Chapter 52
M arcus
I stare at my phone, my heart thudding with mingled chagrin and fury.
She hung up on me.
Cut off my apology with a “goodbye” and hung up.
I call back, in case it was a bad connection, but I get voicemail right away.
Swearing under my breath, I fire off three texts and wait.
Nothing.
No moving dots to tell me she’s in the process of responding, nothing to give any indication of her intent.
Drawing on every ounce of my patience, I call again.
Voicemail.
Straight to fucking voicemail.
She’s either turned off her phone, or she’s rejecting my calls.
The phone in my hand feels like a bomb ready to explode—or maybe that’s the ball of fury in my chest. Twice she’s done this to me now.
Twice she’s tried to make me go away.
And the last time, I went. Like a fucking idiot, I walked away, almost letting her ruin what we have.
Well, not this time.
She’s not getting on the plane until she takes back that fucking “goodbye.”
* * *
I’ve cooled down slightly by the time Wilson gets me through the freshly plowed streets to Brooklyn.
In hindsight, maybe not contacting Emma since Sunday wasn’t well done of me.
It might’ve been only three days, but if she feels our connection as intensely as I do, it would’ve seemed infinitely longer.
I’m still pissed she hung up on me, but I can understand it.
In any case, as the car pulls up to the piles of snow left on the curb by the snowplow, I’m fully prepared to grovel.
In addition to explaining just how crazy things were at work, I’m going to offer my most sincere apology and swear never to ghost her again.
Not that I did—I just held off on contacting her for a bit—but that’s how she must’ve perceived it.
It’s the only explanation for that out-of-nowhere “goodbye.”
I’m wearing my waterproof boots, but snow gets in through the leg openings as I wade through the thigh-high piles on the way to Emma’s door. Ignoring the icy wetness soaking my feet, I ring the doorbell.
Nothing.
No response.
I give it a couple of minutes, then ring the doorbell again.
Still nothing.
Frustrated, I tromp over to the basement window around the corner. As expected, it’s covered with snow, so I bend down and begin brushing it away with my bare hands.
She’s not freezing me out this easily.
I won’t let her.
“Excuse me. What are you doing?”
Startled by the shrill voice, I look up.
A thin older woman bundled in a puffy jacket is standing a few feet away, her gray-blond perm forming a frizzy halo around her head.
“Well?” she demands with a scowl. “You’re trespassing on my property. Explain yourself, or I’ll call the police.”
She must be Emma’s landlady.
I stand up, brushing the snow off my palms on my coat. “Sorry about that. I’m looking for Emma. She’s not answering the door for some reason.”
She blinks up at me, her frown disappearing. “You’re looking for Emma?”
“Yes. Do you know where she is? I can’t reach her.”
“Oh, I see.” She gives me a thorough once-over, her gaze lingering on my Italian coat as if trying to price it out. “Are you her boyfriend or something?”
I reach deep for my patience. “Yes, we’re dating. Do you know why she’s not answering the door?”
“Well, of course, dear. She left for the airport extra early—you know, because of all the snow on the roads.”
Fuck. “When did she leave?”
“I’m not sure. A half hour ago? Twenty minutes, maybe?” She cocks her head. “How long have you two been dating? I’m looking after her cats, and Emma hasn’t mentioned a boyfr—”
“It’s new,” I interrupt, and hurry back to the car before the woman can launch into an interrogation.
There’s no time to waste.
I have a stubborn redhead to catch before she gets on the plane.
* * *
The traffic to the airport is horrendous, so bad that even Wilson’s driving skills can’t help.
After two and a half hours of inching forward a foot a minute, I finally see the cause of the jam: an accident in the left lane.
As soon as we pass it, the traffic starts moving more briskly, but the damage is done.
Emma’s flight is due to start boarding in a half hour.
Taking a deep breath to combat my frustration, I try calling her again.
Voicemail. Same as the other five times I’ve tried it.
I text her again.
Nothing. No response.
Fighting the urge to slam the phone against the window, I check the airline app.
The fucking flight is on time, and the boarding starts in twenty-three minutes.
Even if I were at the airport right now, I’d need longer than that to clear security.
She’s going to get on the plane with this huge fucking thing unresolved.
Unless…
Without giving myself a chance to think twice, I call my transportation PM.
“Richard, it’s Carelli,” I say as soon as he picks up. “I need you to get the CEO of United Airlines to call me right now. It’s urgent.”
I know the portfolio manager is dying to ask why—airline stocks are his province—but he understands the concept of urgency.
Five minutes later, I have United Airlines’ CEO on the phone.
Six minutes after that, when I hang up and check the app again, the flight is delayed by an hour—and I’ve promised to abstain from shorting UAL stock for six months, to spare the CEO from explaining to his board why there’s a giant hedge fund betting against them.
The traffic clears further as we approach the airport, and I almost feel bad for holding up the plane by an hour. A half hour might’ve been plenty. When I enter the airport, however, I’m glad for the extra cushion.
The place is overrun with frantic holiday travelers and pissed-off flyers stranded by the storm. It’s so bad that by the time I get through the mile-long security line, First Class and Priority boarding for Emma’s flight has already begun.
I begin pushing my way through the crowd massed at the gate, searching for her bright hair.
There. A small, curvy figure toward the front of the Economy Class line. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a white hoodie, she’s holding a boarding pass in one hand and the handle of a small, raggedy-looking suitcase in the other.
My pulse picks up, my skin prickling with savage heat.
Fuck, I’ve missed her so much.
I was an idiot to stay away.
Feeling like a hunter honing in on his prey, I head directly for her. Other people must sense my grim determination, because they get out of my way. She’s staring straight ahead, so she doesn’t see me until I stop next to her.
And by then, it’s too late.
“Emma.” I reach out to clasp her wrist just as her gaze jumps to my face, gray eyes wide with shock. “We need to talk.”
She’s so stunned that she lets me pull her out of the crowd without protest. It’s only when we’re standing by the empty seats in the corner that she finds her tongue. “What are you doing here?” Her voice is higher-pitched than normal. “How did you get through security?”
I release her wrist to pull a boarding pass out of my pocket. “I bought this on the drive over.” It’s for a flight to Omaha, the only one that had a seat available today. Stuffing it back in my pocket, I say, “Listen, we need to talk about—”
“No, we don’t.” She tries to step around me, but I step in front of her, blocking her way.
“Yes, we do.”
Her face flushes with angry color. “My flight is boarding—”
“They’ve just started. You have time.”
Apparently realizing that I’m not going to budge, she lets go of her suitcase handle and folds her arms across her chest. “Fine. Talk.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, I almost laugh at the scowl she directs at me.
With all those curls puffing up, she really does look ridiculously cute when angry.
Adorable, in fact. Of course, she also looks adorable when she smiles, and when she blushes, and when she’s lying in my bed, all warm and sleepy and satisfied—fuck, I better focus.
“I’m sorry, Emma,” I say as sincerely as I can.
“I should’ve called you earlier. I was working around the clock, but that’s no excuse.
I promise you, it won’t happen again.” I’m about to stop there, but some demon propels me forward, pulling the words out of my mouth.
“The truth of the matter is, I felt like we were getting too deep, too fast, and I seized on the emergency at the fund to put a little distance between us. But that was a mistake. I realize that now. I want us to get deeper.” I take a breath.
“In fact, I was thinking that when you get back from this trip, I’d like you to move in to my place. ”
Her arms drop to her sides as shock wipes away all other expression on her face. “You what ?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“I want you to move in,” I repeat, clasping her small hands in each of mine.
“I want you to live with me—you and all three of your cats. I know it seems fast, but I’ve made a living taking calculated risks, and believe me, this one is worthwhile.
If you want to keep your apartment for now, I won’t object, but I want you with me every night. ”
Her hands are icy in my grip as she stares up at me. “Why?”
“Because I want you—and you want me too.” Isn’t it obvious to her?
“The chemistry we have is rare, kitten. So rare that I’ve never felt it before.
I want you all the time, to the point of obsession.
I’ve fought against it, tried to resist, but it’s useless.
I want you—and I don’t want the bridges and tunnels getting in the way of our time together.
Move in with me, Emma. It makes so much sense. ”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see two men in business suits whispering to one another a dozen feet away, and a woman pointing a phone at me from behind them. They’ve probably recognized me from CNBC or someplace. Normally, I’d get annoyed and step away, but this is too important to get distracted.