by RC Boldt
“Like there’s a tension that isn’t simply dislike. Like it’s se—”
The sound of the elevator arriving at her floor interrupts, and I can’t withhold the tiny breath of relief that spills past my lips.
Unfortunately, my friend catches my little tell as she exits the elevator. She places her hand on the doors to stop them from closing and eyes me curiously.
“You’re not telling me something.”
I press my lips thin to contain the words practically fighting their way out. But now is not the time or place. So, all I can offer my friend is a simple, “Later.”
Understanding, she nods with an encouraging smile. “Go show Grouchy Smurf how Haywood rolls.” She backs away and the elevator doors begin to close.
Laughing, I smile. “Will do.”
Once I’m enclosed within the quiet confines of the elevator and it begins ascending, I sag against the wall as weariness washes over me.
I should have gotten a few extra shots of espresso in my coffee.
“I owe you big time, Tim.”
“Enough to get me box seats to the Super Bowl?”
I can’t restrain a smile. “I’ll see what I can do. Fingers crossed the Jags make it that far.”
“Ah, don’t doubt our boy’s team now,” Tim says playfully. “Anyway, I’ll get everything taken care of, Emma Jane. And don’t work too late tonight.”
“Thanks, again.” I press the button on my desk phone to disconnect the speakerphone. I can’t, in all honesty, promise not to work too late because, as I take account of the vast number of files on my desk, I know I’ll be here far too late.
I’d contacted Tim in our legal department, because I’d needed some assistance with a few of these contracts. He’s been helping me out, going above and beyond.
I think he could hear in my voice, when I called him earlier, that I was on the cusp of becoming a blubbering mess if I didn’t get a little assistance with everything. But I can’t let Knox find out I’m struggling because I know he’ll take that as me not being able to hack it and immediately dismiss me from being eligible for that promotion. Or worse, he’ll fire me.
Walking around my desk, I petulantly grab the daisy from the vase sitting on my table, and give in to my childish urge. While plucking the white petals one by one, I murmur beneath my breath, “Stab him in the junk, don’t stab him in the junk, stab him in the junk, don’t stab…”
When the final petal drifts to settle with the others on my table, I’m not satisfied with the verdict.
With a weary sigh, I return to the chair at my desk, massage my temples, and take a sip of my now-tepid coffee to try to give myself a necessary jolt of energy.
It’s nearly five o’clock and I’m nowhere near where I need to be, progress-wise. Knox has enforced a weekly update each Friday morning to prove I haven’t been slacking. I still have a dozen more proposals to finish, yet I find myself dragging, mental exhaustion beginning to take over.
There isn’t enough coffee in the world for today.
8
Knox
“Mr. Montgomery, you have a call on line one from a gentleman who says he’s your granddad?”
The questioning lilt to my secretary’s voice over the telephone intercom causes the corners of my mouth to tip up.
Especially since my own grandfather had passed away years ago.
“Thanks, Karen.”
I grab the receiver of my desk phone and dial line one. “I wasn’t aware I had a granddad.”
A jolly laugh greets my ears in return. “Now, son, you know you’ve had one since the day my granddaughter decided you were good enough to date.”
His referral causes my entire body to tense, and that nagging ache in the center of my chest to kick in again.
“Are you calling to talk business or…” I trail off, hoping the old man will grant me a reprieve.
“Just wanted to check in. It’s been a few months since we last talked.” His tone isn’t necessarily reprimanding so much as it contains a subtle layer of guilt.
“I’ve been up to my eyeballs with work, trying to turn this place around, but”—I run a hand down the length of my tie wearily—“I should’ve called.”
“Now, son”—he chuckles lightly—“I know you’ve been busy. I just don’t want you to lose sight of the reason you’re there.”
Bristling at his words, I can’t help the scowl that comes over my face. My voice is clipped and there’s no disguising the defensiveness in it. “This place was operating like a sieve and I’m turning things around.”
My response is greeted with a beat of silence.
“Is that why you’re really there?”
Swiveling my desk chair around to face the expanse of windows overlooking the St. Johns River, I stare blindly at the traffic traveling over the Acosta Bridge.
“Sometimes, perspective comes with time.”
A derisive sound spills from my lips. “You sound like a fortune cookie now.”
“Ah”—he chuckles—“but it’s accurate.”
“Not in this case,” I mutter.
He sighs. “Knox, just...” He hesitates slightly. “Try to remember that not everything is what it seems.”
I release an exasperated breath. “I’m sorry, but I need to get back to work.” I can’t do this with him. I respect the old man, but it doesn’t mean I want to listen to him drone on with cryptic comments.
“I understand, son. I’ll let you go. But”—his tone softens—“do try to stay in touch better, please?”
My shoulders slump because I know I’ve been slacking. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll look forward to talking to you soon.”
“Likewise, Granddad.” My lips part to say goodbye, but before I can do so, he interjects gently.
“Remember to make your father proud.”
That’s the nail in the coffin.
“Shit!” I mutter beneath my breath and toss down my pen.
Shoving away from my desk, I scrub a hand down my face. My palm rasps faintly against the short strands of my beard. I’ve been staring down at the same damn papers for God knows how long, my mind overloaded with conflicting thoughts.
My concentration went up in flames as soon as I ended the call with Granddad. The simple mention of my father, the man who’d left me to inherit two of his businesses with the stipulation that I complete my college education, causes the weight of guilt to wash over me and linger with a nagging persistence.
My father would never have approved of my plans. He certainly wouldn’t approve of the way I’m doing things—with how I’m handling Emma Jane and holding her position over her head.
Shooting up from my seat, I stride over to the office windows and brace my palms flat against the glass. I peer down at the glow of lights from businesses and cars, both the Main Street and Acosta Bridges alit now that the sun has finally set.
Yet here I am. Still at work by nightfall. Leaning my forehead against the cool glass, I let my eyes fall closed with a sigh.
“Remember to make your father proud.”
If I’m going to do that, I know exactly where I need to start.
And sending an email won’t do.
Quickly, I shut down my computer and pack up before locking my office door. Once I’m in the elevator, instead of pressing the button that would take me to the parking deck, I press a different floor.
One that will take me to a certain brunette’s office.
Strolling down the hallway, the silence is near deafening, and I realize what an idiotic idea leaving a quick handwritten note for her is.
My first surprise is the discovery of light spilling out from beneath her closed office door. Still, nothing could have prepared me for the sight that greets me when I knock softly before turning the handle and opening the door.
It stops me dead in my tracks. For more than one reason.
The sight I’m faced with is a testament to how hard I’ve been pushing her. Emma Jane’s head lies on
one arm upon her desk, hair the color of mahogany falling around her in soft waves, and there’s a shadowing of dark circles beneath her eyes. Her pale red lips are parted ever so slightly, and there’s a slight crease between her brows, as if she’s worrying about something even while asleep.
I’ve caused this. I’ve made her exhausted to this extent, yet determined not to leave her job in fear of losing it.
Her granddad is right. My father, the man I’ve always emulated and looked up to, wouldn’t be proud in the least. That’s a truth I can no longer deny.
I draw to a stop a foot away from her. My throat grows tight the longer I gaze down at her. There’s no denying I still find her incredibly beautiful. That small, extremely subtle diamond stud on the side of her nose makes the corners of my mouth tip up. I recall exactly when she’d decided to do that and how furious her father had been.
“You can’t do this,” I murmur to myself beneath my breath, my attention still riveted by the sleeping woman within arm’s reach.
Fuck. The protective wall I’d built up against her is rapidly crumbling like a damn landslide. What had been a firm, solid foundation for my anger, resentment, and—most of all—hurt, is disintegrating. Because I know without a doubt, I don’t want to come out of this hating myself, nor can I stomach the idea that my father’s looking down on me with utter disappointment.
With a sigh of heavy resignation, I know what I need to do next.
9
Emma Jane
Someone is smoothing back my hair from my face in a delicate caress.
“EJ, wake up,” a male voice whispers huskily. My sluggish brain vaguely registers the fact that this voice sounds familiar.
My eyes slowly flutter open, and I discover a sideways Knox, peering down at me. Except this is a deep contrast to how he normally regards me. There’s no mask in place. No barrier. His expression is unguarded and it’s almost like it used to be.
Then, my sleepy haze subsides and I realize where I am.
And the fact that my new boss has discovered me sleeping on the job.
Snapping to an upright position, I run my hands over my hair in an attempt to ensure I’m not too terribly mussed-looking.
“I, uh, I’m sorry. I was just going over the…” I trail off, tossing a frenzied glance down at the name listed on the file lying on my desk: Jags stadium. “The account for the Jags stadium,” I finish, trying to infuse more confidence in my tone.
Knox takes a step back and slips his hands into his pockets. “Go home, Emma Jane. It’s late.”
My eyes dart to the clock on the wall. Seven o’clock.
Holy crap.
“Oh no.” I scramble for my cell phone sitting off to one side of my desk.
I was supposed to meet Becket for dinner. Scrolling through my phone, I see the text and voicemail notifications that I evidently didn’t hear during my unplanned nap.
Becket: Hey, I’m sorry, but I have to cancel for dinner. I’m wrecked from trying to beat Dax’s best sprint time. I should have known better than to challenge that dude. Rain check on dinner, though, and I’ll be sure to take you to Luigi’s, and you get all the prosecco you want.
My lips curve up slightly at Becket’s words.
“Everything okay?”
Letting out a slow exhale, I nod. “I thought I’d stood up Becket for dinner but he—”
Wait. Why am I even bothering to tell him anything?
“I’d better head home.”
“Right.” Knox looks like he wants to say something, but instead, he turns around and quietly exits my office.
I pack up my things and slip my briefcase over my shoulder, grabbing my keys to lock up my office. Stepping out, I pull the door closed and lock it. Just as I turn around to head down the hallway leading to the bank of elevators, I find a man standing before me.
My hand flies to my chest in alarm. “Sweet mother of—You scared me!”
“Sorry.” Knox offers a smile that hovers between hesitant and sheepish. “I, uh, figured I could walk you out and make sure you’re safe.” He waves a hand, gesturing to the empty offices and cubicles around us. “Especially since this place is a ghost town now.”
“Um, sure. Thanks.” I start down the hall.
We enter the elevators and ride down the eleven floors in silence and I find myself attempting to concentrate on the sound of the nineties pop hit traveling softly through the speaker above us. Anything to get my mind off my proximity to Knox, to how good he still smells even after a full workday, to his mere presence and the heady awareness I always have of him.
The doors of the elevator open and a huff of breath escapes me as I step out into the parking deck, intent on making it free and clear of him and this strange pull he still has on me.
“Good night, Mr. Montgomery.” My heels click in rapid staccato on the cement.
“Emma Jane.” The way he utters my name, not as a question, but more of a command to stop. Yet it’s also laced with something more.
I draw to a stop, my back still to him. “Yes?”
“Would you like to have dinner?”
With you? I question internally. Why?
“We can discuss work, if you like.”
My shoulders droop fractionally because the last thing I want to do is discuss work, let alone with the owner of the company where I’m employed. My exhaustion is bone-deep.
My lips form the start of a polite refusal. “N—”
“Or we can just be two people who happen to be exhausted after a long day of work, who are starving and don’t really want to…eat alone.”
It’s that right there that does it. That infinitesimal facet of vulnerability in his voice gets me. Like he knows exactly how lonesome it can be to eat alone.
But I need to be smart. I can’t fold like a deck of cards.
Shaking my head, I pivot slightly and eye him with wariness. “I don’t think that’s wise,” I say slowly.
“Please?” He waves a hand in gesture. “We can go to a crappy fast food place if it makes you more comfortable.”
I study him, trying to determine what his game plan is, yet come up with…nothing.
Except the sound of my stomach rumbling angrily.
Nodding, I tip my head to the far left. “My car’s right over there. I can follow you.”
“My truck’s here.” He waves, indicating a black truck parked a few yards away.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he parrots softly, a small smile playing on his lips.
Breaking the spell, I turn back in the direction of my vehicle. “See you in a few.”
KNOX
HIGH SCHOOL
TENTH GRADE
“You can’t possibly be serious.”
“As serious as Ms. Franny when she makes her collard greens and cornbread.” Hell, at the mention of the woman who has a small street side café in downtown Mobile and side dishes people travel far and wide to partake in, my mouth waters.
I’ve just asked Emma Jane Haywood out.
Well, I’ve asked to take her night fishing with me.
She stares at me as if I’m a few sandwiches short of a picnic. “Night fishing?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I use my smile on her, the same one ladies seem to have a weakness for. God knows, it helped me when I forgot to finish my project last semester in geometry class.
Something’s wrong, though, because that same smile has zero effect on Emma Jane.
I run a hand through my hair nervously, only to panic that maybe I’ve messed it up and now it’s doing something crazy.
“Night fishing.” I tip my head to the side and try harder on my smile. “Out on the bay. I’ll bring some of my mom’s potato salad.”
Her eyes grow squinty. “You do realize that everyone knows night fishing means making out?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I tease, acting offended. “I brush and floss daily.”
Emma Jane makes a frustrated sound and shakes her head, mutter
ing while she rummages through her locker for her books. “Sweet Jesus, give me strength.”
Finally finding what she needs, she withdraws it and slams her locker shut with astounding force. Then she whirls around on me, her eyes alit with fiery indignation, and it causes me to take a step back.
“You want to go night fishing?”
I glance around, unsure if this is a trick question. “Yes,” I answer slowly.
“Fine.” She holds up a finger when my lips part to respond. “But know this, Knox Montgomery. I will be taking part in the fishing, and there will be no kissing involved.”
I think she’s done, but when my lips part again, she holds up that index finger once more.
“And if I not only catch more fish than you, but also don’t let you under my skirt, you can’t pout and leave me out there alone to find my own way home.”
“What?” I can’t help but stare at her as if she’s lost her mind. “I would never…” The expression on her face, the flicker of hurt that crosses it, tells me that’s happened to her.
What kind of dick would… Oh, shit. I know exactly what kind of dick would do that. It explains the shit talking in the locker room after practice a few months ago. I’d wondered why she and Patrick Hallerton had broken up so abruptly.
“Repeat after me.” She raises her eyebrows, and damn, I love the way she gets stern and serious with me. “No kissing and no leaving me.”
“No leaving you and no open-mouth kissing.”
Her lips form a thin line and if I wasn’t paying close attention, I’d miss the signs of the faintest quiver at the corners. “Knox.”
I take hold of the book and notebook she has in her hands. She doesn’t immediately release her grip until I tug again.
“What are you doing?”
Placing her items on my own stack, I wink at her. “You should know when a gentleman is about to carry your books and escort you to class.”