by RC Boldt
“But your next class is all the way—” She stops abruptly and looks away.
But she’s already given herself away.
Grinning down at her, I nudge her playfully. “Ah, now how do you know where my next class is?”
She refuses to answer, so as we fall into step, on the way to her English literature classroom, I continue. “Besides, I’ve been helping Mrs. Shermack organize her filing cabinets. She’s a fan of gentlemanly acts, so she’ll be cool if I’m a few seconds late, once I tell her I was escorting a lovely lady to class.”
We get to the classroom entrance far quicker than I’d like. Emma Jane is the first girl to make me antsy to be around her. I figured she wasn’t actually a snob, but skittish after her relationship had ended with Patrick. And I’m sure my reputation with the ladies isn’t helping things.
She turns to me, eyeing me expectantly, and reaches out for her books.
I raise and hold them single-handedly out of her reach, raising my brows. “Agree to go night fishing with me.”
“Agree to no kissing,” she counters.
“I agree to no open-mouth kissing.”
When she scowls at me, I add, “No open-mouth kissing, certainly no leaving you, and I’ll bring my mother’s potato salad and my famous pork ribs.” Another thought hits me. “Also, I think you should reconsider using the saying ‘under my skirt’ because I’m pretty sure it belongs back in the 1950s.”
She rolls her eyes before suddenly creasing her brow. “Wait. You have famous pork ribs?”
I nod. “One taste and you’ll never want to let me out of your sight.” I pause and don’t know why I softly tack on, “It was my dad’s recipe.”
Her features soften and she lays a hand on my arm. “I was really sorry to hear about your dad.”
I flash a weak smile because, even though it’s been a year, it still sucks losing him unexpectedly to a heart attack. “Thanks.”
The warning bell rings, alerting us that we only have a minute before the final bell will ring and class will start.
Her gaze searches mine and she rolls her lips inward before finally saying, “Saturday. I can only stay out until eleven thirty.”
My mouth stretches into a wide grin, and I hand her books to her. “Deal.”
As she accepts them from me, I quickly lean down and kiss her cheek.
Her eyes flick up to mine in surprise, and I back away, excitement and anticipation pulsing through my veins at her acceptance of our date.
“I can’t wait ’til Saturday.”
I turn and head off to class with the biggest smile on my face and the strangest feeling rushing through me.
Dad once told me he knew my mom was the one for him but couldn’t explain it. He simply knew.
I feel like I’ve embarked on that same discovery just now. Because the exact moment I pressed my lips to the smooth, silky soft skin of Emma Jane’s cheek, a sensation ran through me with a faint whisper echoing through my mind telling me she’s “the one.”
10
Knox
PRESENT
“What the hell are you doing? Dinner?” I mutter disgustedly to myself.
I have a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel of my truck as I navigate through downtown Jacksonville. My eyes flicker to the rearview mirror to ensure Emma Jane’s still following me.
I’d be lying if I said parts of me aren’t conflicted—one part hopes she isn’t behind me and one part praying she is.
Blowing out a long breath, I turn on the radio, instantly scowling when the song that comes on is The Script’s “Nothing.” A song that I’d listened to far too many times to count, the lyrics were seemingly written for me, speaking of still being in love with a woman and wishing he could somehow make her change her mind, and take him back…
I shake off the bothersome thoughts and pull up to the new restaurant I’d stumbled upon a few weeks ago. It overlooks the St. Johns River and the nearby bridges with their eye-catching lighting.
Parking, I exit my truck, lock it, and walk over to where Emma Jane’s parked. Her door opens and I’m instantly faced with the sight of her sleek, tanned legs. She clearly favors open-toed heels, and my breath catches as she exits the vehicle in the wraparound style dress that, while professional in appearance, hugs her curves perfectly.
I clear my suddenly dry throat before gesturing toward the restaurant. “I assume you’ve been here before?” With Becket, I silently tack on to the end.
“Actually, I haven’t. Though I’ve heard great things about it.” A smile plays at the corners of her lips. “Surprised he hasn’t dragged me here since he’s big on eating healthy.”
Right. He, automatically meaning Becket.
My mouth flattens into a thin line at the mention of the other man. “Well, you’ll be able to tell him all about it.” Tipping my head in the direction of the restaurant, I wave for her to precede me. “Shall we?”
I’m sure it’s wishful thinking on my part, but I swear there’s a softness, a tinge of affection that crosses her features when she responds.
“We shall.”
“I think I’ve managed to eat my weight in the form of the salmon poke bowl.”
Emma Jane leans back in her seat, folding her hands across her flat stomach while wearing a lazy smile on her lips. Her empty bowl is a testament to how hungry she’d been.
“Glad you enjoyed it.”
She laughs softly. “I guess that’s what happens when you forget to eat lunch.”
My face drops with dismay at the additional reminder that I’m the reason she’s pushing herself so hard. She must recognize how I interpreted her words because her eyes go wide and her lips part.
I hold up a hand to stop her. “Don’t.” With a derisive sound, I lift a shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s my fault for putting so much on you. Especially when you’re going at it alone, without an assistant.”
She averts her gaze, and peers down at the linen-covered table for a moment. Reaching out a hand, she traces an index finger through the condensation on her water glass, and flashes a forced smile. “I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been a bit challenging.”
“I was thinking about that, actually.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the table. “The intern, Keri Mitchell, might be able to help you with the workload. She has to finish assisting with another department before I can move her, but…”
Emma Jane’s blue eyes lock with mine, and a mixture of surprise and relief lines her features. “I would appreciate that,” she responds slowly, almost cautiously.
Nodding, I take a sip of water, attempting to stave off this sudden feeling of nervousness. “No problem.”
Emma Jane’s lips part. “I—”
“Would either of you care for anything else?” the waitress inquires kindly.
I look at Emma Jane in silent question, and she shakes her head with a polite, “No, thank you.” I echo her response, and reach for my wallet.
“Oh! Wait, I can—”
The waitress takes my credit card and darts away, while I level a look at Emma Jane who appears at a loss.
“Consider it a business expense. A thank you for all your hard work.”
She rolls her lips inward, as if unsure how to respond, before she murmurs, softly, “Thank you, Knox.”
After we exit the restaurant and head to our vehicles, parting for the evening, I can’t help but feel a tightness in my chest at the distressing knowledge that the night is drawing to an end.
Then I recall the fact that this is what Emma Jane does when it comes to me.
She walks away.
11
Emma Jane
AUGUST
“I need to know your current distribution numbers, please.”
I’m on a conference call with Nike, discussing cross-promotion ads, typing notes as fast as possible when a subtle noise draws my attention.
Knox enters my office, laptop beneath his arm, the sleeves of his deep-blue dress shirt rol
led up to just below his elbows, no suit jacket, and those neatly tailored pants accentuating his slim physique.
So distracted by his sudden presence, I nearly miss what he has in his other hand.
A single daisy in a vase.
Without giving me so much as a glance, he casually slides the vase onto my table. Absently, I realize that it’s my vase which I hadn’t noticed was missing. He must have snagged it when I wasn’t in my office and dumped the wilted, dying flower that had been in it since I’d been far too busy to remember to stop by the florist to replenish it.
The fact that he remembered, though, is exceedingly unsettling.
“Emma Jane?”
My head snaps around at the voice coming through my speakerphone and it takes me a moment to comprehend that I’d zoned out from the call.
“Y-yes.” I frantically flip through my brain like an old-school Rolodex, filtering through what is being discussed on the other end of this call.
Jackpot.
“F&F can offer a greater audience range, especially according to the latest surveys. The women who are starting out on their fitness journey can be intimidated by the extremely fit women portrayed in your ads. However”—I rise from my chair, gesturing with my hands as I hit my stride—“with our cross-promotion, utilizing our models, and integrating your merchandise, I believe we could have an ad set that’s relevant and engaging not only to readers, but also to your potential and current customers.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Knox’s attention is centered on me with its full, unnerving weight.
Fifteen more minutes pass before the call finally wraps up, after we decide the next step will be to have our legal departments work together to finalize our agreement. It’s only then I release a long, slow exhale, still staring down at my desk phone.
After a moment, it happens. It hits me.
I’ve managed to tentatively secure a deal with Nike for cross-promotion. Something that no one else has been able to accomplish.
Sure, it won’t be official until the ink is dry, so to speak, but I can’t help but feel a sense of pride at this accomplishment.
“That was remarkable, to say the least.”
Knox’s remark draws me from my internal happy dance and my eyes lock with his. I detect something within the depths of his green gaze that makes me think he’s impressed.
But it’s the slight hint of softening I’m beginning to feel toward him that makes me uneasy. Because it doesn’t change anything—it doesn’t change his game plan.
My future with this magazine is still on the line.
Tearing my attention away from his perusal, I take a seat and compose an email to Tim in legal, attaching my notes. While typing, I address Knox. “I’m going to give Tim these notes and finalize my part and then we can go over the new media proposal.”
“Take your time.” His response is low, deep, and husky sounding. Intimate almost.
Focus, I reprimand myself. Don’t let him distract you.
Finally, once the email’s sent off to Tim, I pull up my files for the new media proposal between Fit & Fashion and one of the big television networks.
I’d been trying to grease the wheels for the past few years to set this deal in place. I’d been speaking with Coastal Media representatives about well-placed television ads featuring F&F. Now that our deal will soon be finalized with Nike, barring any major snags, it makes this deal look all the more appealing to Coastal Media. It gives us that powerful thing called leverage. Because if we’re good enough for Nike to partner with…
“All right.” I direct my attention to Knox as I stand, walking over to my table with my laptop and the other file in hand. “I wanted to discuss this section with you…”
FOUR HOURS LATER
“Holy crap.” I let out a long exhale and lean back from the table scattered with papers and both our laptops. My eyes shift to rest on Knox beside me. “I think we just came up with a pretty incredible proposal.”
My lips curve slowly into a grin that widens further when he mirrors my excitement, a handsome smile spreading across his face. There’s something odd about seeing him with a beard. I’m slightly bereft at how it masks the face I’d once come to know so well. Yet, it also emphasizes the fact that he’s different now. Like a stranger.
“I’d have to agree with you.”
It’s as though neither of us can bear to break the connection. To break the tenuous truce. Because I know he’s going above and beyond to help me while I’m down an assistant. Yet I have to force myself to ignore that little flip my stomach gives when he looks at me this way.
I must remember who he is and what happened that June day. I must remember how he eviscerated my heart, my hopes for a future—my hope for a future with him.
Shaking off the moment, I avert my eyes and glance at the clock. “I should head home. It’s really late.”
“Right.” His hurried response tells me he’s feeling a bit thrown off as well.
“Well, why don’t I—”
“How about I—”
We both shift out of our seats, leaning forward, reaching for a particularly hefty file situated between us on the table. Drawing to a sudden halt when our fingers make contact, I realize how close we’ve become, the nearing proximity of our faces.
My gaze travels over his face, along that strong, chiseled jawline, and when Knox’s lips part, my breathing stutters. Because these lips once loved me, once caressed every single inch of my body. These lips once whispered naughty things while—
“Answer your phone, hot stuff.”
We jerk apart at the sound of Becket’s voice on the special ringtone he recorded for my phone. Damn him. I’d forgotten I’d turned on the ringer during lunch. I hadn’t wanted to run the risk of missing his scheduled call to tell me the news about the gender of Presley’s baby, knowing he’d be over the moon and dying to tell me.
Knox’s expression clouds as Becket repeats himself, demanding that I answer my phone.
“Hey, Beck.” I inwardly cringe at how breathless my voice sounds.
“Hey.” There’s a pause before he speaks, and his voice is lower, hushed. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No. Not at all.” My words come out rushed in short, staccato bursts. “Just finishing up with work.”
Crap. He’s going to see right through this.
“Blue…” His tone sounds odd, teetering between amusement and concern. He lets out a loud sigh. “Just tell me you’re being smart.”
“Totally. I’m about to head home.”
“We’re still on for our FWOB night tomorrow?”
I can’t resist a smile. Our Friends Without Benefits night out started as a joke but it somehow stuck. We get together and discuss the challenges of finding a normal person to date; one who wouldn’t immediately try to sell a story to the paparazzi, in Becket’s case or, in mine, one who wouldn’t find himself intimidated by me being so driven in my career.
“All set for tomorrow. You promised me Luigi’s, remember?”
“Of course, I do.” I hear the smile in his voice. “Be careful heading home. I’ll call you in a bit to make sure you made it home safely. We can firm up plans for tomorrow and I’ll tell you about that gala I’d mentioned.”
“Sounds good. Bye.”
“Later, Blue.”
Once I end the call, my eyes fall on Knox, and I find him studying me carefully. Redirecting my focus, I busy myself, gathering everything from the table and placing it neatly on my desk.
“Well.” I hear Knox rise from his chair and snag his laptop from the table. “I’ve got to get my things and head out. I’ll, uh…” He hesitates, and I lift my eyes to see him shift his stance, as if he’s nervous. Sliding a free hand into his pocket, the other arm holds his slim laptop, and he tips his head to the side. “I can walk you out.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I think Becket would agree that it is,” comes his quick response. The slightest smi
le tugs at his lips, and he gives a little shrug. “And I’d rather not have an NFL quarterback after me if something happened to you.”
I press my lips thin and try to scrounge up an excuse, but come up empty. Finally, I nod. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats softly before he exits my office.
Only after his soft footfalls on the carpeted hallway fade do I allow myself to slump back into my desk chair with a loud exhale. Staring up at the ceiling, I whisper softly within the silence of my office.
“You’ve got to be smart, Emma Jane. You can’t go soft just because he’s suddenly being nice to you.”
My eyes fall closed as I try to firm up my defenses against Knox Montgomery.
And when he arrives at my office door to escort me down to the parking deck, it would be a lie if I said I’ve succeeded.
12
Knox
What the fuck am I doing?
This question is on repeat, flitting through my mind the entire walk back to my office. It continues as I pack up my belongings, and even while I make my way back to EJ—er, Emma Jane’s office.
The damn lines are getting blurred, and I have no one to blame but myself. Still, there was no way in hell I could’ve stood by and allowed her to overwork herself to the point of sickness again. Because, regardless of our past, I never want to see her like that—so ill and devoid of the usual liveliness she possesses. Certainly not because of me.
In silence, we step onto the cement floor of the parking deck and, upon spotting her vehicle nearby, I continue walking in its direction. Noticing she’s stopped, I pause and turn to her with a questioning look.
“This is your car, right?”
She doesn’t immediately answer, her own gaze lifting to something past me before she pastes a tight smile on her face. “Yes. That’s mine.” With quick steps, she strides right past me and presses her key fob to unlock her vehicle.