The Trouble with Love
Page 71
Did he want to let Cole Sharpe and Lincoln Mathis into the inner workings of his personal life? To Jake’s point…their reputations with women were legendary, but they were his employees, for God’s sake.
Then he flashed to Emma again, wide-eyed and waiting for him.
His thumbs flew across the screen as he responded to the group. Fuck it. Bring Cole and Lincoln.
He’d probably regret it later. But if they could help him get Emma back, it was worth the risk.
Chapter 29
With the exception of holidays, anniversaries, and gynecologist appointments, Thursday nights were girls’ nights.
Sometimes they stayed in with salad and wine, other times they went out for sushi and martinis, and other times they’d get dressed to the nines for champagne and flirting.
But tonight, just a week after the Worst Thanksgiving Ever, every single one of the girls had cancelled on Emma.
Julie’s mother-in-law had come into town to coo over her wedding china. Fine.
Grace had a head cold and was so stuffed up that Emma’s name had come out as Ebba when she’d called to cancel.
And Riley…Riley had a sex date. Which, given Riley’s sexual history…Emma was going to give her this one. The girl had earned it.
Still, she could have used the company. She’d gotten home from North Carolina on Saturday; the trip was somehow worse than she’d anticipated. And that was saying something.
Her father had been doting in his overbearing way, but, as usual, he had this annoying habit where any question about her felt like a deliberate segue into something he wanted to talk about. Making matters worse was his new girlfriend, who, true to the cliché, was a full year younger than Emma and Daisy, and loved hot-pink lipstick, hot-pink nail polish, and hot-pink cars.
A direct quote.
And Daisy…
Daisy had been the most painful part of the trip. Her sister was a pale shell of her usual self. She smiled at all the right moments and laughed when she was supposed to, but there was none of the vibrancy that had long been her twin’s identity.
For the first time in her life, Emma had felt like she was dragging Daisy toward the light instead of the other way around.
And that wasn’t an easy task when your heart felt like it would never beat again.
Emma’s original itinerary had her returning to New York on Sunday evening, but she hadn’t been able to last that long. She’d made some pathetic excuse to her father about work, and returned a day early.
On the way home from JFK, Emma had honest-to-God fantasies about stopping by a pet store and getting a cat.
Emma was allergic to cats.
That’s how bad things were.
So, yeah, she’d needed this girls’ night in a big way, but she’d learned over the past couple of days that there were other ways to forget about the fact that the only guy you’d ever loved had walked away from you. Again.
All Emma had to say on that was thank God for Netflix.
She’d managed to avoid Cassidy at work for the past few days, but that wouldn’t last forever. And when her luck ran out, she was going to need something stronger than wine.
Or, she could get a life, and figure her shit out.
Eventually. Eventually, Emma would do just that. But for now, her evening was looking an awful lot like a nice California wine, sour-cream-and-onion chips, and a Sex and the City marathon.
Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda were women who got what she was going through. When her actual friends were unavailable, at least her HBO ones were always free.
It took Emma longer than usual to hoist herself up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, the venture made more difficult by the bulk toilet paper that had been too good a deal to pass up, as well as the grocery bag stuffed with essentials.
And by essentials, of course, she was talking about the three Cs: Chardonnay, chips, and chocolate.
Perfect.
Emma was struggling to keep the TP under her arm while digging around in her purse for her keys when she saw him.
Somehow she managed not to drop the bag. Or the purse. Or the toilet paper.
Somehow her knees didn’t buckle as she approached the man sitting patiently outside her apartment door.
Somehow she managed not to throw herself at him.
“Cassidy,” she said, coming to stand in front of him. No suit today. He was wearing a navy zipper sweater that brought out the blue of his eyes, jeans, and scruffy-looking boots. A brown leather messenger bag was slung crosswise over his body, different from his usual briefcase.
He climbed nimbly to his feet, holding what seemed to be a medium-sized garbage can in front of him.
“Emma.”
She stared at his trash can.
He stared at her toilet paper.
Admittedly, it was a lot for one person.
She held up her key and lifted her eyebrows. He stood to the side, although once her wrist had twisted the lock open he stepped forward to hold the door open for her.
“My toilet paper thanks you,” she said, moving into the apartment.
He followed her inside uninvited, still holding the trash can.
Emma dropped the toilet paper by the door, along with her purse, then heaved the grocery bag onto the counter as she turned to face Cassidy.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s with the trash can?”
Also, what are you doing here?
Also, you look amazing.
Also, please love me. But don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.
He ignored her questions, both the verbal and silent variety, and set the trash can on the ground by his feet as he watched her pull her junk food out of her bag.
Then he flashed to Emma again, wide-eyed and waiting for him.
His thumbs flew across the screen as he responded to the group. Fuck it. Bring Cole and Lincoln.
He’d probably regret it later. But if they could help him get Emma back, it was worth the risk.
Chapter 29
With the exception of holidays, anniversaries, and gynecologist appointments, Thursday nights were girls’ nights.
Sometimes they stayed in with salad and wine, other times they went out for sushi and martinis, and other times they’d get dressed to the nines for champagne and flirting.
But tonight, just a week after the Worst Thanksgiving Ever, every single one of the girls had cancelled on Emma.
Julie’s mother-in-law had come into town to coo over her wedding china. Fine.
Grace had a head cold and was so stuffed up that Emma’s name had come out as Ebba when she’d called to cancel.
And Riley…Riley had a sex date. Which, given Riley’s sexual history…Emma was going to give her this one. The girl had earned it.
Still, she could have used the company. She’d gotten home from North Carolina on Saturday; the trip was somehow worse than she’d anticipated. And that was saying something.
Her father had been doting in his overbearing way, but, as usual, he had this annoying habit where any question about her felt like a deliberate segue into something he wanted to talk about. Making matters worse was his new girlfriend, who, true to the cliché, was a full year younger than Emma and Daisy, and loved hot-pink lipstick, hot-pink nail polish, and hot-pink cars.
A direct quote.
And Daisy…
Daisy had been the most painful part of the trip. Her sister was a pale shell of her usual self. She smiled at all the right moments and laughed when she was supposed to, but there was none of the vibrancy that had long been her twin’s identity.
For the first time in her life, Emma had felt like she was dragging Daisy toward the light instead of the other way around.
And that wasn’t an easy task when your heart felt like it would never beat again.
Emma’s original itinerary had her returning to New York on Sunday evening, but she hadn’t been able to last that long. She’d made some pathetic excuse to her father about work, and returned a day early.
On the way home from JFK, Emma had honest-to-God fantasies about stopping by a pet store and getting a cat.
Emma was allergic to cats.
That’s how bad things were.
So, yeah, she’d needed this girls’ night in a big way, but she’d learned over the past couple of days that there were other ways to forget about the fact that the only guy you’d ever loved had walked away from you. Again.
All Emma had to say on that was thank God for Netflix.
She’d managed to avoid Cassidy at work for the past few days, but that wouldn’t last forever. And when her luck ran out, she was going to need something stronger than wine.
Or, she could get a life, and figure her shit out.
Eventually. Eventually, Emma would do just that. But for now, her evening was looking an awful lot like a nice California wine, sour-cream-and-onion chips, and a Sex and the City marathon.
Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, and Miranda were women who got what she was going through. When her actual friends were unavailable, at least her HBO ones were always free.
It took Emma longer than usual to hoist herself up the three flights of stairs to her apartment, the venture made more difficult by the bulk toilet paper that had been too good a deal to pass up, as well as the grocery bag stuffed with essentials.
And by essentials, of course, she was talking about the three Cs: Chardonnay, chips, and chocolate.
Perfect.
Emma was struggling to keep the TP under her arm while digging around in her purse for her keys when she saw him.
Somehow she managed not to drop the bag. Or the purse. Or the toilet paper.
Somehow her knees didn’t buckle as she approached the man sitting patiently outside her apartment door.
Somehow she managed not to throw herself at him.
“Cassidy,” she said, coming to stand in front of him. No suit today. He was wearing a navy zipper sweater that brought out the blue of his eyes, jeans, and scruffy-looking boots. A brown leather messenger bag was slung crosswise over his body, different from his usual briefcase.
He climbed nimbly to his feet, holding what seemed to be a medium-sized garbage can in front of him.
“Emma.”
She stared at his trash can.
He stared at her toilet paper.
Admittedly, it was a lot for one person.
She held up her key and lifted her eyebrows. He stood to the side, although once her wrist had twisted the lock open he stepped forward to hold the door open for her.
“My toilet paper thanks you,” she said, moving into the apartment.
He followed her inside uninvited, still holding the trash can.
Emma dropped the toilet paper by the door, along with her purse, then heaved the grocery bag onto the counter as she turned to face Cassidy.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s with the trash can?”
Also, what are you doing here?
Also, you look amazing.
Also, please love me. But don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me.
He ignored her questions, both the verbal and silent variety, and set the trash can on the ground by his feet as he watched her pull her junk food out of her bag.
