Chapter 8
CHAPTER 8
FORD
“Beckham sure does keep you busy.”
Emmy meets my eyes in the rearview mirror, simply shrugging before reverting her gaze to the traffic-filled street outside her window.
After successfully completing an interview with Keller Media, we stopped off at Vesper to finalize Emmy’s wardrobe for Thursday’s reshoot before we swung by the offices of Andreas Vitello, public relations expert to the stars.
As I’m familiar with Andreas, having worked with him to develop the system to minimize paparazzi involvement in Emerson’s life, it had only taken a few minutes to run through upcoming engagements before we were on the road again.
Next up is the dress fitting with Ava Sinclair. Then another interview.
I’ve kept interactions to an absolute minimum, as has she.
“He says that being busy is preferable to being irrelevant.”
I shake my head with a snort of amusement. “That does sound like something an agent would say.”
Silence follows for a beat before the heavens open, and within seconds, a torrent of rain is teeming down onto the car. The sound fills our ears as traffic finally begins to move, and we edge forward the last hundred meters or so to our destination.
“I’ll grab an umbrella. One sec.”
Emmy opens her mouth, obviously to protest, but I’m faster, ducking out of my door and onto the street, where I’m instantly soaked to the bone. After grabbing a large black umbrella from the trunk, I round the car, open the rear passenger door, and ensure Emmy remains dry, holding her against my side as we quickly dart inside the elegant fitting rooms.
I stay by the door to shake off the umbrella as one of Ava’s assistants appears with a bright smile.
“Miss Sinclair will be with us in just one moment, Miss Hart. May I get you?—”
The sound of hands clapping resonates around the mid-size reception area before Ava Sinclair breezes in. “Enough, Sophie. I’m sure Miss Hart has very little time to spare for trivialities, judging by our previous sessions.”
Emmy’s face breaks out into a wide smile before Ava gathers her against considerable cleavage. I can’t help smiling alongside both women until Ava’s eyes meet mine.
As the previous head of security at Rogue, I’ve met more than my fair share of Manhattan’s crème de la crème, including the aristocratic Brit, Ava Sinclair. A smile lights up her cheeks as she steps around a bewildered Emmy to grip my biceps.
“My dear Mr. Holloway!” She leans up on her tiptoes as I bend down to receive a kiss on each cheek. “I have missed your presence at Rogue these past years. Mr. Fratelli isn’t as easy on the eye as a certain someone, hmm…”
She trails off with a wink before rotating to face a frowning Emmy. I press my lips into a straight line, refusing to allow the threatening grin to grace my lips. Then, intent on waiting out the fitting in the confines of the car, I retreat toward the door to duck back out onto the rainy pavement, but Ava’s voice at my back stops me, and I glance back at her.
“Please stay, Mr. Holloway. I’ll get you a towel to dry off.” Then she quirks a provocative brow. “Besides, I may have need of you today.”
EMERSON
“I’m almost finished with the buttons, Miss Hart.”
“Oh, thank heavens.”
I nod gratefully at Tarah, Ava’s assistant, who, for the past twenty minutes, has been painstakingly molding Ava’s creation to my body.
The extensively beaded silver and nude dress boasts a plunging neckline, a train of off-white feathers, and intricately sewn beaded buttons that run from the center of my back all the way to the floor. To say it’s been a process would be an understatement.
My jaw clenches suddenly when Ava’s light giggle carries through to the changing room, followed by Ford’s deep chuckle.
When it had come to light that they knew one another, my stupid brain had begun to run through a million and one scenarios – none of which should matter to me, considering how I moved past this man and his betrayal years ago.
You’re not that good an actress that you can lie to yourself, Em!
“And done!” Tarah beams up at me with delight before rising to stand. “You look even better than we imagined, Miss Hart.”
Another giggle from Ava makes my grateful smile falter, and suddenly I want nothing more than to get the hell out of here. If Ford Holloway wants to flirt, he can damn well do so on his own time.
With a renewed, fake-as-hell smile plastered to my face, I follow Tarah from the changing room and out into the open space of the fitting area.
My eyes immediately land on Ford, whose back is against the farthest wall, while Ava extends a measuring tape across his absurdly broad chest.
“But it would give me great pleasure to design a suit for you, Ford. I insist…”
Ava trails off as I step onto the fitting platform, glancing over her shoulder to meet my gaze before looking back at an eerily quiet Ford.
His eyes are fixated on me, watching me with a hunger that rattles me to my core. My heart quivers as my forehead creases, even as I can’t tear my eyes from the man before me. The pull between us—the one that apparently never left—feels real enough that I could reach out and touch it.
“I’ve created some stunning pieces throughout my career, Miss Hart, but this dress, with your body as the conduit, is hands-down my greatest work.” Ava’s voice barely registers above the sound of my blood pounding in my ears. “Wouldn’t you agree, Ford?”
The man in question physically jolts and the spell surrounding us lifts as he nods slowly, glancing around the room before his gaze clashes with mine again, as though he can’t keep his eyes off me.
“An incomparable masterpiece.”
His guttural profession hangs between us as my throat tightens with an emotion I thought long dead to me until something changes in Ford’s ocean-blue gaze, and I can see the moment he closes himself off once more.
Then he drops his head, and murmurs something about leaving the women to their business before ducking out. Silence surrounds us until I hear the main door close behind him.
“Well…” Ava addresses me with twinkling hazel eyes, making my cheeks heat. “Tension so thick I could cut it with a knife, Miss Hart. Color me intrigued!”
The elevator doors ping open, giving me and Ford access to my penthouse at Ataraxia. Before I can disembark, he holds up a hand, silently indicating to stay put by the elevator.
I roll my eyes as he makes his way off to canvas the apartment for intruders, despite the fact his security system in this place would rival Fort Knox.
With a heavy sigh, I lean back against the wall by the elevator and close my eyes, relieved that today is almost over.
Following the incident at Ava Sinclair’s, the journey to my second interview of the day had been silent as the grave, and I’d been more than grateful for it.
What had happened only confused me, and I have too much going on right now to deal with unwanted confusion. Even if that same confusion had looked at me as though I’d hung the moon and all the stars in the night sky.
As though the last five years were nothing but a blip on the radar, and we were the us we were always meant to be…
Stop that, Emerson Hart. Stop. It!
“All clear, Miss Hart.”
I open my eyes to find Ford at the far end of the hallway by the arch that leads to the living area. Pushing off the wall, I nod my acknowledgment, making to follow, but stopping when he speaks again.
“I need to shower before we run those lines, if that’s alright?”
I wave him away with a tired smile. “How do you feel about postponing until tomorrow? I’m beat, and perhaps Hayles will be better so you can avoid it altogether.”
A girl can hope.
Ford nods his assent, his eyes giving me the once-over as though to assess for damages before he gives me his back. His bedroom door closes softly, leaving me in silence, and I quickly beeline for my own room, desperately in need of some solitude.
I make short work of showering and changing into a fresh pair of my favorite pajamas before ducking out into the kitchen to grab a glass of cherry juice.
My chest feels tight when I spot a glass on the counter alongside a fresh carton and a note that simply reads:
Sweet dreams.
Swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat, I bypass the counter, intent on thanking Ford directly, and hopefully negating any lingering awkwardness following the fitting earlier, but when I knock on his door, there’s no answer.
Knowing that I need to do this, I hesitantly poke my head around the door, calling out his name, but I find his room to be empty. The ajar door of his ensuite, along with the sound of running water, remind me that he’d said he needed a shower before retiring for the night.
My cheeks color when a mental image flashes through my head of Ford’s tanned, muscular body, rivulets of water trailing along his bare skin, and desire lances through me like a lightning bolt.
I’m about to make my leave, when an unmistakable groan roots me to the floor.
Is he…jerking off?
My heart rate kicks up to a million, even as I can’t help but wonder if he’s thinking of his interactions with Ava earlier. The thought makes my stomach lurch.
Just then, as my brain wills my feet to move, a deep moan echoes through the ensuite, followed by a singular word that turns the blood in my veins to molten lava.
“ Emmy !”
There’s a buzzing in my ears, and I’m entirely sure I misheard him. As I step inside his bedroom door, he growls low in his throat. “Fuck, yes . So fucking beautiful, Tink.”
My stomach dips, and my eyes blow wide at my old nickname, and as the realization sets in that he’s thinking of me , I subconsciously clench my thighs together, suddenly turned on beyond all reason.
I nibble my bottom lip while lust fuels my thoughts, my eyes fixated on the bathroom door, when the sound of the shower switching off reaches my ears. With a start, I jump into action, marching straight back to the living space without a backward glance.
Once I’ve grabbed the cherry juice, I don’t hang about for fear of seeing Ford, my thoughts are a goddamn mess. And I waste no time inhaling the entire carton, willing an elusive sleep that doesn’t come.