Emma
Who did I anger in a past life to deserve this kind of déjà vu?
Standing alone at a bar, with my thoughts revolving around a man.
I tapped my nails against the polished wood as I waited for another glass of prosecco. Perhaps I should have bailed on this dinner. That would have saved me from the embarrassment of answering awkward questions and staring down Hopkirk. I met his eyes from across the room, and his frown deepened, but I held his gaze. The fear of losing the job evaporated the second I defended Miller—the only thing I regretted was that it took me so long to stand up for myself—and figure out my feelings.
There were too many anxious thoughts swirling around my mind for tonight to be productive. Why did my pea-sized brain believe the best course of action was to be here instead of under my comforter with Minerva and nineties sitcoms? I scoffed at my stupidity, making the bartender quirk his eyebrow and stare at me like I had three heads.
Don’t mind me. Just keep the prosecco coming.
Nope.
The last thing I needed to do was get drunk at a work event. But seriously? What was Hopkirk thinking? Three events over one long weekend? Doesn’t anybody like to sleep in and go to the beach on Saturday? My social life cannot consist of going from hotel to hotel, re-wearing the same five formal dresses because I refuse to buy any more, and shmoozing people to donate to whatever cause was on his radar.
No, thank you.
I’d find a new hobby like goat yoga, stone skipping, or competitive duck herding before I did this every weekend—at least Hopkirk had agreed and given me an out.
“Here you are, Miss,” The bartender placed the drink on a fresh napkin and turned, ready to help the next customer.
“Excuse me?” I said, tapping my heel against the tile floor in time with the music.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Do you have elderflower liquor?”
“Of course. We have a variety. A lot of the elderly patrons request those.” He winked salaciously at me, and I tilted my head, wondering if he meant it as an insult.
Was he sharing some big secret that old biddies liked liquor? One of my favorite drinks was Amaretto Sour, so what did that say about me? Was I an old soul, or was my palate too delicate to appreciate the nuances of Fireball and Red Bull?
Salty.
Damn. My mood was a downer. I forced myself to smile at the bartender, watching as he adjusted his white button-up shirt cuffed at the elbows and then flexed his forearms. “Could you add a little to this, please?” I held the glass to him, watching the bubbles cascade along the sides with the movement of my wrist.
He nodded and turned to the bottles behind him, finding the elderflower and taking the glass to add the liquor. I took a five out of my clutch and put it in the tip jar, refusing to glance at my phone to check the time. I held the stem between my fingers and walked to the end of the bar, leaning on a giant white pillar that looked like it belonged in a Roman Colosseum and not a swanky hotel downtown.
My dress was itchy, and I used the opportunity to lean against the pillar to find the spot directly between my shoulder blades that was giving me such trouble. This garment was perfect for just such an occasion, but when I tried it on with Marietta, I hadn’t worn it long enough for the scratchy material to reveal its true colors.
The blue satin and tulle hugged my curves and had a strapless sweetheart neckline, making undergarments a moot point. It felt scandalous not wearing anything underneath the dress, but it was also empowering, having a little secret that was all mine. The bustier bodice and thigh-high slit made the overall effect of the dress beautiful, but the hidden hook-and-eye back zipper rubbed my skin the wrong way.
It was like a little gnat I couldn’t squish, and I moaned, flexing my shoulders so the column put pressure on the itchy spot. Luckily, no one noticed my shameless rubbing, but it made things clearer why this dress was on sale. I finally gave in to the urge to check my phone, balancing my clutch in the crook of my arm, only to be disappointed when I saw it had barely been ten minutes since I last checked the time.
In a clear display of my self-inflicted suffering, I opened my test messages and found myself unable to tear my eyes away from Miller’s name. My thumb hovered over the screen as the temptation to text him reared its ugly head once again—only the three-hundred-and-ninety-fourth time since I told him to go away two nights ago.
So, overall, an improvement.
Stop.His words were biting and cruel—he should be the one to break the silence first. No matter how upset he was, even suggesting that I was embarrassed to have him by my side was uncalled for. I thought maybe I was overreacting because of my frayed nerves, but after talking with Bev, it became glaringly eye-opening that we both had issues that had to be dealt with.
Eye-opening in the sense that my feelings for Miller were way more complicated and intense than I thought. A simple apologetic text wouldn’t fix this. He needed to feel cherished—needed to be with someone who showed him how they felt.
I needed another drink.
“Cut it out,” I murmured, shaking my head and taking one step away from the column. I had to dropkick this attitude in the stones. The exit doors mocked me, and I straightened my shoulders, pushing a curl that had escaped my chignon off my forehead. I counted to thirty, then eyed the large space, looking for an escape.
My reprieve came in the form of two large glass doors leading to an open balcony. The gauzy, taupe curtains were ruffling gently from the cross breeze, and I smiled—my first real one of the night—as I made my way over.
The evening breeze felt amazing on my overheated skin, and I breathed in, letting the scent of gardenias and honeysuckle fill my lungs. One heel had made it to the balcony when a firm grip wrapped around my elbow. My breath halted, and I stuttered, tugging my arm away from the pressure.
“Whoa, there, pretty lady.”
It couldn’t be.
I glanced at my feet, zeroing in on the one black leather wingtip that was in my line of vision. Truly, I must have offended some sort of voodoo warrior princess because I recognized that voice. I’d heard that voice in my dreams and listened as that voice growled filthy words in my ear. My only reprieve from this situation was that the balcony was shadowed. If he’d caught me in the middle of the ballroom, there’d be no way to hide the heat radiating off my skin.
My shoulders dropped, and I tugged my arm again, only to be met with more resistance and a tightening grip. Nothing hard enough to leave marks or hurt me—just enough to be reminded that I wasn’t alone.
Alone.
I was better off alone. Forget the man who held my arm. I just needed to make it through tonight, and then I could wallow in safari pajamas and reruns on Animal Planet.
“Miller.” His name fell from my mouth like an answered prayer, and I bit my lip until I tasted blood, knowing the universe was mocking me in some sick way with his presence.
“I couldn’t let you come alone,” he whispered, leaning close enough for me to feel his breath tickle my ear. I swallowed, the noise harsh and audible in the evening air. “Not after the way we left things—the way I left things, baby.”
Please. Not now.
“What are you doing here?” I pleaded, yanking my arm hard enough to break his grasp. I stepped back, clenching my fists and almost losing my balance. Warm, strong hands surrounded me, steadying me toward his chest. His smell—woodsy and masculine, invaded my senses and sent my stomach into somersaults. “And what are you wearing?”
My thoughts were a fuzzy, jumbled nightmare. I needed to compartmentalize with color-coded cue cards before my feelings were laid bare. He deserved more than a hasty conversation while my boss looked on for yet another opportunity to criticize.
Damn it, but he felt so good, tugging me closer until my chin rested on his shoulder. My chest ached, the part where he fit perfectly against me made my pulse race. Perhaps this was meant to be. Some grander plans the universe concocted to bring us together because we were both too idiotic to have a simple conversation.
Him. Me. Us. There was nothing simple about it.
Why was he here? Perhaps he had a believable excuse about rescuing kittens in trees or having his weekly volunteer day of tagging endangered great white sharks running longer than expected. We’d laugh, and I’d squeeze his muscular arm in understanding before watching him saunter to the bar to get us drinks.
Sure. Miller really did those things.
I scoffed, closing my eyes and turning my head toward his neck, where his scent was the strongest. His fingers trailed down my arms and wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer. The anger I felt for his thoughtless comments fizzled to nothing as I breathed.
Regardless of the gaping chasm of unsaid things—he was here. The beat of his heart thumped along with mine as we stood there, suspended in time.
This meant something, right? Maybe he’d dazzle me throughout the night with his knowledge of wine, and Hopkirk would be so impressed he’d invite him to play a round of golf in the coming weeks while I played pickleball with some new girlfriend. Hopkirk would apologize for calling Miller an ingrate. I’d get my promotion, and then we’d ride off into the sunset together on matching unicorns with rainbow horns and hooves made of Skittles.
That was a completely logical line of thinking.
His arms left my waist and returned to my shoulders, nuzzling me until I removed my head from that spot it seemed to belong in, and met his eyes. They glinted like two coals, burning brighter the longer I looked.
“I couldn’t leave things the way they were, Em. So, why wouldn’t I be here? I had to sweet talk Mrs. Bella at the front desk, but once I promised her a delivery from that bakery she loves, she was more than happy to share the details of where you’d be tonight.”
He was here—showing me that my life mattered. That he understood the importance of getting that promotion—of course, that was before I ruined the opportunity.
“Um. As much as I’d love to stand here all night watching your eye twitch, you might want to dial down whatever you have going on up there before I formally meet your boss. You have to admit, I look pretty dapper tonight.”
He straightened his bowtie and then tapped my temple. I jerked away, shaking my head like I was surfacing after diving ten feet down into the bottom of a swimming pool. I couldn’t deal with this—couldn’t deal with him. Not now. Not when there were so many things left unsaid.
“Please, Emma.” There was a hand on my arm—gentler than I expected, but I tried to shrug it off and suppress a gasp at how good it felt to be touched. “Let me talk.”
“I can’t do this right now.” Turning, I stepped back inside the threshold of the ballroom, letting the air conditioning cool my overheated skin. The nearest exit loomed toward the left, and I stared at it like it was my salvation. Perhaps it was—an invitation to leave and start over tomorrow.
“No,” he said, the word harsh as I moved to an unoccupied space by the bar to avoid causing a scene. My gaze darted around us, and I let out a breath of relief when I saw no one had given us a second glance.
“No?” It was a question—a demand for explanation. His fingers wrapped around my wrist, and he tugged me toward the windows, partway behind another column. The exit sign disappeared from my line of sight, and I took two steps to the right, pressing my hand to my chest so I could see it again.
“No. I’m here because what’s important to you is important to me. I never should have—”
“Miss James? I was hoping we’d have the opportunity for a chat this evening. Especially after the way we left things this morning.”
Oh, no.
Miller gently dragged his thumb against my skin. Then he released my arm and shoved one hand in his pocket, spinning on his heel to face Headmaster John Hopkirk.
“John,” he said, extending his opposite hand and standing close enough for our shoulders to touch. “It’s good to see you again. We never had an official introduction the other night. Miller Hansen.”
I watched him from the corner of my eye, an insincere smile on my face as Hopkirk glanced between his hand and me before extending his own. They shook firmly and friendly—sort of. A vein throbbed in Miller’s forehead, and Hopkirk’s knuckles were white.
“Ah. Miller. Pleasure, of course. I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Of course,” he chuckled, letting the slight dig slide off his back. “That’s to be expected after my attire the other night. But you know how it is.” He leaned closer with Hopkirk’s hand still dwarfed in his and lowered his voice. “Once your priorities are sorted out, you realize being here when someone needs you is better than petty things like clothes. Right?”
Their handshake broke, and the headmaster took a step back, running one hand along his jaw and removing his pocket watch from his vest with the other. As he stared at the silver timepiece, I held my breath like I was awaiting my execution.
“Well said, Mr. Hansen. In fact, I was just mulling over the gumption our young Miss James has. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Perhaps. Passion is a better choice, sir. Or loyalty.”
“Spunk?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Miller said, leaning closer like he and Hopkirk were in on some big secret and not a pissing contest.
Miller would win that contest, hands down.
“I’m rather lucky, aren’t I?”
My gaze jerked to his, and one side of his mouth quirked into a lopsided grin. He winked at me, causing my teeth to dig painfully into my cheek as a blush crept across my chest and toward my neck.
“You are, Mr. Hansen. In fact, the point of my interruption of your evening is twofold. The first to meet you.” He paused and nodded at Miller, who stepped back and grasped my hand, threading it through the crook of his arm. “The second was to inform Miss James that the application selection has begun, and I’ve yet to see what I’m sure is an impressive resume cross my desk for consideration.”
“Pardon me, sir. My what?”
“Resume. It’s the only part of the application the board is waiting for. They’ve already made their decision, I’m sure, but the necessary paperwork must be filed.”
“Oh. Um. Of course,” I mumbled, re-tucking that same damnable curl and staring at my heels.
Where had that brave girl disappeared to? The one who argued in his face earlier and stood up for what she believed in? Perhaps she was back in my office, sitting in the corner and rocking back and forth with the repercussions of her actions.
“See that it arrives before the first bell on Monday morning. I’d hate for you to miss such a promising opportunity because of something as silly as paperwork.”
His pocket watch slipped gracefully back into his vest, and he turned to Miller with his hand outstretched. “Pleasure to have met you.”
Miller nodded, gripping his hand back and letting that calm smile I knew so well light up his face. “Likewise, sir.”
Hopkirk’s eyes met mine, and with a final arch of one brow, he turned in the opposite direction, taking all of ten steps before being pulled into another conversation. The balls of my feet were throbbing from standing in the same place for too long, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the back of his tuxedo.
Had he inadvertently told me I’d secured the position? No. Couldn’t be.
“Well, that went better than expected. Right, Em?”
He touched my arm, but I barely felt his fingers, too stunned to process anything but the headmaster’s words.
Gumption? Spunk?
This was too much. I needed air. My breath came out in harsh pants, and I pressed my hands to my cheek, turning toward Miller.
“Unexpectedly strange is more like it. Especially after our conversation this afternoon,” I said, leaning into him as his fingers stroked my arm. His touch grounded me, taking away the anxiety of seeing Hopkirk.
“What happened this afternoon?” he asked, taking my hand and placing it in the crook of his arm before leading us toward the bar. Lifting two fingers to get the bartender’s attention, he ordered a neat bourbon for himself and a glass of prosecco for me.
“He, um, came into my office and berated me.”
Miller’s eyes widened as the bartender prepared our drinks. I nodded my thanks when he handed me the flute of prosecco and took a large sip, not wanting to go into details about what happened with Hopkirk. Miller’s face twisted into a frown, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head, squeezing his bicep.
“It turned out to be a good thing because I expressed my unhappiness with the after-hour requirements, and he said this could be my last one until he came up with a rotating schedule for the entire staff.”
“Wow. That’s—” He paused, rubbing his chin and swirling the bourbon in his glass before downing the liquid in one gulp. “Enlightening.”
“Enlightening?” I repeated as he laid his empty glass on the bar and signaled for another.
“Yeah,” he replied with a nonchalant shrug. “So, what changed this morning that made you speak up to Hopkirk rather than your usual approach of canceling plans with me and then complaining afterward?”
I took another sip of my prosecco and sighed, wanting to shout loudly enough to be heard over the band playing in the corner but also desperately desiring to be alone with him before I whispered that he was the reason—well, one of the reasons.
He’dshown me what it felt like to be loved, and I wanted to spend my evenings exploring that, not attending events and schmoozing benefactors.
“Tell me, Emma. What changed?” His voice was barely a murmur as his gaze traveled over my face, stopping on my lips before returning to my eyes.
“Everything,” I said back just as softly, taking a step closer so the tips of my heels touched his shoes. The urge to kiss him was overwhelming, but as I waited for him to break the silence, the smile melted from his face.
“Why can’t you admit what you want? It is too much to ask for you to just be honest with me? Tell me what you want.”
“What I want is not to have this conversation with my colleagues surrounding us,” I hissed, closing my eyes for a moment as he removed my hand from the crook of his arm.
He took a step back and tapped his fingers against his leg. As the silence between us stretched on, I made a point to study him, something I had failed to do when I first felt his presence on the balcony. I couldn’t help but notice the elegant, smooth lines of his tuxedo, and the perfect knot of his bowtie resting against his throat.
He looked insufferably handsome in his tux—paired with a crisp white shirt and silver cufflinks. My first thought was how good it would feel to run my fingers through his light hair and tug the bowtie free before unbuttoning the top button of his shirt to expose his neck. There wasn’t a trace of mud on his polished shoes or a hair out of place on his artfully styled head.
I swallowed, tearing my eyes away from the hard planes and sharp angles of his body and focusing back on his face. What I had to say was not meant for anyone but him. The stuffy clothes, atmosphere, and people had to go. We should be cuddled on my couch with Chinese food and made-for-TV horror movies, not wandering around the ballroom hoping to not be overheard.
“What do you want, Emma?”
“Please, Miller. Not here. Let’s leave and go get a drink,” I said, threading my fingers with his and tugging him toward the exit. He squinted, and his brow furrowed as he stared at me, looking beautifully handsome even though his expression was one of annoyance and irritation.
“I don’t want another drink. I want you to tell me what you want.”
“Miller—”
“No. No more. Please. I can’t do this anymore. Just tell me.”
“I don’t want to talk to you here,” I said as my voice cracked and my eyes became blurry with tears.
“Don’t do that, Emma. Don’t walk out that door without giving me an answer.”
“An answer? An answer?” I said, thumping him on the chest with my thumb and forefinger. “How about respecting me enough to understand that you and I are too important to discuss at some random work event? If you can’t respect that, then there is nothing left for me to say.”
He stepped away from me as if I’d begin to radiate heat, and it took all my strength not to take back my words.
“So, that’s it, then?” he said to my back, causing my shoulders to slump as I took a steady breath and turned to face him.
“Yes. That’s it. I’m sorry, Miller. My mental fortitude is not strong enough to argue any more with you tonight. I’m leaving.”
I didn’t bother to say goodbye, not caring if we were drawing attention to ourselves, as I walked as fast as I could out of the room in these godforsaken heels. I could hear his footsteps squeaking on the granite behind me, and my eyes darted between professors, parents, and attendees, hoping they were none the wiser to my current emotional state.
Perhaps they only gave us a passing glance while waiting in line at one of several bars set up within the ballroom. Or perhaps the adrenaline pumping through my veins as I made my way around the patrons was a tangible, violet aura everyone could see.
I moved past the small band playing, their music filling the air with a slow, sensual waltz. Before I could make it to the front desk and out into the night, a warm hand wrapped around my elbow and guided me down a quiet hallway to the left, away from the bustling crowd. As we walked, the sound of chatter and laughter faded, replaced by the distant hum of the air conditioner. I jerked my arm from his grip, and stopped, pressing a hand to my stomach. Miller stayed close, our shoulders barely pressed together as he stopped beside me and leaned against the wall. Where our bodies touched, my skin tingled, making me want to pull away and move closer.
Nope.I needed more distance. Pushing off the wall, I headed farther into the darkened space. The last door in the hallway, before the glowing red exit sign, was ajar. I pushed my way in, looking around. There were a few open lockers and hooks with various rain jackets and umbrellas hanging from them. The evening was warm and dry, so I assumed this space was a catch-all of miscellaneous things employees had neglected to take home after their shift. The silent, sad little closet would serve my purpose perfectly.
Miller followed, propping himself against the doorframe and crossing his arms. No. That wasn’t right. It was more like the doorframe barely accommodated his width and height—another thing on the long list of items for me not to be ready to deal with. How dare he be so tall and so built that simple doorframes could not hold him? I pursed my lips, causing him to arch one eyebrow and tilt his head to the side.
“I don’t want to do this here, Miller,” I said, mimicking his pose from inside the dusty room before turning around. The space wasn’t large enough to pace, but I had to keep moving. Four steps to the wall, turn, and three steps back. If I took the additional two steps, I’d come nose-to-nose with Miller. I’d get a face full of his cologne—and I could not get distracted by that smell.
The smell that stayed on my sheets long after he’d gone, and the smell that remained on several choice shirts I’d forgotten to give back to him. This was the time for me to process the night while staying immune to all the things I liked about him.
“I just wanted to be here for you tonight. I thought I was doing you a favor by showing up,” he answered, cocking his head to the opposite side and glaring. I paced again. Once. Then twice before huffing out a breath and shaking my head.
“No. No. You are not doing me a favor. Whatever attempt this was to make up for what happened is unnecessary. You refuse to respect my request to not talk about this here, so the only thing left for you to do is leave.”
“Leave? Leave? Oh, no, Em. I’m not leaving. In fact—”
“Look. Fine. I’ll come with you to wherever. I just don’t want to fucking do this in a dusty closet. What part of that is too hard to understand?”
“It’s not hard to understand, but it’s not too much to ask you to just give me a damn answer.”
“No. I refuse to kowtow to you because you think you’re entitled to something I’m not willing to share here.” I stopped to stare at him.
“You know, you looked pretty sad standing on the balcony tonight.”
“Sad?”
“Yes. Sad. I wanted to take that away. See you smile. Have you look at me like you did when what’s-his-name showed up at your place for your date.”
Oh, Miller.
I swallowed, allowing one hand to leave my hip and wrap gently around my throat. He crossed his arms and glared like he blamed me for my silence.
“I’m here because I want to be. The least you can do is tell me if you want me here with you.”
I rubbed the furrow between my brows, not caring if I smeared my makeup. A headache was creeping in, and I glanced around the space, hoping I’d see a long-forgotten water cooler.
No such luck.
“What? Are you too concerned with your new promotion to talk about us?” He ran his hands through his hair and sat down on the bench, straddling the wood and clenching his fists.
“You jackass.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. What should we talk about, then? The weather, perhaps? Or how much you hated me showing up in muddy jeans the other night?”
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” I said, taking a step forward. I shook my head and turned around, needing the steady pace of my feet to help calm the racing of my heart.
“But isn’t this what you wanted?” He gestured to his suit-clad form, and I rolled my eyes.
“Yes. No. Miller, please.”
“I thought—”
My shoulders slumped as he stopped whatever he was going to say. I watched him, taking in his broad form. The little lines around his eyes stood out, pulling his handsome face tight with an emotion I wasn’t used to seeing. His face usually went from elated to giddy to downright blissful. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen this expression.
The one that slammed into the forefront of my mind was when his father died. After the funeral, I watched him and his brothers crowd around Bev and get into a town car, my heart aching for the family. That evening, or some ungodly hour in the morning, a rough banging sounded on my front door. I stumbled down the hallway, barely looking through the peephole before I opened the door—and opened my arms.
He threw himself at me, nearly toppling us over, but I held on for all I was worth. We just slept; our bodies pressed closely together all night.
This moment felt like that one—significant and defining. This second felt desperate and wanting. It felt like we were on the precipice of something big. Something that would change us—for better or worse.
I wanted it to change.
I wanted everything to change.
“Just tell me why you’re here when we’ve yet to have the chance to figure out what we are,” I whispered, picking at my cuticle. The polish was chipping, and I itched to choose the boldest, most outrageous color I could find. Like a neon blue or an electric orange. Just a little something to express my individuality. Hopkirk encouraged it, apparently.
“Why I’m here? That’s what you want to know?” Pushing away from the bench, he skulked toward me. I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling the blush on my skin, and stepped backward until my back pressed against the wall. He was close enough for me to take in his spicy aftershave and see the flecks of hazel in his eyes.
The door behind us slammed closed, and I jumped, closing my eyes and pressing my hand harder to my chest. My heart thumped erratically under my palm as Miller rubbed his temple and stalked back to the door.
He tugged on the handle. Then pulled harder, using both hands and grunting with the effort.
“Open the door, Miller.”
“Um.” He let go of the handle and turned to me, rubbing the back of his neck. I stumbled forward, shouldering past him in the small space and wrapping my hand around the knob.
“That’s not going to work, pretty lady. If I couldn’t get it open, there’s no hope you’ll be able to.”
“Ugh,” I squeaked, letting go of the handle and stomping my foot. I knew it was stupid and immature, but we couldn’t be stuck. “I could do without the sexist commentary, please, Miller.”
“Yes. Well. I’m still waiting for a thank you for showing up.” He buffed his nails on his jacket, and I swallowed down the anger and breathed deeply.
“Just get us out of here.”
“I can’t,” he said, moving to lean against the lockers. “We’re stuck.”