Chapter 43
Emma
“ T hat’s all for today. Great work, everyone.” I shuffle papers into a folder to the chorus of conference room chairs sliding over marble.
My team’s chatter fills our workspace as people cluster to discuss lunch options while filtering out of the glass-framed room bathed in natural sunlight. I’m never one to work through lunch and always wrap all weekly meetings before eleven thirty.
Rêve is taking off, earning features in coveted fashion magazines. Sales have tripled since our fashion week Rustin collaboration. Everyone, from editors to social media influencers, has the name on their lips, a testament to the people who were just gathered in this room. This is my seventh campaign at Soie, and I’m damn proud.
Gianna charges down the hall. A bouquet of long-stem red roses covers her face and the top half of her pinstripe jumpsuit. Her single-strap nude heels stop inches from my pointed-toe pumps.
“Glad I caught you,” she says in a muffled huff behind at least forty roses. “These came for you.” She passes me the oversized bouquet.
“Thanks. Is there a card?” Trying to squint to find one in the wilderness of petals is pointless.
She peeks around the mega bush and tosses the golden ponytail stretching down her back. Gianna’s features settle into a light scowl. She’s not upset, but the sharp lines of her cheekbones make a resting bitch face that’s perfect for the camera.
“Didn’t see one,” she says. “Mal said you have a visitor in your office. Maybe they came from him.”
Him?
My lips wiggle into a smile Gianna spots. “Ah.”
“Ah, what?” I move the bouquet to my hip.
“That.” She points a blush-colored nail at my neck, which is turning the same hue. “You serve many looks in this office, but shy isn’t one of them. Who is he?”
Persistent as hell.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Miles never visited me at my office. I always came to Lorenzo’s for appearances in case word got back to my father. The people at Soie are vultures and will latch on to any bit of gossip. I like my tea, but I don’t need to be on the menu.
Gianna’s grin widens. “Uh-huh. Mal said he’s fine,” she says, looking over the roses I’m squeezing like a lifeline. “You’ve had a glow about you recently. Now I know why.” She winks and struts off.
Miles and I talked about why he left—when I was awake to process everything—but I’m still cautious. What’s to stop him from leaving like that again? He promises he won’t, but I already took a gamble on opening up once, and I’m not sure I’ll survive the heartache again.
Miles has made his presence known since the day he barged back into my life weeks ago.
My eyes dart around the hallway like I’m holding company secrets in my arms and not the fragrant bouquet of flowers. The verdict is still the same: red roses are too cliché for my taste, but these are beautiful. Thick, too, like the man waiting in my office.
Miles and I could hit any daily exercise goal with the amount of sex we have. It’s a good thing I live next to the ocean. Without the loud waves crashing into rocks, my neighbors would think my house was a murder home with all the screaming. He stays with me in my bed until I fall asleep before he goes back to his old room to give me the space I asked for.
But no matter how hard I fight him, he refuses to leave.
“Miles.” I casually walk past him leaning on the front of my desk with folded arms and legs crossed at the ankles. He’s in fitted black slacks and a cream-colored polo, looking like Jake from State Farm if he powerlifted.
He glances over his shoulder before standing to his full height, which is overbearing for my office. “Hello to you too, kitten.” The pet name skates up the pulse point in my neck, beating an SOS message to my vagina. Calm the hell down . There is no good reason to be breathing this hard.
I keep my back to Miles and my focus on these big-ass flowers. Did he send them?
“I wanted to see about lunch.”
“Not necessary, but thank you.” I sit in my office chair and crane my neck to reach his eyes. “Anything else?”
This dance we do always ends the same way. He asks me out, and I say no in an attempt to keep our relationship strictly about sex. It’s safer at the surface, but the pull to the deep is hard to fight.
“Nice flowers.” He nods to the bouquet I stuffed between framed campaign shots. “Secret admirer?”
My brows dip. “You didn’t send them?”
The corner of his mouth tips into a cocky grin that’s too fine for any man to wield. Miles is back to his fresh fade and lined goatee. His beard and mini fro were giving Zyair Malloy from Mea Culpa , which had me singing Kelly Rowland melodies to the ceiling.
My nipples harden at the memory.
Focus.
“You might not think I pay attention, but I do, kitten.” Miles rounds the desk, pinning me between his thick frame. I steady my breathing at the musk permeating off of him with confidence and a leveled gaze to match.
“Red roses aren’t you, baby. They’re mass-produced and easily accessible. You’re one of a kind. There are some thorns, but I’ll prick my finger every time to hold you.” His lip sinks between his teeth at the drool no doubt pooling from my mouth. “You also hate red roses like you do Valentine’s Day.”
He remembered.
Staying away from Miles is next to impossible. He’s determined to get us back to where we were before he left. His apology was on repeat until I told him I’m willing to take it slow. While I understand the unusual circumstance he was in, I’m not equipped to be with someone who can leave for weeks at the drop of a hat.
Once was enough. I already have too many people in my life who think they can pick me up and discard me whenever they like.
“I’ll see you tonight?” I ignore his frown and lift my chin. He knows what I’m willing to give.
Miles stares but nods. “I’ll be there.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and leaves.
I order lunch and check emails. My cell rings—Carter.
It’s been weeks since he showed up at my office. I have no energy for a sparring match today.
“Carter,” I sigh.
“Do you like them?”
“Like what?”
“The flowers,” he says in an oddly calm tone.
I lean back in my seat and swivel toward the grand floral display. “You sent them?”
Humor laces his tone. “Don’t act surprised, Em. I wanted to do something nice to apologize. I’d like to start over.”
“Start over.”
“Back to the way things were, when we weren’t arguing. We work, Emma. I’d wish you’d see it.”
What in the entire hell is happening?
“Is someone sick, Carter? Did you find out you have three days to live?”
Carter’s bark of laughter has me looking at my cell sideways. I can count on two fingers the number of times I’ve heard him laugh when it wasn’t at someone else’s expense. “Give us a chance, Emma. A real one. With Miles gone—”
“He’s not gone.”
Our conversation fades from Carter professing his love to hushed stillness. “Emma.” My name is bitter on his lips. There you are. “You’re smarter than this. He left you once, and he’ll do it again. It was always us. We’ve wasted enough time. I’ll treat you better. I’m better for your family.”
“I was waiting for your ego to show. We tolerate each other, Carter. You’re in love with yourself and my family.” I chuckle. “Miles is a bigger threat to you than I thought.”
“He’s nothing!” Carter’s hand slamming onto a hard surface echoes through the phone. “I’ve been here, and I’m not going anywhere. You’ll see.”
By four, I’m running on fumes between meetings when Mal comes in with a vase of flowers in a mason jar and a brown paper bag.
“Aren’t you popular today?” She winks before walking out.
These are more subtle than the roses eclipsing half of my space, but they’re beautiful nonetheless. Blush and sherbet-orange garden roses bloom in an arrangement of ranunculus, anemone, solomio, and eucalyptus. The colors are soft touches of off-white hues.
I pull the small card from the envelope and smile.
Got you something to match your free spirit instead of that “off with her head” shit on your desk.
I snort at his Alice in Wonderland reference. My favorite Disney movie.
These reminded me of you.
See you soon,
Miles
PS: Open the bag. I know your ass is grouchy this time of day .
“You don’t know shit,” I mutter to no one through a smirk. But I am getting grouchy, and I am low on snacks.
I pull out Greek vanilla yogurt, oat clusters, a small container of mixed berries, and a Heath bar. All of the necessary ingredients for a mini parfait.
“Damn you, Miles.”
My vision blurs at his random act of kindness, pushing against the last of my resolve to keep him far away from my heart, which he already took up residence in long ago.