Chapter 30
Emma
T urns out the regional business council was only the first stop on tonight’s tour. Everyone is so far up each other’s ass, it’s a miracle they’re still breathing. At eight, we leave the ballroom for a private spot on the patio of an Italian restaurant. It’s the kind you’d go to on a date, not to cozy up to donors. Each table seats six, and Miles and I are with my parents, Carter, and Blair. Lorenzo had the sense to leave before we got here, and more power to him.
At least forty of us are squeezed together at round tables. We’re under outdoor lights hanging from the pergola. Servers keep grazing Miles’s head with their ass every time they twist to move between tables. I was cracking up until he threatened to switch seats, which shut me right up.
My breath caught when I saw Miles tonight. Men in suits are nothing new, but my thighs threatened a fire rubbing together at his BDE in a black suit and matching dress shirt.
I tried to put distance between us today, but he charged through it and called me out. It was the right thing to do at the time, or so I thought. In our week together, Miles grew from an acquaintance to a true friend. Not reaching out today wasted what little time we have together. I like texting him just because, and I find myself wanting to reach out more throughout the day to ask about his. It’s weird to think we were at each other’s throats for so many years. I’ve enjoyed our time together thus far, but I’m not rushing to shout it from a rooftop.
Miles’s groan mimics a growl when another server bumps his chair. “Don’t start,” he says with a stony expression. But there’s no heat behind it, and, sure enough, it morphs into a grin at the laughter I’m fighting to keep behind the napkin over my mouth.
His gaze turns serious, cascading from my eyes to my lips. “You’re beautiful,” he says, just for me to hear.
“Thank you,” I whisper back.
We don’t break our stare until my mother clears her throat.
“Colette’s daughter is expecting,” she announces across the table before cutting into an olive she could have popped into her mouth whole. “She invited us to Diana’s shower.”
“Diana and I haven’t spoken in years, Mother.” A fact she already knows. “With the new collection, work is too busy for me to leave right now.” Could I squeeze in the trip? If I wanted to. Will I? Of course not.
“Maybe if you focused more on meaningful relationships and not your job, you’d have a husband and a child,” my mother retorts. “She’s on her third, building a legacy, while you’re”—her face scrunches—“playing with fabrics.”
A muscle in Miles’s jaw ticks. His eyes soften to assess me, then darken at my okay. He glances at my father, whose attention is elsewhere, as usual. The fact that he arrived late Wednesday and this is the first time we’ve seen each other should sting more than it does. Maybe I’m finally numb to it after all of these years.
“Those fabrics are part of a multimillion-dollar brand I helped build. I don’t need a husband, and I don’t want kids. My legacy will live on just fine.”
I never wanted children. I always saw myself as the fun aunt who’d drop in, inject my friends’ children with sugar, and leave. I enjoy my freedom and won’t let anyone guilt me into feeling unfulfilled or incomplete for choosing not to procreate or raise a child. Parenting comes in many forms, and it isn’t a milestone or a box to check off by a certain age. It’s a calling I never felt in my life.
If my mother paid attention to the needs I expressed and not the demands she wants to impose, she’d know that. Instead, she shifts her attention to Miles, whom she already insulted with her dig about “meaningful relationships.”
Her violet evening gown sparkles under the canopy of twinkling lights. My mother is a beautiful woman with an ugly heart. “You’ll have to forgive us, Miles. We’re not used to Emma keeping a companion for longer than a month. She rarely commits to anything.”
“I think she made it clear where her priorities are.” Miles straightens and reaches for my hand. His thumb rolls over my knuckles. “My mother loves me unconditionally, so you’ll have to forgive me . I’m not used to this.”
Our corner of the room stills. Every other table carries on as the antipasto hits the white linen, unaware of the gauntlet Miles dropped. No one, not even my father, who found yet another reason to scurry away, has put my mother in her place. Carter, of all people, lifts his head from his phone to check if Miles still had his head on his shoulders. Blair is a fawn caught in headlights, unsure if it’s safe to blink without permission.
I want to laugh my ass off. For once, Juliette Douglass is speechless, and it took Miles two sentences to do it.
“In the time we’ve shared, your daughter had her collection featured in fashion week, flew to Milan to meet with vendors, and is working hard to sustain her success.” Miles directs his words to my mother. “I’m not a parent, nor do I want to be, but Emma’s happiness should be your focus, not trying to contort her into a box or control her.”
My heart cracks open, flooding warmth into pieces of me that were frozen over but are now regaining circulation. I’m not an emotional person, but in this moment, I want to feel every single feeling. Mainly gratitude for my friend.
“You’re so unappreciative,” Blair stammers from next to my mother, whose gaze is lost in the distance. “Your parents give you everything, and you throw it in their faces to chase after lust and gold.”
Laughter tips my head back. This dinner might get me committed. “Says the person who followed me around work, begging to be part of one of my campaigns. Do us all a favor, Blair: stop chasing after other people’s lives and live your own.” I push my water glass to the middle of the table. “I’m not that thirsty, and you clearly need this more than me.”
Miles’s lips twitch over his drink.
“Where did I go wrong with you?” My mother laces her voice with every ounce of disdain she can muster. Her ice-cold stare is as pale as her ivory skin. I’ve always questioned if part of her regrets me. Now I know. “First your embarrassment of a profession, and now bringing this hoodlum—”
Her rant ends prematurely to a wave of gasps. Conversations stop as our private area goes pitch-black. Servers scramble to figure out the source of the power outage and why it only affects our section and not the entire restaurant.
“Let’s go.” Miles pulls me up and guides us through the landmine of tables. We reach the front of the building, and he signals for the valet to get our cars.
“You deal with that shit on the regular?” He glowers and turns away.
“What?”
“Them speaking to you wild as fuck!” Maple eyes darken into thunderclouds. Miles steps back to check his temper and scrubs a hand over his face. “Shit isn’t cool, Em.”
You think I don’t know that?
My brows furrow. “I’ve dealt with that my whole life. It’s nothing new or anything I can’t handle—”
“Yourself.” He nods. “You always got it and don’t need anyone else.”
I hesitate, baffled, trying understand Miles’s reaction. The desire to protect me reflects in his eyes like a possession. “Why do you care so much?” My gaze flicks up to find him staring down at me.
The air shifts through a series of exploding currents prickling my skin. Miles is so close, I feel the heat of his body. Drops of moisture cling to his smooth mocha skin over brows once drawn downward and easing into the handsome face I’ve admired. My fingers yearn to touch him in a way I haven’t before.
“I should go.” The words release on their own, pulling me away from Miles, trying to understand the wedge I’m resecuring between us.
He searches my face in a fury of glances that land against my skin like forehead kisses. “Are you okay?” The rich timbre floats above a husky whisper.
My weak smile clings to the edges of my control. “I will be.” I can give him that. “I’ve had enough excitement for one night and want to clear my head.”
He unfastens his stare and releases a breath. “I understand. Just”—his gaze rakes over my face, pulling his brows back together—“text me at some point to let me know you’re okay. Please.”
“I can do that.”
The valet arrives with my car. I slip in and speed off.
Aged wood groans as my five-inch, patent leather pumps amble over its weathered surface. Neon lights shine over quiet ripples succumbing to the ebbs and flows of the ocean.
I drove around lost in city lights and thoughts that sped too fast to catch until I found parking near the last place my head was clear enough to revel in the moment. I never intended to come back to the Santa Monica Pier, but this stretch of boardwalk is helping me process. It’s close to ten, which means it’s almost midnight in Austin. Too late to call Justice with the time difference.
She doesn’t know about my arrangement with Miles that has him sleeping down the hall from me every night. I’m assuming he hasn’t told Terrence given Justice hasn’t flown over here to rip me a new one for keeping such a secret. I never meant to withhold it, but I also didn’t imagine the sequence of events from the singles’ retreat until now.
My feelings for Miles are changing. Every sense leaps to life in his presence—the way he cares for me as much as he brings my body pleasure. Miles stepped up for me tonight in a way no one ever has. I take care of myself, I always do, but a weight released when I wasn’t the only one defending myself at the table. Miles became my knight, protecting my peace not out of obligation, but because he cares for me.
Sex anchored us, but we’ve transcended that now. Roots grew, stretching below the safety of the surface, and that scares me. The more time I spend around Miles, the more I lose my touch. I’m revealing parts of myself I’ve kept hidden for so long I forgot they existed, and it’s all because of him.
My pointed-toe red bottoms stall at the figure down at the end of the pier double-fisting two hot dogs. Miles stops mid-bite when his eyes drift to me. That’s another thing about us we can’t seem to escape: chance run-ins.
“Are you stalking me?” Humor nestles itself in my voice.
Miles hikes a brow. “Who was here first? One of the interns in Zo’s office mentioned a stand here with Japanese-inspired hot dogs. I was too busy to make it for lunch and figured now was good since we didn’t have dinner.” He chuckles to himself and looks away. “Can’t stop running into you.”
My smile spreads at his. “Guess not.”
When I reach him, Miles hands me a hot dog with fried onions, teriyaki sauce, and Japanese mayo, and I devour it. We exchange nods between chews and settle in at the end of the pier to watch the moon dance over the ocean.
“You good, Em?” Miles’s eyes drift to my profile from his perch against the railing. His forearms rest over the metal, placing his body at my eye level. Miles looks good in a suit, but his overcoat and beanie tipped to the side send me back to New York. Him waiting in the shadows, walking back to my suite, and thrusting us into an unforgettable affair.
Pleasure tightens my breath, and I release it with a sigh. “Yeah. Just embarrassed at this point.”
He frowns. “Why?”
“I feel too old to let them affect me the way they do. When do I allow anyone else to act like that? I’m over it.”
“So be done,” Miles says matter-of-factly. “Stop holding on to things that no longer serve you. If that includes your family, you have other people who care about you. Justice. Her parents. T. Me.”
I’m caught off guard by the vibrancy in his voice. “Me” is a velvet murmur that takes flight, set free from a place of longing.
Miles stands to his full height, the magnetic pull and lure of his musk moving me to him. His gaze travels over my face, searching for the mirror we hold for each other. When he finds it, he swallows, his gaze compelling me to hear his heart.
“You asked me earlier why I care,” he says. “You’re too incredible to deal with unnecessary bullshit from the people who should love you the most.” His words are a stroke to my cheek, with adoration lighting his eyes.
I’m clueless as to what this means for our arrangement, but we’ll worry about it tomorrow. I take Miles by the face and press my lips to his. “Thank you. Not because I need saving, but for showing up when it means the most.”
“I got you, kitten. Them lights aren’t coming back on until tomorrow.” He pulls me to the corded muscles of his chest and kisses the top of my hair.
I stare for a beat before it sets in. “ You did that?” My eyes damn near bulge from their sockets.
“Damn straight,” he says with a grin. “Call me the hoodlum hacker. I’ll turn off every light in the city before they disrespect you again in my presence.”
We bust out laughing. I stumble back in my heels, grip my sides, and keel over with delayed snorts. It all makes sense why he was on his phone.
Pink stains my cheeks from my cackling. I blot the tears form the corners of my eyes and swallow. “Let’s go home.”
We hop in our cars and race off to Malibu.