Blitzing Emily

by Julie Brannagh

  Emily shrugged her shoulders, and attempted to look bored. “Whatever you’d like is fine.”

  “Fried rice, moo shu pork. How about some soup? I like that egg flower stuff.”

  “It’s all great. Really.” She was still trying to regain her composure, and he was acting like nothing had happened.

  “So, dinner, maybe we can watch a movie, and then we’ll hit the sack.”

  “You don’t need to spend the night. I’m fine.” Inside voice, she told herself.

  “Of course I’m sleeping here.”

  BRANDON BEAT HER to the door a half hour later. The tabletop was quickly festooned with white cardboard take-out containers, and they sat down to enjoy the feast.

  “Would you like more fried rice?” she asked him, wielding the serving spoon.

  “Yes. Thank you.” Emily spooned more onto his plate, and he nodded. “Keep going. By the way, you seem to be wearing some hoisin sauce.”

  She glanced at the front of her sweater and let out a groan.

  “Oh, no. I can’t eat anything without making a mess.”

  “It’s only me.” he said, obviously trying to reassure her she wasn’t as clumsy as she thought. “It looks like I spilled some, too. What a shame.” He dribbled a bit of sauce on his polo shirt. “See? Not so bad.”

  “Here. Let me wash it. The stain might not come out.” She reached around the table for the hem of his shirt.

  “Don’t worry about it. Let’s finish our dinner,” Brandon said. She reached up to brush a few grains of rice off his shirt. “Thanks. So, what’s on your mind?”

  “How did your meeting go today?”

  “They’re thinking about making a trade or two before the NFL draft, so there was some discussion about the positions the team might want to strengthen. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Do you usually have meetings when you’re not playing games?”

  “There are a lot of guys who live here year round. We all practice together. The ones that don’t are usually talking to the other guys on cell phones or via Twitter, so they can chime in if they’d like.” He propped his chin in his hand. “How’d it go with Amy, and when am I going to meet her?”

  “Amy’s business is a little nuts right now. We might be able to get together when I’m done with my performances in Seattle.” By the time her performances were over, the engagement would be over, too. He didn’t seem to realize this. Maybe that was best.

  “I would like that. My parents would like to meet you, too.”

  “Do you think that’s a good idea? If we’re not going to be together that long, it’s not really necessary.”

  His expression was implacable.

  “My parents will still want to meet you. I want to meet your folks, and I want to meet Amy. This isn’t open for negotiation.”

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  AFTER BRANDON INHALED his dinner that evening (and Emily picked at hers) they adjourned to Emily’s living room couch. She managed to seize the remote, flipping the television on. Brandon pretended to glare at her. The effect was ruined, however, by a huge grin and the flash of his dimple.

  The sports anchorman’s voice boomed over the TV’s speakers.

  “Single women everywhere are inconsolable over the news that the Sharks’ Brandon McKenna announced his engagement this morning. The Sharks front office is cautiously optimistic. Will McKenna put up what must be a modern-day version of the ‘little black book’—his legendary smart phone ‘contacts’ list of single females—for auction on eBay as a result?”

  “Like I’m that stupid,” Brandon muttered.

  Emily gave him a combination eye roll and head shake. The typically unflappable Brandon had been squirming for a few minutes now. “That’s really going to put a crimp in your social life, Brandon.”

  He grunted in response.

  The announcer continued. “Our cameras caught up with the wily Mr. McKenna outside of his fiancée Emily Hamilton’s home this morning, and he didn’t fail to astonish and amuse.”

  Emily watched them walk down the front stairs on her television screen. One of the reporters asked her if she was surprised at his proposal, and Brandon wrapped his arms around her waist as she responded, “Yes, I was.” He gave her an adoring grin. He nuzzled her hair. It looked like he was kissing Emily’s ear, but in reality, she had deliberately stepped on his toes. The next piece of tape was of Brandon standing outside of her Escape while she waited inside. Another reporter asked, “Brandon, we understand that Miss Hamilton is a very talented and sought-after young diva. How do you plan to cope with two demanding careers?”

  “You know, Emily’s talented in many areas,” he smirked, raised one eyebrow, and gave the camera a look that let all of America know exactly what she was talented at. “Frankly, she wears me out. I’m a lucky man.” He shook his head a bit, gave the reporters a dazzling smile, and said, “Thanks, guys,” as he pulled the driver’s door open and swung into the seat.

  Emily let out a gasp of horror. “You—You—What was that?”

  Brandon shot her a quick glance. “Take a breath, sugar.”

  “My parents will see that. You just told the entire country that I’m some kind of—oh, my God. How could you?” She jumped up from the couch, hurried through the living room, and stormed up the staircase. Her headache was temporarily forgotten. Brandon didn’t even have to run to catch up with her.

  “Sugar,” he cajoled. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Yes, it is. I can’t believe you said that. I am not one of your—” She whipped around to face him; he stopped inches from crashing into her. “Floozies. Trollops. Hos. Bimbos. Whatever they’re called, I’m not one of them.” She poked her finger in the middle of his chest to punctuate. Multiple times.

  “Now, you don’t need to name call,” he said. “They wanted a colorful quote, and I gave it to them.”

  Emily let out a groan, and turned on her heel. Right now, making a lot of noise was the only option. He caught her elbow. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be right now?” she said.

  “No. No, I don’t.” He stroked her arm. “You’re not mad about this.” He moved closer. Her body double-crossed her, swaying toward him. His arm slid around her waist. “So, I got a little carried away. It’s not a problem.” He nuzzled the hair at her temple. The temperature in the room shot up twenty degrees in five seconds or so.

  She couldn’t understand why she wavered between wanting to commit bodily harm on him and wanting to do things to him that would feel really, really good. Right now, though, she needed to pull herself together.

  Her head jerked up, narrowly missing his nose. “I realize the rest of the world thinks we’re engaged right now, but did you need to tell everyone I’m some kind of insatiable sex maniac? That stuff is private. It should remain between us. All of America does not need to know what goes on in my bedroom!” She poked him in the chest a few more times for emphasis.

  He lifted an eyebrow. “Insatiable sex maniac? Now, that’s interesting.” The amusement on his face made her realize he wasn’t backing off. “I’ve never met one of those before. Tell me more.”

  Her mouth dropped open in outrage. At that moment, the phone started to ring. She turned on her heel and stomped away from him only to hear Brandon’s laughter again.

  EMILY GRABBED THE ringing phone in her room, hitting “speaker” as she sat down on the bed. It was David calling to outline the booking offers he’d fielded that day.

  “Your calendar’s getting a workout, Emily. So, I’ll confirm all three of the productions we talked about, and send the information to your phone’s calendar as well.”

  “Thanks, David. I’m really glad things are picking up.”

  “I am, too. I just got an email from Seattle Opera’s PR group as well. They’d like to do an interview and some pictures with you and Brandon at your earliest convenience. It’ll run in the magazine and on their website. If he’d like, we can schedule a date and time with his
agent.”

  She saw Brandon stroll into the room out of the corner of her eye.

  “That’ll work for me, David. I’ll let Josh know to expect your call,” Brandon responded, speaking loudly enough for David to hear him over the speaker phone.

  “Great. By the way, Brandon, I saw the ESPN interview. You’re making my job easy.”

  “Glad to hear it,” Brandon said. “Thanks for taking such good care of my girl.”

  “Back at you. Talk to you later, Emily.” David hung up.

  Emily pulled breath into her lungs. Their conversation gave her a few minutes to calm down and think. Three more bookings! She’d never gotten three bookings in a week, let alone one day.

  Brandon stretched out on the other side of her bed and picked up the book resting on the nightstand.

  “If this keeps up, you’re going to have to bring somebody in to feed the cat and water the plants while you’re gone. Good job, sugar.”

  Obviously he was teasing her, but the irritation she’d felt twenty seconds before her phone rang had given way to relief and amusement. Rather than causing some type of irreparable issue, Brandon’s outrageous comments in the media led to bookings. How did this happen, anyway?

  “Hey, I’m curious.” Brandon put the book on the nightstand. “Why did you become an opera singer? I’ve never met one before.”

  “Changing the subject, huh?” She propped herself up against the headboard of her bed.

  “C’mon, sugar.” He stretched out, propped himself up on one elbow, and watched her expectantly.

  She thought for a few moments before responding. “I saw an opera when I was twelve and fell in love with it. From that moment on I always knew what I wanted to do when I was older.”

  “It’s good to have goals. Tell me more.”

  She pulled a pink cashmere throw over her and wound the fringe around her fingers as she spoke. “Besides Amy and my parents, there is nothing and nobody else in the world I love like I love to sing. Nothing else makes me happier.” She looked into his face. “I’m lost in the music, and it’s almost like I step outside myself. I can feel the breath in my body. I can hear the notes coming out of me, but I am somewhere else for that time. It’s somewhere I can’t wait to go back to again.”

  “So, you’ve been singing since you were twelve.”

  “My training didn’t really start till I was sixteen.”

  He propped himself up on the pillows. “How long can you keep doing this? Do you ever wonder what you’ll do when you decide to end your career?”

  “I will hopefully sing till I die, but professionally? Probably another twenty years or so. I have a plan.” He waited, and she took a breath. “I want to sing at the Metropolitan Opera in New York. It’s everything I’ve worked for, because it’s the greatest success I could have as a diva in the United States. It’s the pinnacle. I’m hoping I’ll get there in the next two years. After I get there, I can sing the top roles until retirement.”

  He reached out to pat her hand. “I think you’ll get there.”

  “Thanks. That’s very kind.” She sighed. Some days, those goals seemed far away. “I started late. When I got out of the conservatory, I wanted a Master’s, and then, to build a repertoire, I spent a lot of time singing roles with smaller opera companies. I’m not sorry, but I wonder if I’m going to pay for not managing my career as well as I should have. That’s why I have David. He’s really good at it.”

  Brandon had grown silent.

  “You’ve been playing football for a while, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “Since I was six.” He let out a laugh. “It’s a lotta years.”

  “Have you thought of what you’re going to do when you want to retire from football?”

  He shrugged, propped himself up on the pillows, and folded his arms across his chest; he was uncomfortable with the subject. “I’ll probably end up doing color commentary for NFL broadcasts. I’ve done it before during the regular season when we had a bye week.”

  “What’s a bye week?”

  “We get a week off.” He continued. “Right now, broadcasting is my post-football focus. It’s fun, I enjoy it, and it pays well.” He crossed his feet at the ankles. Despite the fact they really didn’t know each other, it was obvious by his body language Brandon didn’t want to discuss this, and she wondered why. “Hey.” His eyes locked onto hers, and Emily noticed that the typically amused expression in them was gone. “What happens to your ten-year plan if you fall in love? Have you thought about that?”

  She hugged herself, and crossed her ankles as well. “I’m not sure.”

  If there were such a thing as being struck dead for lying, Emily surely would have been a goner at that point. The truth was something she carefully guarded, and she wasn’t giving it up to the blond Adonis less than a foot from her. She didn’t want to end up like her mom. She didn’t want to give up her dreams, no matter how lonely she was. Emily could fall in love and get married later, or not at all. She had known other divas who married and had kids, but she’d already spent enough time screwing around. If she wanted to achieve her goals, she couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

  “You’ve thought about everything else. Why wouldn’t you think of that?” Brandon probed.

  “I just didn’t. It didn’t seem important.” Sure it wasn’t. She could tell by the look in his eyes he didn’t buy her response, either, but she made her best effort. “What about you? Do you think you’ll fall in love and have little blond babies?”

  His eyes softened, and a smile twitched the corners of his lips. “I sure hope so. I have to find a woman who wants to fall in love for the rest of her life.”

  “Wouldn’t that be most women?” she said.

  “I always thought so.” His eyes held hers again.

  She swallowed hard and quickly changed the subject. “Want to watch a movie?”

  “Nope. Not right now. I’d like to spend some more time talking, if you’re not too tired.”

  She wanted to get out of this conversation, and he’d presented her with the best opportunity possible. “I’m pretty wiped out,” she said.

  He shoved himself off the bed. “Time to get some sleep, then. I’ll make a wardrobe change.”

  “You don’t need to stay here. You have your own place. I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to watch me. I can sleep on my—”

  He laid his fingertips over her mouth. “You’re going to wear yourself out with all that arguing. Come on.” He reached out for her hand. “Don’t you want to put on one of those virginal white nighties?”

  She wasn’t giving in to his charm again. Even if he’d deliberately dribbled hoisin sauce on his shirt, bought her a ring that must have cost a staggering amount of money, and generally been wonderful, she could resist him. Even if every time he smiled, her heart skipped a beat.

  He probably smiled that way at every woman who crossed his path. She wasn’t special. The sooner she realized that, the better off she’d be.

  “Don’t I get an opinion here? It’s my house.”

  “Of course you do. You told me that you’re fine by yourself, and I disagree.” His eyes twinkled again. “Get changed, and we’ll discuss it further.”

  She heaved a frustrated sigh. “You’re—you’re just—oooh.”

  Emily hurried into the bathroom and shut the door only to hear his laughter. She put on another billowing white cotton nightgown, washed her face, brushed her teeth, and thought about what she should do. She could order him to leave. That was best. The scariest thing about Brandon was that he saw behind her defenses. He knew, somehow, she really didn’t want him to leave.

  This had to stop.

  She emerged from the bathroom to find Brandon snuggled into the blankets of her bed. He gave her a sleepy grin.

  “If you’re staying here, you need to sleep in the living room or in the guest room. This is not working,” Emily informed him in her firmest tone. If she averted her eyes from his bare chest, she could do th
is—as long as she didn’t remember how uncomfortable he looked curled up in her bedroom chair, or how he had stayed to make sure she was okay.

  “You don’t have a bed in your guest room. The living room’s cold.” On any other man, it would have been whining. In Brandon’s accent, it was a crime against humanity.

  “What’s the matter? The big football player doesn’t know how to turn up a thermostat? Too bad.” She pointed toward the bedroom door. “Out.”

  “You don’t really mean that, sugar,” he said.

  “Yes, I do. We still hardly know each other.”

  He let out a snort. “I know that you snore.”

  “I do not,” Emily said.

  “You also make the cutest little whimpering noises in your sleep,” he said softly.

  She threw the smallest pillow from her bed at him. “Goodnight, Brandon.”

  The door shut behind him. She breathed a sigh as she crawled into bed, ignoring the twinges of guilt. God’s gift to the NFL could take the couch, and she might get some rest.

  BRANDON STROLLED INTO Emily’s room a few hours later. He’d made a few phone calls, watched all the game film he could stand, and fixed himself a midnight snack. He’d slept in the chair in her room before, but the only way he was going to get any meaningful sleep at all was to stretch out next to her.

  She was right; he could have slept at home. But he kept thinking about the expression on her face when she had pushed herself out of his arms earlier. Obviously, that was a physical response to spending the last forty-eight hours or so with someone he found attractive. He wanted to kiss her. Even more, he knew she wanted to kiss him, but she wouldn’t. She was stubborn to the tenth power. While he delighted in doing and saying stuff that worked her last nerve, he realized he really enjoyed watching the relaxation that spread through her entire body when she laughed. It would be slow going, but oddly, he wanted to gain Emily’s trust.

  His long-term plan had been to avoid anything that lasted longer than a New York minute. He didn’t want anything permanent, and when things got sticky he made a quick exit. He’d never had any intention of settling down until his football days were at an end, and then he’d take time to find the right woman. These days, though, flavor-of-the month females meant more annoyance and heartache than fun—women like Anastasia, for instance. She was the last straw.