“If that’s your story,” he replies flippantly.
Ryder orders and pays for our coffees but instead of heading to the office, he takes a seat at one of the bistro tables outside the entrance to the coffee shop.
“Have a seat,” he says, pulling out a chair for me before taking a seat himself.
“Okay,” I say, drawing the word out longer than necessary. “Shouldn’t we head upstairs and get started? You have a meeting in an hour.”
“I thought we could talk for a minute before we head up.”
“About?” I ask, squaring my shoulder and looking him straight in the eye.
If he’s firing me, he’s going to have to say it to my face. It feels like he’s about to fire me.
When I left the office on Friday, things were fine between us. I even thought we had bonded a little. What changed over the weekend? Is it like when you’re in the mafia and things go wrong? They kill you because you know too much.
“You. Your position. I know you don’t want to be my assistant forever and you have the experience to do more. I just want you to know that your hard work hasn’t gone unnoticed. Or the fact that you saved my ass a few times last week without me having to ask. I appreciate it, Emerson. That’s all. And when a position opens up, I want you to know that I’ll recommend you.”
Not fired. Not dead.
“Thank you,” I whisper, looking toward my coffee. I don’t want him to see the tears in my eyes. After the last few days, I didn’t realize how much I need to hear that I was appreciated, that I’m valued. It just goes to prove how much Ian tried to tear me down and hold me back.
Placing his hand on top of mine, Ryder gives it a light squeeze but doesn’t let go. His hand lingers and all I can do is stare at it. When he clears his throat, I look up to find him staring at me, really looking at me. His eyes tell a story that I want to read, but I’m afraid to turn the page and find out what happens.
“We should—”
“Yeah. Work to be done. Are you always this much of a slave driver?” he jokes, removing his hand from mine and standing.
I can still feel his touch. My hand is on fire and I’m enjoying the burn. A little too much. When he places his hand at the base of my back and ushers me through the door to the stairwell I almost let out a sigh.
This is wrong. I can’t do this. I can’t allow myself to fall for my boss. Things can only turn out badly. I’ll have to start all over, find a new job. Not to mention the especially awkward place we’re both in right now. He’s getting divorced and I’m two days single. It’s not the time to start something new. Not yet.
Thoughts of having more with Ryder haunt me most of the morning, Angela’s suggestion rattling around in my brain.
You could just sleep with him.
By lunch, I want to throttle her. It’s all I can think about. Every time he walks past me, every time I hear his voice, I imagine being beneath him, on top of him. I imagine what it would be like to feel his arms wrapped around me after making love.
There’s a fresh latte waiting for me on my desk when I return from lunch and a note from Ryder letting me know he left early for a meeting with his lawyer. Gathering the things for his afternoon meeting with a new client, the smell of his aftershave washes over me when I walk into his office.
My thoughts turn dirty at the vision of Ryder with a towel wrapped around his waist, fresh out of the shower. His abs on display, my fingers tracing each letter of his tattoo. Just as I’m about to pull the towel from his waist Helen calls my name.
Popping my head out of Ryder’s office, I see that she has a large box in her hands.
“What’s that?”
“The delivery man just dropped this off. Where would you like it?” she asks, walking into Ryder’s office.
“Um, I guess put it on the coffee table. I’ll let him know when he gets back.”
“These are for you, Miss Emerson,” she says, placing the box on the table and walking out without another word.
Taking a seat on the couch, I remove the ribbon and card from the long white box. Lifting the top, I smell the roses before I fold back the tissue paper. Red, just like the ones that I dried and hung in my closet. The ones I plan to leave behind when I get my things.
Em-
I’m sorry for everything. Please come home.
-Ian
Being sorry isn’t going to change things. It won’t make him less controlling. It won’t change the fact that he basically accused me of cheating on him with Ryder. Dirty thoughts or not, I’d never acted on them. Even now that we’re not together, I’m not planning on acting on them.
Placing the lid back on the box, I relax into the couch and try to decide what to do with them. Throwing them away feels wrong. He’s attempting to extend an olive branch. If he had only apologized weeks ago for the way he was acting, maybe things would have turned out differently.
Tucking the card into my pocket, I pick up the box, take it to Helen and offer her the flowers, explaining that they were from a friend. Thankfully she didn’t pepper me with questions. She was happy to keep them, proudly displaying them on her desk for everyone to see.
Even Ryder commented on them when he returned. They really are beautiful. And thoughtful. And maybe I should give him a call. Maybe it’s not too late for him to change. We could still be friends.
ME: Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.
IAN: Just like you. Can we talk? Dinner?
My fingers are poised to type, but I can’t bring myself to tell him no. Maybe this will bring us closure. Maybe he really has changed and has seen the error of his ways. Maybe not. The only way to find out is to talk. Somewhere public, not the apartment.
ME: Sure.
Chapter Ten
My knee bounces as I patiently wait for Ian to arrive. The restaurant is buzzing with energy, the dinner crowd slowly rolling in. Our waiter has been over twice since I sat down, checking on me even though he has other tables that require his attention.
When I see Ian walk in, I wave at him over the crowd. He nods in my direction, stopping to talk to the hostess. She follows him over to the table and silently begins gathering our things, a forced smile on her face.
“What’s going on?” I ask Ian as he extends his hand to help me out of my chair.
“I asked for a booth in the corner,” he replies, holding onto my hand as we weave through the packed restaurant.
“Why?”
“I wanted a little more privacy so we could talk.”
“But that’s not how this works,” I reply. “You worked in a restaurant. You know they seat tables for a reason. We’re inconveniencing someone now.”
“Our waitress will deal with it.”
Pulling my hand from his, I walk to where the hostess is waiting for us. “Thank you,” I say. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”
“It’s really no trouble, Miss,” she replies, her voice sounding sincere despite the look on her face. She’s good, better than I ever was at kissing ass and hiding my true feelings. “Keith will still be taking care of you. He should be over in a moment.”
Nodding, I slide into the booth seat, tossing my purse in the corner next to me.
“Scoot over,” Ian says as he’s about to take a seat next to me.
“Um, no. You can sit over there,” I reply, still irritated with him.
Ian falls into his seat just as our waiter comes over to ask about drinks. He orders us a bottle of wine and when the waiter asks for our IDs, I pretend to have left mine at home. I want to keep a clear head tonight. I’m willing to talk to Ian, but I’m not going to let him convince me of something I’m not sure of.
“So, how have you been?” he asks once we’re alone.
“Fine. You?”
Small talk. I can handle this.
“Okay, I guess. I miss you.”
Or not. I can’t handle that. I don’t want to hear things like that. It’s too soon.
“I’m sorry.”
&n
bsp; “When are you coming home, Em? I hate being there without you.”
“I’m not, Ian. Not right now. Things aren’t good between us, so please don’t pretend like they are. I’m willing to talk, but that’s it. This isn’t us getting back together. This is us attempting to be friends.”
“I don’t want to be your friend.”
“That’s all we can be right now. I need time to figure out what I want.” My voice remains firm, unaffected by the sickly sweet tone he’s taking with me.
“I know what I want. I want to be with you. I want things to go back to the way they were. Can’t we at least try?”
Begging will get him nowhere. It never has and it never will. He should know this. After three years of dating, if begging hadn’t worked before, it isn’t going to work now. Maybe if he had been paying closer attention he would know this.
“Not right now. I wasn’t happy with the way things were.”
“You seemed happy. You never once said you weren’t. Not until you started working. I’m not sure what changed, but something changed. You changed.”
Nodding, I let silence fall between us. I changed? No, he became possessive, controlling, and irrational. I don’t want to go back to the way things were. Not now, not ever. He’s been an important part of my life, and he still can be, but not like that. How can I get him to understand that being friends is his only option right now?
“Look,” he starts. “I get that it came across as me accusing you of cheating on me. I’m sorry for that. I was upset and hungover and in a bad place. I know you would never do that to me. Can’t we start over? Forget the last few weeks and try again? We were great together.”
“We were,” I agree. “But we haven’t been great together in a long time. It’s more than you accusing me of cheating on you, Ian. You were trying to control me. You wanted me to quit my job because you didn’t want me working with Ryder. You wanted me to stay home and let you take care of me. It was always about what you wanted. What about what I want?”
Before he can answer the waiter returns with his bottle of wine. Ian places our orders, a fact that doesn’t go unnoticed, and then downs half his glass of wine before answering me.
“What is it that you want, Em? What was I not giving you? Did I not take care of you? Did I not love you enough?”
“Freedom,” I reply without thinking about it.
“From what?” The surprise in his voice is irritating. He really doesn’t see how much he smothered me.
“From you. You are incredibly controlling. For example, you just ordered my food for me. I could have done that myself. I’m not a child. I don’t appreciate you treating me like one.”
“But you always get the same thing when we come here,” he states defensively.
“Because you always order for me. I’ve never been able to make my own decision.”
“Fine,” he declares, his tone rising in anger. “Order whatever you want.”
Waving at the waiter from across the restaurant, I cover my face in shame. When he snaps his fingers, I grab my purse and stand.
“Where are you going?” he asks, jumping out of his seat.
“I can’t do this. I thought I could. I thought we could have a nice dinner together as friends, but you obviously aren’t capable of that yet. It’s too soon.”
“So that’s it? You’re just going to walk away? Again.”
“Yes. Again. Because I can’t keep letting you push me around. You don’t own me, Ian. I’m not a possession, I’m a person. I can make my own decisions, whether they be about food or my job. I don’t need you to agree with my decisions, but I need you to support them, and that’s not something you’re capable of doing.”
“If you walk away from me again, Emerson, we’re done.”
“We’re already done,” I reply, turning my back to him, my head held high as I leave Ian for the last time.
There is no chance of us being friends. I was fooling myself to think he could ever change. He can apologize over and over again. Until he admits to himself how he truly is, he’ll never change. I doubt that will ever happen. He doesn’t see anything wrong with him. The finger is always pointing at someone else.
“How was dinner last night?” Angela asks, pouring herself a cup of coffee the next morning.
“I should have known better.”
When I came home Monday night and told her that I was meeting Ian for dinner on Wednesday, she started laughing. She tried to warn me. Guys like Ian don’t change. They want you to think they can, but it’s an act. After last night, I agree with her one-hundred percent. He wants what he thinks we had. He doesn’t see that he was the only one happy.
“So what happened?”
“Exactly what you said would happen. He wants to get back together. Being friends is not an option for him, but he won’t change. He doesn’t see it. He thinks I left because he accused me of sleeping with Ryder. He doesn’t realize that was only a small piece of it.”
“How’s that going by the way?”
“What?” I ask, taking a sip of my coffee.
“Sleeping with the boss.”
Choking on my coffee as it burns its way down my windpipe, I flip Angela off.
“Only once?” she jokes.
Clearing my throat, I attempt to gain my composure.
“I’m not sleeping with him, Ang. It would be wrong.”
“Says who? You know, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.”
“Ha, ha. That’s not going to happen.”
“It should. You both need it right now.”
“How would you know?”
“He’s staying with Tyler right now. I overheard them talking the other morning.”
“So.”
“Your name may have been mentioned.”
“I don’t want to know. Seriously.”
“Fine. But if you change your mind…”
“Not going to happen. Let’s change the subject.”
“Okay, what are you wearing to the paintball party this afternoon?”
Ah, the mandatory team building exercise today. In theory it sounds like fun, but I have a feeling the Dixon boys are competitive, both amongst themselves and in general. Ryder and I are a team. He’s going to want to win and I’ve only shot a gun once in my life. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t hit a stationary object let alone a moving person.
“Probably jeans and a t-shirt, something I don’t care if it gets messed up. How did you get invited, anyway?” I inquire.
“I organized it for Herman this year. He promised me I could participate so I’m his partner.”
“You’re not on Team Tyler?”
“Hell no! I’m going to kick his ass today. He’s going to wish I was on his team. He’s stuck with Justine.”
That makes sense. If I’m paired with Ryder, everyone must be paired with their respective bosses. Justine with Tyler, Allison with Hunter, and Helen with… I wonder if she’s going to be there? It said mandatory.
“I should probably get ready for work. I’ll see you there.”
“Not if I see you first,” she teases, making a gun with her fingers and shooting me.
“Um, I’m your roommate. You don't want to shoot me. Shoot Ryder instead.”
“He’s on my list too, don’t worry.”
Oh hell. She’s gunning for all of us. I need to watch my back or the competition will be over before it starts. She’ll never let me live it down, either. She’s more competitive than most guys I know.
I feel like a slob wearing jeans to the office. Ryder made it clear to come dressed and ready to go. We have one meeting this morning and then we’re heading to the complex early to practice. He was not thrilled about my lack of experience.
When he told me he wanted me to sit in on his morning meeting, I was confused. This was the first time he had asked me to be involved. Once I saw who the client was it made more sense. He needs a female perspective. I can’t imagine jewelry is something he’s fa
miliar with.
Cover Me in Jewelry is an up-and-coming boutique in the downtown area. They opened a few months ago and are already on track to open two more locations across the state. They want all new branding, a new logo, and a catchy slogan. Ryder can give that to them, and with my help, we’ll be able to reach a broader market.
Listening to the client describe what they’re looking for, I take notes and jot down a few ideas. My excitement rises as the meeting ends. I have ideas floating around that I can’t wait to share with Ryder, but we’re on a tight schedule today and it’s going to have to wait.
On the ride over, we toss a few ideas around, but nothing stands out as a clear winner. My ideas are focused on reaching the female consumer while his are more about reaching the male consumer. We need to find a happy middle ground that can grab the attention of both. We’ll get there, it’ll just take time.
Tomorrow night to be exact.
That’ll be the second Friday night I’ve spent at the office. With Ryder. Alone. At least this time I have some advance notice and no plans.
With only an hour until the rest of the office arrives for our “bonding” time together, Ryder attempts to teach me how to shoot the paintball gun. It feels similar to handling a BB gun according to Ryder. He claims it’s easy to shoot.
For me, that’s not the case apparently. Thankfully he’s able to hold back his laughter as I miss the intended target over and over again. Our chances of winning this friendly competition are slim to none.
“It looks like you’re a one-man team today,” I say as we head to meet up with everyone else.
“I think you’ll be fine. All you have to do is aim and shoot. If you don’t hit anything, try again. Watch your back at all times and stay with me. As long as you have fun, that’s all that matters,” he replies, patting me on the back softly.
“Fun, right. If I remember correctly, these sting when they hit you.”
“I would avoid getting hit if possible.”
Rumors: Emerson & Ryder Page 8