The Trouble With Love (16 page)

As for Emma . . . hard to tell. She was doing her usual stone-faced thing.

Had been ever since that night he’d caught her kissing her ex-boyfriend. Alex’s fingers clenched on his pen, and he shifted his attention to her end of the table.

“What about you four? How are things coming on the December articles?”

“Great!” Grace said. “‘Stocking Stuffers He’ll Actually Use’ is nearly done, even though it’s been a pain in the ass to write it in October.”

Alex nodded distractedly. It
was
weird discussing Christmas in October, but it was the nature of the magazine timeline.

“Ri?”

“Well, since you wouldn’t let me do ‘Logistics of Sex Under the Christmas Tree,’ I’m going with ‘Festive Lingerie.’ Found a bra with little gingerbread men on the nipples.”

Alex winced.

“There’s a how-to on under-the-tree sex?” Emma asked. “Don’t you just
do
it?”

Riley gave her a patient look. “Five words: pine needles up the ass.”

“Jesus,” Alex muttered. “Julie, how’s your story?”

“Not started,” she said with a cheeky grin. “I get married in two weeks. I’ve been prioritizing. But it’ll get done.”

He clicked his pen. “Refresh my memory?”

“‘Surviving the In-Laws.’”

“Speaking from personal experience?” Riley asked.

Julie sighed. “Mitchell’s mom is planning ahead and insisting on a posed family photo in front of the Christmas tree. She bought me a red headband. With sparkles.”

“Pretty,” Emma said. “Do you get to wear a jumper, too?”

Alex rubbed his temple. A headache was definitely on its way. “Emma? Your story?”

Her eyes locked on his. “It’s fine.”

Everyone looked at her, waiting for her to say more.

She didn’t.

Then everyone looked at him, waiting for him to demand more.

He didn’t.

Alex looked away from her as though he didn’t care one way or another about her story. As though he didn’t want to know every little detail about the guy who’d been kissing her in the hallway the night before.

He
did
want to know.

But he didn’t trust his own reaction. Not with an entire conference room full of women watching him.

“Okay, fitness team, you’re up.”

He swore he saw Emma give her friends a smug smile out of the corner of his eye, and he gritted his teeth. If she thought she’d gotten out of having to update him on her progress, she had another thing coming.

The second the meeting was over, Alex was the first one to the door, but he stopped and let everyone else exit before him. He did so under the guise of calling them each by name and letting them know he was here if they needed him, despite the fact that he didn’t understand girly bullshit.

But mostly he was waiting for her.

She was the last one out. Intentionally so, if he knew her at all. Which he did.

She was set to walk right past him, when he said her name. “Emma.”

She paused, not looking at him, and he almost smiled. He was almost starting to enjoy this game they played. A few months ago, the ignoring of each other had been complete and genuine. But watching her ignore him now, even though they’d shared a hamburger and wine last weekend, gave him a strange sense of intimacy. As though the two of them held a secret.

“Can you come by my office later?”

She looked at him then, her eyes wide. “You mean I’m actually getting a meeting with my illustrious boss? I hope you let me type something for you. Maybe I can bring you coffee? Do you need me to fetch your dry-cleaning first?”

He rolled his eyes. “Just be there. Two o’clock?”

She rolled her eyes back and walked out of the room without a response.

He figured there was a fifty-fifty chance of her showing up. He almost relished the surprise.

Alex went back to his office on the
Oxford
floor of the building, only to have a cluster of fire drills to put out. The most recent cover shoot had been a disaster because the action movie star had been stoned. Yet another advertiser had pulled out. Two of his designers had called in sick. One of Cole’s scorned women had come by seeking vengeance. Two of
Lincoln’s
women had come by looking for an office booty call.

Two o’clock rolled around before he knew it, and he hated himself for checking his watch and the door every thirty seconds.

She arrived at 2:10.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you,” he said, gesturing her in.

She put a hand over her chest, and her pretty eyes went wide as she slipped into a southern accent. “Why, goodness me, Mr. Cassidy, I should never think to stand up a man expectin’ me—you just never said whether I should be gettin’ you a coffee or pickin’ up your dry-cleanin’ or—”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” he muttered. “I’m sorry I issued a command like that. It was poorly done.”

She studied him, then entered the office and sat across from him. She was wearing a dark green dress with a high neck and wide belt. Her heels were at least four inches high, her hair pulled back into some sort of knot thing, and she looked . . . untouchable.

Which was too bad, because his hands itched to untidy her hair, to wrinkle the too-perfect dress, to remind her of how it had been—

He cleared his throat.

She crossed her legs and leveled a stony stare at him.

He stared right back. “Give me a break, Emma. You think I
want
to be your boss right now?”

“You didn’t hesitate to use the opportunity to give me a story you knew would be miserable.”

“You didn’t look so miserable the other night some guy had his tongue down your throat.”

She tilted her head. “You know, if Camille were here, she’d tell me that kiss would only serve to make my story more interesting.”

Alex clicked his pen and fought for calm. She was right, of course. He should be responding to her as editor-in-chief. Not as personal anything.

But with every day that passed, Alex seemed to grow more aware of their history. More conscious of their unfinished business.

More aware of Emma.

As a woman.

As
his
woman.

Well. Former.

Damn it.

“Fine,” he said, sitting back in his chair and spreading his hands to the side. “Tell me about this guy then. As a
boss
.”

She folded her hands on her lap. “Joel Lambert. We dated for two years.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Two years. Not insignificant.”

She shrugged. “
We
were together for three.”

“Look how well that worked out.”

She smiled. “Exactly.”

“So why’d you break up?”

“You’ll have to read the article.”

“Well, I would, if you’d finish it,” he said.

“It’s not done yet,” she snapped. “It’s the most time-consuming story I’ve had in months.”

Wrong
. He leaned forward. “You
sure
the reason you’re not done yet has nothing to do with the fact that you’ve been saving the most crucial interview for last?”

“You flatter yourself,” she said, looking at her fingernails.

“I
proposed,
” he half-snarled. “I should think that earns me a spot in your story about exes.”

She gave a bored sigh and met his eyes. “So did Joel.”

Alex’s agitated pen clicking pen stopped immediately, and for some reason, he felt like his stomach had dropped out at the thought of Emma engaged to another man.

He wanted to ask questions.

When Joel had asked. If Emma had said yes only to rip the guy’s heart out when she later backed out.

If she’d loved him.

But he was too worried about what it would give away. So instead he pushed her. “When are we finishing this, Emma?”

She glanced away. “You already know the three questions I ask every guy. Can’t you just like . . . email them to me or something?”

His eyes narrowed. “Scared, sweetie?”

Her brown eyes snapped back to his. “Disinterested.”

Alex grinned. “I don’t think so. There’s a reason you scurry away from any discussion of our past the second things start to get interesting. You’re terrified.”

“You’re not exactly pushing the topic, either.”

His smile grew. “Which is exactly why we need to have this conversation. The twelve days of exes . . . how many have you interviewed?”

“Ten,” she said reluctantly. “Number eleven is coming over tonight.”

“Perfect,” he said. “Then number twelve will be there tomorrow night.”

Emma gave him a single nod before standing and heading to the door. Apparently she’d decided their meeting was over, but he didn’t try to stop her. He’d said what he needed to say.

“Bring wine,” she said, not bothering to turn around as she said it. “Something good. God knows we’re going to need it.”

Chapter 17

Emma had known this day would be coming. From the second she’d gotten that email from Cassidy with his bullshit
“Twelve Days of Exes” story assignment, she’d known that he’d chosen her to write the story because he wanted to open up this can of worms.

But that wasn’t the weird part. The weird part was that Emma
wanted
to do this. Sure, her palms were clammy, and she’d had a glob of dread lodged in her chest for the past two and a half weeks, but deep down, she knew that they needed this.

In normal circumstances, they both probably could have handled the unfinished business. Could have gotten through their lives with a bit of extra baggage to lug about.

But it was no longer just about them. Emma had no intention of leaving her job at
Stiletto
anytime soon, and Cassidy seemed in his element at
Oxford,
which meant that they’d be working in close proximity for the foreseeable future.

But more important, they had shared friends. Ignoring each other in the office was no big deal—it had actually become a game of sorts.

But they were both in Julie and Mitchell’s wedding, for God’s sake.

It was only a matter of time before the tension between them erupted and their friends were forced to choose sides.

Time to bury the hatchet.

Emma took a deep breath and reapplied her lipstick. She could do this.
They
could do this. They were both calm, rational adults. In fact, between the two of them, they were calm nearly to a fault. Except, of course, for that one explosive fight.

She took a step back and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes looked a little too big, but that happened sometimes.

The clothes were fine. When she’d told the girls that tonight would be her and Cassidy’s “talk,” there’d been much discussion about outfit.

Riley had voted for a short, red “booby” dress, because “men couldn’t get too mean with a boner.”

Grace had suggested something pink and feminine to “remind him to be a gentleman.”

Good old Julie had asked if Emma still had her wedding dress, “just for impact.”

The answer to that was a big no. She’d donated the designer ballroom gown to a charity that auctioned off gowns and dedicated the proceeds to victims of sex trafficking.

In the end, Emma had gone with what she felt most comfortable in. For some women, that was yoga pants and a tank top, but Emma liked having a bit more . . . armor. For Emma, comfort meant feeling invulnerable.

So she was wearing tailored cream-colored slacks, a black silk blouse, and pointy-toed leopard print shoes.

Using both hands she gathered her hair back and pulled it into a smooth pony at the nape of her neck.

There.

Polished, cool, and a little bit badass.

It was the safest way she could think of to go toe-to-toe with Cassidy.

Speaking of which . . . she glanced at the clock.

Any minute now.

Cassidy knocked, right on time. He hadn’t always been so punctual. When they were in college, she’d forever been getting
be there in 5
texts, that she’d eventually learned meant “be there within the hour. Maybe.”

It hadn’t been because he’d been disorganized; quite the opposite. Cassidy had always been deliberate in everything he did. Instead, Emma had gotten the sense that Cassidy’s lateness had stemmed from a fear of missing out. As though he was always terrified that he’d miss an opportunity to be richer, smarter, better . . .

It had taken her a long time to realize that she was his backup plan. The quiet little mouse he could count on when all else failed.

But she wasn’t his mouse anymore. Wasn’t his
anything
.

Never again.

She opened the door. He was wearing a suit. Always with the damned suits. This one was navy, paired with a white shirt and a navy tie that should have been boringly monochromatic but instead looked sexy as hell for its simplicity. Cassidy always wore skinny ties, but not in a trendy, hipster kind of way, but in a way that showed off his trim build in modern perfection.

“You’re so annoying,” she muttered, even though he hadn’t said a word.

He lifted his eyebrows and stepped inside her apartment. “Is that any way to talk to the guy who brought you wine?”

“I have plenty of my own wine.”

“Yes, but this is better,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone as he headed to the kitchen for a corkscrew.

Emma didn’t even argue as she shut the front door. It probably was better.

“So why am I annoying?” he asked as she wandered back into the kitchen. He’d already found the wine glasses.

She waved a hand over him. “Just . . . too good looking.”

His hand faltered in pouring the wine. Just briefly, but enough for her to know she’d caught him off guard.

“Don’t get excited,” she said, reaching out and plucking a wine glass from his hand. “I point it out as an annoyance because the good looks hide a rather dismal character.”

He blinked and although she’d meant the comment as off-the-cuff and teasing, she had the strangest sense that she’d hurt him.

Then he blinked again, and the moment was over. He clinked his glass against hers and gave her a cocky wink. “You once thought that dismal character was pretty damn alluring.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed “Mmm. That part of my life is all very fuzzy. Shall we?” She gestured toward the living room. She’d done every single one of her interviews there, and she was determined to keep Cassidy’s exactly the same.