13. Emma
13
Emma
G arrett peels his gaze away from me and takes a long, slow sip of his whiskey. I watch the way his rough fingers curl around the delicate glass, and the way his throat bobs under the scruff of his beard when he swallows.
“Another drink?” a voice asks, but it barely registers.
A soft touch on my shoulder brings me back to reality. I look over at the man sitting beside me and force a smile.
When I sat down half an hour ago, he gave me a friendly greeting from across the bar and asked if he could join me. Since then, I’ve learned that his name is Jeff, he works in IT, and likes to restore vintage pinball machines in his spare time. He’s got light brown hair with a bit of a curl, kind eyes, and a smooth, squarish face that makes him look younger than he is. He’s funny and polite…but he lives in Austin.
“Would you like another drink?” Jeff repeats.
“Oh, um, no…I probably shouldn’t. I’ve got a long day tomorrow.”
“Sounds like it,” Jeff says with a laugh. I’ve already filled him in on my bizarre work trip situation. He polishes off the last sip of his beer and clears his throat. “So, I know it’s a long shot, but could I give you my number? If you ever find yourself in Austin, I’d love to see you again.”
“Sure, that would be great,” I smile.
I’ve never been to Austin before, but who knows? I’d never been to Park City, Utah before either…yet, here I am. It’s not completely out of the question that I could end up in Austin one day. Maybe even for my next job…
A pang of guilt strums through me as I glance over at Garrett. Since when do I feel guilty about quitting? I must have Stockholm Syndrome or something. My asshole boss has essentially kidnapped me, and now I’m feeling the warm fuzzies towards him just because he’s managed to not be a total jerk on a couple occasions. Whatever’s happening, I need to snap the hell out of it.
I feel Garrett’s eyes fixed on me as Jeff programs his number into my phone and closes out his tab.
“Do you want me to walk you back to your room?” Jeff asks with a glimmer of hope in his voice.
“No, um, my boss just walked in, so I should probably go say hello.”
Jeff glances over at Garrett, who is already staring pointedly in his direction. Jeff gives him an easy smile and casual wave, which Garrett responds to with nothing but the slightest, unfriendliest of nods.
“Alright, well…goodnight,” Jeff says awkwardly as he stands to leave. “It was nice meeting you, Emma.”
“You too, Jeff. Thank you for the drink.”
With that, Jeff turns to leave, and I’m left with the grumpy man staring me down from across the bar.
I take a deep breath and stand up to walk to the opposite side of the bar. Garrett takes another long drink from his glass as I sit down beside him.
“New friend?” he asks, looking unjustly annoyed.
“He was nice,” I shrug.
I’m not sure what else to say. Everything has been so weird with Garrett the past few days. I can’t tell if he’s irritated or just amused that a man was paying attention to me.
Despite all the weird little moments that have transpired between us recently, there’s still one thing I’m sure of: I’ll never forget the look Garrett gave me the first time we met. The way his eyes traveled from my face to my feet and back up again. The way the corners of his mouth tipped into a frown. The way he narrowed his eyes slightly before he said, “You’re my new assistant?”
And just like that, the pang of guilt I felt a minute ago evaporates, and I’m back to fantasizing about the moment I can tell Garrett that I quit.
“Would you like another whiskey, sir?” the bartender asks.
Garrett nods.
“And another vodka tonic for you, miss?”
Normally, I would say no, but something tells me that I’ll need a second drink if I’m going to sit here with Garrett, who is clearly in one of his moods. It must be a cookie day, and here I am, without a cookie in sight. Alcohol will have to suffice.
“Yes, please,” I tell the bartender.
We sit inches apart, silently watching the bartender pour our drinks. When he sets them down in front of us, Garrett raises the glass to his lips. I’m close enough to hear the sound of his throat as he swallows. We both stare straight ahead as a thick cloud of tension settles over us.
Eventually, the silence gets the better of me. “Are you excited for surfing lessons?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never been surfing before,” I say, even though that’s probably obvious.
“That’s ironic,” Garrett says in a low voice.
“Why?”
“Because I was just sitting here thinking about whether or not to send you home.”
“Oh,” I say quietly before pressing my glass to my lips and taking a small sip.
My heart drops a little. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think I’m actually having fun. Even though the cycling tour was a disaster, I’m still looking forward to the rest of the trip. In a way, I think this is what I need. A distraction from all the stress in my life right now. A chance to clear my head and figure out what’s next for me.
We’re both quiet for a couple of minutes. Garrett stares at the television above the bar, but I know he couldn’t care less about watching highlights from some college football game. I run my finger through the condensation on my glass, carving a trail from top to bottom.
“Do I get a say in whether or not I go home early?” I ask without meeting his eyes.
After a long pause, he mumbles, “I suppose.”
He seems genuinely torn up over the decision, which is both a fascinating development and a ray of hope. Maybe I stand a chance of sticking around if I plead my case.
“Then I’d like to stay,” I tell him.
“Why? I thought you were angry that I drug you along in the first place.”
“I was,” I admit. “I thought you were trying to torture me. Or maybe just flat-out trying to kill me. But now that I’m here, I don’t hate it.”
Garrett raises his eyebrows and looks at me. I can’t tell if the plexiglass is back in place, or if pounding back a glass of whiskey has just left him a little hazy-eyed.
“I know, it’s shocking,” I laugh.
“You can’t tell me that you enjoyed that cycling tour…”
“Okay, that part wasn’t great., but I’m looking forward to the next tour. If there’s one thing I’ve been excited about, it’s spending time at the beach and learning to surf,” I say.
Garrett’s lips tilt into a frown. I’m probably fighting a losing battle.
Nervously, I take another sip of my drink and accept my fate. “Look, if you’re going to send me home, there’s not much I can do about it, but can you just tell me now? I don’t want to go to bed dreaming of the beach only to wake up and find out that I’m on the first flight back to Denver.”
Garrett takes a long sip and stares off across the bar.
“You can stay for now,” he finally says, looking miserable. “We can reevaluate after California.”
Thanks, buddy. Glad to see we’re really making some progress on this trip. If my expectations with Garrett weren’t already so low, I might actually be offended.
“Under one condition,” he adds.
“What?”
“We have to come up with a better backstory. The dog trainer thing is ridiculous. I’m not going to spend the next two weeks answering questions about dogs throwing up in shoes.”
“I thought you were doing great,” I say sarcastically. “Maybe professional dog training can be your fallback career if this whole outdoor empire thing doesn’t work out for you.”
Garrett lets out a low laugh beside me. “I doubt Ron would agree with you.”
“Who’s Ron?”
“My dog.”
“Wait, you have a dog?!?” I ask as if Garrett just told me he routinely walks on the moon. “What kind of dog? Is it like a three-headed twelve-foot-tall hellhound sort of deal?”
“No, he’s a Bassett Hound. Just one head, and only about two feet tall.”
“A Bassett Hound?” I repeat, arching an eyebrow. “ You have a floppy eared, wrinkly legged little dog that you named Ron?”
“Is that really so hard to believe?”
“Yes,” I say without hesitation. “Where is this alleged dog of yours right now then?”
“Staying with my parents.”
“You have parents?” I say, feigning the same level of shock.
Garrett shakes his head disapprovingly as he laughs. “Yes, and before you ask…no, they are not three-headed twelve-foot-tall hell beasts either.”
“Huh,” I say introspectively. “I always just sort of assumed that you snuck into the human world through a secret hellmouth or shot out of a volcano or something.”
“I’m already regretting my decision not to send you home,” Garrett says with a hint of amusement.
“You’d miss me,” I joke but instantly regret it.
If the first rule of cookies is that we don’t talk about cookies, then the first rule of almost kissing your boss in a sleezy motel bathroom is that we definitely don’t talk about it. We don’t even come close to mentioning it. Implying that Garrett would have any emotional reaction to me leaving early feels dangerously close to crossing that line.
The words linger in the air between us. I am frozen stiff in my seat, bracing myself for Garrett’s snarky response. If I’m lucky, he’ll just ignore me completely. We can both pretend that I never said a word.
Garrett lifts his glass to his lips and finishes off his drink in one quick swig. He sets the glass down on the bar, but his fingers remain curled around it. He stares contemplatively at the empty glass and mutters, “You’re not wrong.”
“I’m not?” I ask, thoroughly stunned by his words.
Garrett shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Our eyes connect for a second before he turns to the bartender and motions for the check. After throwing a few twenties down and telling the guy behind the bar to keep the change, Garrett seems reluctant to turn his attention back to me.
“We should go to bed,” he says as he stands up.
My brain trips over his words. He obviously means that we should both go to our own beds in our very separate rooms, far away from each other. My brain knows this, but the rest of my body doesn’t get the memo. Instead, Garrett’s deep voice rumbles through me and settles right between my legs. It has to be the alcohol making me feel this way. Or maybe Jeff. That’s it…probably just a delayed reaction to the pleasantly attractive and totally appropriate man who bought me a drink earlier. Whose name was most definitely Jeff…right?
Or was it James?
Yeah, this can’t be good.
“Coming?” Garrett asks when he realizes I haven’t moved.
“Yep,” I eke out as I scramble off the barstool.
We wait for the elevator in silence. The air crackles around us. I can feel his eyes on my hazy reflection in the metal elevator doors. When the elevator arrives, I step inside first. Garrett trails a moment behind me. He takes his place beside me as the elevator doors close. We’re standing close enough that our arms touch as the elevator begins to move.
I hear the click of Garrett’s throat as he swallows. When he speaks, his voice is tight and his eyes are fixed straight ahead. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
And just like that, I’m back to wanting to slap him.
Of course, I would never actually lay a hand on anyone, much less my boss. But there’s just enough liquor flowing through my veins to do the next best thing. Turning on my heel, I square off to face him.
“You do realize that you’ve been a jerk to me every day for the past eleven months, and now you’re apologizing for the first remotely nice thing you’ve ever said to me?”
When Garrett slowly turns to face me, I realize I miscalculated. We’re too close. As he blows out a frustrated breath, I can feel it dance across my skin. I can taste the expensive whiskey on his breath. Feel the brush of his shirt against my clothes. I could take a step back, but I refuse to be the one who backs down.
“I’m just trying to keep things professional between us,” he says through a tightly clenched jaw.
“For most people, there isn’t such a fine line between being professional and being a total dick.”
Yep, I just called my boss a dick. To his face. His very attractive face, which is only inches from mine. If he wasn’t already planning to send me back to Denver in the morning, he certainly is now.
A dark look passes over Garrett’s face. My pulse races under my skin as I mirror his heated glare. When I reach up to stubbornly brush a strand of hair out of my face while we continue this little staring contest, I’m reminded of just how close we’re standing. My hand brushes Garrett’s chest. He takes a sharp breath but doesn’t break eye contact.
“What did I say about the name calling?” he finally grits out.
“Fire me then,” I say, raising a defiant eyebrow at him.
My stomach does a somersault. Please don’t actually fire me.
He wouldn’t.
I don’t think…
We stay locked in a stare for several fierce heartbeats. The same stray lock of hair creeps back into my peripheral vision. This time, it’s Garrett’s hand that moves through the narrow crevice between us and brushes the strand of hair away of my face. His fingers hover there, lightly grazing my skin. His eyes are still fixed on mine, but there’s a different type of heat behind them. It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the elevator, and we’re both surviving off a single breath that flows between us.
“Do it,” I challenge.
I’m not daring him to fire me, and we both know it.
Garrett’s eyes dip to my lips, which are already tingling with anticipation. His fingertips brush against the sensitive skin just below my ear, and I shiver at his light touch.
“Emma,” he says my name like a warning. His gaze flicks from my lips to my eyes.
“Do it,” I repeat.
The first thing I feel is his hand cupping my neck. His thumb traces the line of my jaw, tilting my face up to meet his. The intensity of his stare brings a whole herd of butterflies to life in my stomach.
It crosses my mind that I probably don’t even know how to kiss someone like Garrett North. Someone intense and brooding. Someone who’s never taken me on a proper date. Someone who probably doesn’t even like me.
Ninety-nine percent of the kisses in my life have come after a series of polite dates with well-mannered men. They walk me to my door at the end of the night and fidget awkwardly while they build up the courage to ask permission to kiss me. What follows is usually a timid but lingering peck followed by an awkward round of good nights.
This is not that. This kiss is an eruption of bottled-up frustration and conflicting emotions. Garrett’s lips crash against mine, and it feels like my body bursts into flames. My body wants to give into the warmth, but my brain is tripping all over the unexpected turn of events, firing off a series of warning bells and sirens in my head.
What am I doing?
You’re kissing your boss in an elevator, you idiot . I roll my eyes behind closed eyelids. This has to be one of the worst decisions of my entire life.
Garrett’s fingers slide up into my hair as he deepens our kiss. His other hand snakes down around the curve of my breast before landing on my waist, fingers pressing firmly into my soft skin. A deep groan rises from Garrett’s throat. I feel it on my tongue and all the way down to the aching spot between my legs.
Okay, so maybe this isn’t the worst decision…
An odd mixture of desire and contempt collide inside of me. How dare he be such a good kisser. My tongue wrestles with Garrett’s. My fingers claw at his skin. Whether I want to rip off his clothes or rip off his head remains unclear, even to me. I like the way he kisses. I like the way his body feels against mine. And I hate how much I like both of those things.
His palm presses against my stomach, keeping me in place as he puts an inch of space between us. Dark gray eyes search mine. His chest rises and falls in quick, heavy breaths. I stare back, flustered and panting.
Garrett licks his lips, drawing my attention to his mouth before he speaks. “You’re giving me mixed signals. I can’t tell if you actually want to kiss me or kill me.”
“Why can’t it be both?” I ask, only half joking.
Garrett shakes his head, putting another inch of distance between us. Instead of easing the tension, it pulls it taut between us, like a rubber band waiting to snap. It feels like it’s out of our control, and we’re both bracing for whatever comes next.
“You have to choose, Emma,” he says. “I’m not going to touch you if you can’t even admit that you want me to.”
“You’re touching me right now,” I point out.
Both of our eyes fall to my stomach, where his hand is splayed wide over my shirt. Garrett’s nostrils flare as he lets out a punctuated breath of frustration.
“That’s not what I mean,” he says. “I’m giving us both some space to figure out what the hell we’re doing.”
“We’re making out in an elevator.”
“Obviously. The question is: do you actually want to be making out with me in an elevator?”
The answer is yes, but the word stays stubbornly lodged in my throat. All the jagged edges of the word bob painfully in my throat when I swallow, like it’s begging to be set free. Unfortunately, my pride simply won’t allow me to admit to Garrett North that I want to keep kissing him here in this elevator.
Garrett’s eyes search mine, looking for an answer. When I stare back, I find an unmistakable glimmer of desperation on his face that catches me off guard. My lips part, the answer sitting right on the tip of my tongue. Just when I’m about to bravely release it into the wild, the elevator stills and the doors open with a soft ding.
Our reluctance is palpable as we pull apart and exit the elevator. We step into the quiet hallway on the top floor of the hotel, neither of us looking directly at each other.
An unexpected wave of disappointment washes over me. Garrett’s question is rendered moot, my silence the only answer. The taste of him lingers on my lips. The ghost of his touch is printed on my skin. But when I risk a glance at his face, his expression is hard and closed off again.
As I walk down the hallway towards our rooms, I try to convince myself it’s for the best that we don’t let anything else happen between us. It’s a terrible idea on so many levels. He’s my boss, and we hate each other.
Except, I don’t think I actually hate Garrett.
For some reason, the idea of him believing that I don’t want to kiss him bothers me more than it should. The thought of going back to our separate rooms bothers me even more.
My hands shake as I reach into my pocket and pull out the key card to my room. I slide the key into the slot and wait for the little light to turn green before opening the door. Garrett pauses for a second behind me then I hear his footsteps continue down the long hallway.
Summoning all my courage, I take a deep breath and say his name. The footsteps stop, and I look up just in time to see him turning around. His expression is still closed and unreadable. He looks at me but doesn’t say a word.
“Yes,” I say.
His eyebrows draw together in confusion.
“I wanted to kiss you in the elevator,” I clarify.
Silence stretches out between us. Garrett quietly studies me from a few feet away, his mask slipping.
“And now?” he asks.
I nod.
We both stand completely still. I’m not even sure that either of us is breathing. Every muscle in my body wants to march down the hall and kiss him again, but my brain is telling me to be logical and my heart reminds me to be careful.
I take a deep breath, flash Garrett one last suggestive look, and step inside my room, leaving the door open behind me. It’s an invitation with plausible deniability. If he doesn’t follow me, I can convince myself that nothing really happened. I just forgot to close my door, and we both went back to our own rooms. It wasn’t really an invitation; therefore, it can’t really be a rejection.
Pausing halfway inside the hotel room, my anxiety peaks. If Garrett goes back to his own room, it’s going to be a long night of working out some serious tension on my own. Then I hear his footsteps drawing closer. Releasing a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I turn around to find Garrett standing just inside the door.
“This okay?” he asks quietly.
I nod. “Close the door.”
The sound of the latch clicking into place is almost deafening compared to our silence.
Garrett crosses the room slowly but not hesitantly, closing the gap between us. I swallow down the lump in my throat as Garrett’s finger traces my jaw and tilts my chin up. The second that his lips brush against mine, the world goes still. We both feel it, like we’re holding our breath, waiting to see if the world will collapse under our feet. When it doesn’t, Garrett’s mouth captures mine again with more urgency. His hands find my waist and pull me tight against him. The kiss deepens as my back connects with the wall. I’m practically clawing to get closer to him, but it’s no use. We’re as close as we can get without removing our clothes.
Oh, god. Are we - ?
Am I about to have sex with Garrett North?
My brain stumbles to catch up to my body, which already seems well aware that it’s a distinct possibility.
Garrett’s palm slides down my stomach. I know my soft stomach feels nothing like his hard muscles, which my hands are busy exploring. I nearly pull away, but then he groans in my ear. A quiet, low growl that tells me Garrett likes the way I feel against him.
The rock-solid ridge in his jeans supports this theory as well.
Unable to help myself, I subtly tilt my hips to press myself against his length. I gasp as Garrett’s fingers dig into my skin, drawing me closer still. Urging me to do it again. His other hand creeps up the back of my neck, tangling in my hair as his lips move to my neck. His beard tickles my skin as he works his way lower.
I need this so much. I want it so badly. Consequences be damned. Maybe Garrett and I just need to get this out of our systems. Maybe it will even make things easier between us. And if not…well, they can’t really get much worse, can they?
My fingers work to unfasten Garrett’s belt while his hands roam over my curves. My heart races with the knowledge that I’m about to see my boss naked. I’m about to put my hands on parts of him that I’ve never even dared to think of. And judging by the way my body is reacting to his hands and his mouth, I’m really going to enjoy it.
Tension winds tightly through my body, already searching for a release. He unzips my jeans, and his palm slides down over my panties. Fingers slip between my thighs, applying delicious pressure to my aching center. When I moan into Garrett’s ear, his fingers flex against my skin.
“Please, Garrett…please…more.”
Apparently, I am not above begging for it. Normally, the thought would embarrass me, but right now it only turns me on more to imagine Garrett making me beg for it.
As if he’s reading every dirty thought in my mind, Garrett pins me to the wall and runs his thumb over my jaw as he speaks. His eyes are dark and hazy, but for once, I feel like he’s really looking at me.
“Beg again,” he commands.
“Please,” I start to say, but it’s interrupted by a hiccup. Just a soft bubble of noise that catches in my throat, barely loud enough to hear. But at that moment, it might as well be a glass skyscraper shattering to the ground.
A look flashes over Garrett’s face. A curse word disappears on his lips. Suddenly, he’s taking a step back, withdrawing his hand from between my legs. His other hand moves gently but firmly to my waist, prying us apart once again.
“We can’t,” he says. “This is a mistake. I’m your boss, and you’ve been drinking.”
“ We’ve been drinking,” I correct tersely. “And it was only two drinks.”
Okay, so two drinks on me looks a lot like three or four drinks on most people, but I’m not drunk. Not even close.
Garrett shakes his head. “I should go.”
I want to argue, but there’s no point. The spell is broken. Even as Garrett gives me one last lingering look, I feel the hazy glass creeping back up between us. He turns to leave, shutting the door behind him. I let the wall catch me as I watch him go.