Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Emma
T his morning I’m supposed to be catching up on my work, but my mind is anything but focused. I’m sitting at my desk, staring at my laptop screen, but all I can think about is him—Miles. Or rather, Mr. Dawson, as he’s apparently known in the wine world. I spent last night researching him online, even though that was the last thing I should have been doing. But it doesn’t matter anymore since the tasting is over.
The way our paths crossed at the winery yesterday feels like a cruel cosmic joke. Of all the people to show up as Brennen’s wine critic, it had to be my one-night stand. The guy I snuck away from without so much as a goodbye. And now, here he is, holding the future of Celtic Knot in his hands.
Only you, Emma. Only you.
I let out a frustrated sigh, raking my fingers through my hair as I glance at the time on my phone. It’s barely nine o’clock in the morning, and I’ve already had two mugs of coffee, but none of it is doing much to clear the haze clouding my brain. I should be reviewing some contracts for Brennen’s winery or finishing the follow-up complaint I filed with the State of Florida on my former classmate, Frank Morely, for mishandling evidence, juror intimidation, and a slew of other unethical tactics all in the name of winning a case for someone who was clearly in the wrong. But instead, I’m replaying yesterday’s awkward encounter with Miles on a loop.
The look in his eyes when he realized who I was—the shock, the flicker of recognition—was like a slap in the face. And I was no better. I froze. I didn’t know what to say or how to act. How could I, when the man I’d been tangled up with the night before suddenly stood in front of me as my brother’s wine critic?
I shake my head, trying to focus on the work in front of me. Brennen is counting on me to keep everything together, especially with the review looming over the winery. I owe it to him to be fully present, to handle this situation with a level head.
I decide to finish completing the follow-up to my complaint against Frank Morely. In law school, I was sure he cheated his way to his degree, but I never had any way to prove it. Well, now I have proof that he’s the sleazy lawyer I always knew he would turn out to be.
Ruby Collins, a long-time client of mine who had me oversee her mother’s estate, reached out to me earlier this week about an uncomfortable situation she had found herself in.
Ruby, a Clerk of Court for Pelican Point, told me that she witnessed Frank handing Judge Stanley, the judge presiding in one of his cases, a thick, white envelope when they met in the parking garage last week.
She also heard that a juror had complained to Judge Stanley about juror intimidation by Frank, but the judge blew it off. I’m not surprised this is how Frank Morely operates, but I am surprised to learn that Judge Stanley is dirty, as well.
I submitted the paperwork to the Florida Bar Association last week, and I’m just finishing the follow-up questionnaire when the door to my office flies open with a bang, slamming against the wall with enough force to dent the drywall and make me jump out of my chair.
“What the fuck, Emma?! What the fuck were you thinking, reporting me to the Florida Bar Association?”
My heart leaps into my throat as Frank storms into my office, his face flushed with anger. He’s disheveled, wild-eyed, and furious—exactly how I remember him from our days in law school, always brimming with arrogance and entitlement.
I hate this guy. It’s scum like him that makes people hate attorneys. And he’s lived up to that reputation since he decided to set up his law practice right here in Pelican Point.
“You can’t be here, Frank.” I demand, my voice shaky but firm as I stand behind my desk, using it as a shield. “You can’t just barge in here like this. You need to leave.”
Frank doesn’t seem to care about my protest. He advances toward me, knocking over a chair in the process then flipping over my assistant’s desk and sending her files, computer, and phone flying across the room. His eyes are blazing with fury, and tension ripples through his body.
“You reported me to the ethics board, didn’t you? It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the reason I’m being suspended.” he spits, his voice trembling with rage. “You’re the one who ratted me out!”
I stiffen, my hands tightening into fists ready to defend myself. Wow, that didn’t take long for him to figure out it was me who reported him. I was hoping when I clicked ‘anonymous’ that my name would be kept out of the report at least for a little while… wishful thinking.
“Yes, Frank,” I say, my voice steady despite my racing heart. “I reported you. You are intimidating jurors and buying off judges. You’ve crossed too many lines, and I’m not going to stand by and let that happen. It’s unethical and illegal.”
“You bitch!” Frank snarls, his face red with anger. “You think you’re so righteous, don’t you? So perfect. Well, you don’t know what you’ve just done.”
He’s seething, his hands shaking with barely restrained fury as he keeps advancing toward me. I can see the hatred in his eyes, how he blames me for everything that’s gone wrong in his life. But I refuse to back down.
“You’ve ruined everything!” Frank screams, pacing the room like a caged animal. “You had no right! None! I did what I had to do to win those cases, and you know it!”
“You crossed a line, Frank,” I repeat, my voice cold.
Frank lets out a primal growl and takes another step toward me, his hands clenched into fists. My heart races in my chest, but I hold my ground, refusing to let him see how scared I am.
“Get out of my office, or I’m calling the police,” I say, my voice low and serious as my hand hovers over the phone.
But Frank isn’t listening. He lunges toward me, and for a split second, I think he’s going to hit me. Fear grips my chest, freezing me in place, but before Frank can lay a hand on me, the door flies open again.
Miles Dawson charges into my office, his face hard as stone, and in one swift motion, he grabs Frank by the back of his shirt and yanks him away from me. Frank’s legs fly up into the air.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Miles growls, his voice low and dangerous. His grip on Frank is ironclad, and the sheer force of his presence makes Frank visibly tremble.
“Let go of me!” Frank spits, struggling to break free from where Miles has his face down on the floor with his knee in his back.
“Answer me, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Miles repeats through clenched teeth, his voice even lower now, a quiet threat lacing every word.
From the corner of his eye, Frank glares at Miles, his fury redirected toward this new threat, but it’s clear he’s outmatched. Miles is taller, broader, stronger, and exudes a quiet strength that Frank can’t compete with.
Miles yanks Frank to his feet and shoves him toward the front door. “Get the fuck out of here and never come back. Got it?”
“This isn’t over, Emma,” Frank hisses as he backs away, wiping at the blood on his lip. “You’ll regret this.” He points at me.
Miles steps between me and Frank, his shoulders squared and ready to pounce if Frank tries anything else. But Frank, clearly rattled by the show of force, storms out of my office, slamming the door behind him.
The second the door closes, I release the breath I was holding. My entire body feels like it’s been wound too tight, every muscle tense and coiled. I press a hand to my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.
“Are you okay?” Miles asks, his voice softer now, filled with concern. He’s standing just a few feet away from me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of distress.
I nod, but I’m still shaking, the adrenaline surging through my veins. “Yeah,” I manage to say, though my voice is a little shaky. “I’m fine. Thank you for… stepping in.” I wave toward the front door of my office.
Miles takes a step closer, his eyes softening as he looks at me. “I’m glad I was here. He seemed unhinged.”
I nod again, my mind still trying to catch up with everything that just happened. Frank’s outburst, Miles’ sudden appearance… it all feels surreal. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, as I told you in my text message, I’ll be in Pelican Point for a bit longer than I anticipated, and I thought we could have a proper date. You know, with names and such.” His smile is the sexiest I’ve ever seen.
Before I can think, before I can stop myself, I take a step toward him, closing the distance between us. I don’t know if it’s the leftover adrenaline or the fact that I’ve been thinking about him nonstop since the other night, but suddenly, I’m standing so close that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Emma,” Miles says, his voice low and uncertain, but he doesn’t move away. If anything, he leans in just a little closer, his eyes locked on mine.
I don’t know who moves first, but the next thing I know, his lips are on mine, and I’m kissing him back just as fervently as we did the other night, my hands clutching his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping me grounded. The kiss is hard, furious, and everything else fades away—the anger, the fear, the chaos of the morning. There’s only us. Only this moment.
When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “I shouldn’t have—” I try to pull away, but he won’t let me go.
Miles cuts me off with another kiss, this one softer, gentler, but just as full of heat and want.
“Don’t be sorry,” he murmurs against my lips. “I’ve been thinking about this since the other night, too.”
I let out a shaky breath, my heart racing for a completely different reason now. I don’t know what this is, or why I’m so damn drawn to this man.
“Let me take you out to dinner tonight. There’s a wonderful little restaurant one town over in Hibiscus Harbor called the Silver Willow. How about I pick you up at seven?” Miles asks me as he pushes some of my hair behind my ear.
My breath catches and my stomach does a little flip-flop. “Okay. That sounds nice. Here’s my address.” I give him my address on a sticky note. “I’d give you my cell phone number, but apparently you already have it.” I give him a pointed stare.
“You shouldn’t put it on your business cards if you don’t want weirdos like me to randomly text.” His smile is so bright and charming, my panties are wet. He leans down and kisses me on my cheek. “I can help you clean this up…” he offers, but I shake my head.
“No. I’ve got it. Client confidentiality and all.”
He nods. “Okay, then, I’ll pick you up at seven. Lock this door behind me.” He pauses, a sexy gleam in his eye. “And Emma, I can’t wait for tonight.”
I smile as I watch him walk out of my office, my heart fluttering like a schoolgirl’s as I do as he says and lock the door behind him.
Glancing around at the disaster Frank created, I know I have a lot to clean up before my assistant sees this mess Monday morning. She’ll think I was having a rave without inviting her. I pick up her laptop and give it a rueful once-over. It looks like I’ll need to buy her a new computer.
Great.
I look around my office, breathing a sigh of relief now that the mess from Frank’s tantrum is finally cleaned up. The coffee stain on the carpet is faint but only visible if you look close enough. A tiny, irritating reminder of the chaos that man brings everywhere he goes. I drop the last of the trash into the bin, wipe my hands on a paper towel, and glance at the clock.
Lunch is too far behind me, dinner is too far ahead, and I have this undeniable craving for something sweet to cut through the bitter taste of this day. A warm pastry—maybe one of Julie’s famous salted caramel éclairs—feels like the perfect antidote.
Grabbing my purse and keys, I head out, locking up behind me. The fresh sea breeze greets me as I step into the sunshine. Pelican Point is alive with its usual coastal charm, locals and tourists mingling in the shops and along the boardwalk. Seaside Sweets popup shop is over by the docks just few blocks away, tucked between a surf shop and a boutique selling flowy beach dresses.
The bell above the door jingles as I step inside, the scent of sugar, butter, and cinnamon wrapping around me like a warm hug. Julie is behind the makeshift counter, her curly blonde hair pulled back into a messy bun, flour dusting her apron. She looks up and grins when she sees me.
“Well, if it isn’t the busiest woman in Pelican Point!” she teases, setting down a tray of freshly frosted cupcakes. “What brings you here? Sweet tooth or stress eating?”
“Both,” I admit, laughing. “I’ve had quite the day, Julie. Quite the day.”
Her eyes narrow with curiosity as she waves me toward the counter. “I need details. Coffee or tea?”
“Coffee, please. And one of those éclairs.”
“Coming right up,” she says, sliding an éclair onto a paper plate and pouring me a cup of coffee. She sets them in front of me and leans on the counter, clearly ready for the tea of the gossip variety. “Spill. What’s going on?”
I take a sip of coffee, savoring the rich warmth before diving into my story. “Okay, first, the other night, I had a one-night stand. No names, just really, really, great sex.”
“Oh, I like where this is going.” Julie smiles.
“The next day, Brennen is freaking out because the wine critic that was supposed to come next month, is a month early. So I tell him I’ll be there when the critic shows up.” I take a bite of my pastry.
Julie claps her hands, sending flour flying through the air, “Uh huh. Keep going.”
“So, I’m standing there at the winery when in walks…wait for it…the guy from the hotel room I woke up in that morning. Miles Dawson. The Miles Dawson—world renowned wine critic, Miles Dawson.”
Julie’s jaw drops, her green eyes wide. “And how’d that go? Was it awkward? Did he say anything?”
“Surprisingly, no. He did the tasting with Brennen but didn’t let on that he even recognized me. His tasting notes were thorough but fair.” I pause, biting into the éclair and closing my eyes at the perfect balance of sweetness and salt. “And then there was this morning.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
“Frank Morely,” I say, and her face instantly twists in disgust. “He showed up at my office, waving some ridiculous legal threat. He’s been suspended, but apparently, he doesn’t know how to quit while he’s ahead. He made this huge scene, Julie. Papers everywhere, flipped my assistant’s desk, yelling—it was a disaster.”
Julie shakes her head. “That man is the worst. How did you deal with him?”
“Here’s the kicker,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially. “Miles walked in while Frank was mid-rant. He just calmly stepped in, shut Frank down with a body slam, face first, into the ground. He offered to help me clean up the mess after Frank stormed out, but I turned down his help. But Julie, something came over me and we ended up kissing. Hot, intense kissing.” I shake my head.
Julie’s eyes go wide again. “Oh my god, Emma, this sounds like something straight out of a romance novel!”
I laugh, shaking my head. “It didn’t feel romantic at the time. I was too busy trying to get Frank’s spit off my desk. But yeah, Miles definitely earned some points today.”
Julie rests her chin on her hand, a dreamy look in her eyes. “So, what’s next? Are you going to see him again? Tell me you’re going to see him again.”
“Actually, we have a date tonight,” I admit, my cheeks flushing.
Julie’s jaw drops again, and she claps her hands together. “Finally! Emma Murphy, you’re going on a date! It’s about damn time!”
“Calm down,” I say, laughing. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Are you kidding me? This is huge. When’s the last time you went on a date? College?”
I roll my eyes. “It hasn’t been that long.” I have to think back, though…has it been that long?
Julie raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Well, I’m thrilled for you. Miles seems like a good guy. And if he can handle Frank, he can handle just about anything.”
“I think so, too,” I say, a small smile tugging on my lips. “I’m nervous, though. It’s been so long since I’ve put myself out there like this.”
Julie reaches across the counter, giving my hand a reassuring squeeze. “You deserve to be happy, Emma. And from the way you talk about him, it sounds like Miles might be exactly what you need.”
“Thanks, Julie,” I say, feeling a little more confident.
She grins and starts packing a small box of pastries. “Here. Take these for dessert tonight. On the house.”
“Julie, you don’t have to?—”
“I insist,” she says, sliding the box across the counter. “Consider it a ‘good luck on your date’ gift.”
I laugh, shaking my head as I take the box. “You’re the best, you know that?”
“Obviously,” she says with a wink. “Make sure he pays you back with his tongue.” She cackles at the horrified look on my face.