossy asshole. “Would you like me to feed you?” I say with a fake smile.
He smiles back, except he looks oddly…satisfied. And slightly teasing. My apartment feels too hot all of a sudden.
“It’s the least you can do for what I had to suffer last night,” he says.
It’s unfair that I remember nothing. And he’s going to hold that over me forever at the rate this is going. On the other hand, it looks like he brought me home safely and didn’t try anything weird, so I probably should feed him something. Especially considering it’s already after ten. I bet Sasha has some stale cereal in her section of the pantry I can filch.
“How about we get some brunch?” he says, before I can offer the cereal. “Come on.”
Chapter Fourteen
Amy
Emmett drives. Strapped into the passenger seat, I keep my mouth shut. My head hurts too much to discuss anything tricky—like sex or sex-related stuff. The only thing I can talk about on autopilot is work, but that’s the last thing I’m going to bring up. I’m not reminding the man of some task he can assign me. I plan to have this day fully off.
You know it’s sad when the only thing you can think to talk about with your boss is work and sex.
I ignore the judgmental voice. It doesn’t have eyes to see how gorgeous Emmett is.
He gives me a glance from time to time, but the only thing he can see is that my mouth is curved into a pat smile, since I’m wearing reflective sunglasses.
Emmett doesn’t try to start a conversation, but that doesn’t mean his mind is empty and calm. Or even innocent. He could be thinking about creativ
e ways to make money in the bond market. Although fixed income security isn’t exciting enough to be his thing, he “dabbles,” according to some of the interviews I read about him.
Or he could be thinking about sex.
Of course, but it’s probably sex in general, not sex with me specifically. Men supposedly think about sex every seven seconds. No man can think about specific sex with a specific person that often. Men prefer more variety.
He could be thinking about various positions with you.
That conjures up my dirty bent-over-in-his-office dream. I squeeze my eyes shut to force it out my head.
Emmett stops his Lamborghini in front of the Aylster Hotel. I eye the swanky building thinking, Uh-oh. Nieve, where I had my interview with Marion Blaire, is on the first floor. And it’s famous for brunch. When Dad visited, I brought him here and we had the most fabulous time.
Unfortunately, I don’t foresee a fabulous time with Emmett Lasker.
After handing his car off to the valet, Emmett leads me across the marble floor of the lobby. Chandeliers sparkle above us from the tall ceiling. Well-heeled guests lounge in cushy seats. The air smells faintly of the hotel’s signature scent—something floral and slightly spicy that conjures up a feeling of opulent indulgence.
Emmett places a hand at my elbow like a gentleman. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s my boss and I’ve been dragged here like a hapless hamster to a snake cage, this would all be great.
Please don’t go to Nieve. Not Nieve.
But, of course, we end up in front of the gorgeous ivory bistro. And also of course, the same maître d’ from Friday is standing in the entrance with a warm, welcoming smile. And he recognizes me.
“Good morning. Welcome back.” He beams at me.
“Hi.”
Emmett gives me a sideways glance. “You come here often? We can try some other place…”
“No, no,” I say hurriedly. “It was, like, last month.”
“Last month?”
“With Rick.” I cringe inwardly. I really should’ve said with Dad, except he doesn’t visit that often and I had a brain fart. Dates with Rick were always on budget. Nieve would’ve blown twenty dates’ worth in one shot.
Now Emmett’s staring at me like he can see straight down to the core of my lying soul. It’s making me want to drop to my knees and confess.