Between the Pages: A Novel (14 page)

“I should answer that,” I say thickly.

Emerson nods. “Fine. Let him in if he’s really what you want.”

My mouth drops open into an angry O. His attitude doesn’t even deserve a response. I can’t believe he’s acting like a teenager. He’s a grown-ass man. He should know how to talk to a woman, and better yet, he should be able to go after what he wants.

Perhaps I’m not what he wants.

I stalk away and rush to open the door. It’s not Isaac—it’s Sylvanna. “Hi,” I say, surprised.

For the first time, I get to see her in all her glory—and not just a sneaky glance while Emerson writhes on top of her on the couch. She’s tall with an hourglass figure, and her flowing, dark brown hair cascades beautifully over her shoulders. Her face is pleasant, I guess, although she looks like she loves the tanning bed. Her skin is leathery. She’s wearing a simple white T-shirt and a black, pleated high-waisted skirt. Even in flat sandals, she’s at least five inches taller than me.

“Hi,” she chirps. “You must be Emerson’s assistant.”

I balk at her words, but then remember the contract. I bristle when I think of Emerson telling her about me. “Yes, that’s me,” I answer, mimicking her sprightly tone. Emerson walks past me to Sylvanna, bending down and kissing her on the cheek quickly.

“You look lovely,” he purrs, and I clench my fists.

“Mmm, so do y—”

“Shall we get a drink?” I exclaim loudly, gesturing to the kitchen. They both stare at me as if I’m a crazy person. “I’m thirsty,” I add, glaring at Emerson.

We all walk into the kitchen, and I quickly finish my beer. After tossing it into the recycling bin, I grab three more beers, handing two to Emerson and Sylvanna.

“So,” I say, sickly sweet, “what do you do for a living?”

She chuckles, as if my question is coming from an adorable child. I hate her already. “Well, I own my own apparel business. We sell eco-friendly clothing at an affordable price. I source everything locally—no Chinese sweatshops—and though we’re small, we’re growing every day.”

I nod. I wasn’t expecting her to be some goddamn hero. If she wasn’t dating Emerson, and if she wasn’t interlacing her fingers with his right at this very second, I might actually like her—for an older woman.

“That’s cool,” I reply, sipping my beer. Emerson is strangely quiet. He’s studying me with narrowed eyes, as if I might jump and attack Sylvanna at any moment. I hate that he feels the need to be protective of her.

“Are you still in college?” she asks condescendingly, and I almost lose it. I formulate something catty in my mind, but the doorbell interrupts my bitchy response.

“Thank God,” I say, under my breath. I walk to the door quickly and throw it open.

Isaac. With a bouquet of daisies. Looking mighty dapper. He’s wearing a light blue button-up and fitted navy trousers with a brown belt. His jade eyes are stunning, and his short brown hair is neatly combed.

“These are for you,” he says, his voice deep. “Happy birthday. You look beautiful.”

I smile. “Thank you.” I move to the side. “Come in. Sylvanna is already here.” I try to keep the disdain out of my voice. Isaac doesn’t notice anything. He just brushes his nose with his finger and hesitates in the doorway.

“Sylvanna Rodriguez?” he asks, craning his neck to look inside.

“Uh, I don’t know her last name. Tall, brunette, massive breasts,” I add, hoping to get on Isaac’s good side. He just scowls and walks in.

“Is Emerson still seeing her?” he adds, placing a hand on the small of my back.

“Uh-huh,” I reply, biting my lip to keep the snarky comment at bay.

He makes a small, disapproving noise. “Last I heard he was thinking of breaking it off. Guess he decided against it.”

I stop. “Really?”

Isaac nods. “Yeah. He wasn’t really feeling her.”

I try to contain the smile that works its way onto my face, but instead I take his hand and lead him to the kitchen.

Emerson’s face constricts when he sees our joined hands, so I shrug out of Isaac’s grip and walk to the fridge to get him a beer. When I turn around, Emerson has an arm around Sylvanna.

Oh, so this is how it’s going to go tonight?

I give them a tight smile and hand Isaac his drink. We all chat about the unusually cool weather, Ralph and Waldo, and just after seven, Emerson begins to cook the pasta. Isaac decides to help, leaving me alone with Sylvanna and the sunned hands that love to feel Emerson up every second she gets. She probably didn’t realize I was watching their every move with eyes like a hawk—but I was.

Why are we doing this?

We’re denying the inevitable, but it’s there. The oppressing, suffocating, wonderful feeling of Emerson is all I can think about. His presence alone ignites something inside me. When did this happen? Was it the night of the power outage? No . . . it started before that. His perplexing, wild persona just does it for me. Everything about him does it for me.

A feeling of guilt washes over me. I shouldn’t feel this way about my boss. Not only are my feelings misplaced, but also they’re inconvenient. I have to work professionally with him for the foreseeable future—until we finish the book—which, lately, I hope is never. And more than that, I have a career at stake. If I can get through these three months, I could have a real chance at breaking into the writing world.

I could have a chance with his agent. I could have a chance at actually
succeeding
by my own merits.

Why do things have to be so complicated? Throw in Sylvanna and Isaac, and it’s a shit show. For once, it would be nice to think of him as a normal man. Not my employer. Not the writer who hired me. Not the person I need to move forward in the industry.

“So, what are you helping Emerson with exactly?” Sylvanna asks. She’s sipping from a large wine glass, and it’s filled with dark red liquid. She didn’t drink a drop of the beer I handed her earlier, which I judge her entirely for. People who don’t like beer freak me out.

“Oh, mostly editing and emails. That kind of thing,” I say slowly, making stuff up.

“Cool,” she says, smiling at me in that weird way. “You’re very pretty. Do you have a boyfriend?”

Ah. 
There it is. “No. I’m single.”

“But you and Isaac are a thing, right?”

I shrug. Why does she want to know so badly? Is she that insecure? “Not really.” I look at the guys, who are deeply immersed in chopping tomatoes and onions. I want Emerson to swoop in and save me from this brunette bitch, but I know I’ll have to fend for myself. “I mean . . . nothing serious,” I add, smiling slyly.

Sylvanna giggles. It sounds like a hyena. “You naughty girl. He’s so much older than you though,” she says, emphasizing
older
. Just at that moment, Emerson looks over at me.

“The heart wants what it wants, I guess,” I say a little too loudly. I don’t break eye contact as I take a swig of my beer. His mouth drops open.

Sylvanna and I continue our dull conversation for a few more minutes as the men prepare the fettuccine and sauce. To be quite honest, she’s not that bad. The beer numbs the fact that Emerson has been inside her, and instead I try to view her as a regular human being. She’s really not that bad.

Dinner is just as awkward. I’m seated next to Isaac to my right, and Emerson to my left at the head of the table. Halfway through my meal, I feel warm a warm hand on my bare knee. I assume it’s Isaac, but just at that moment, in the middle of flamboyantly describing his hike through the Andes to Sylvanna, both of his arms flail around. I suck in a loud breath of air when I look over at Emerson.

He’s watching me with a fervent expression, gauging my reaction. His eyes scan my bare neck and then lower. I flush as he licks his lips. When his eyes come back to mine they’re hooded with desire. He was checking me out—eyes don’t lie. They drop again to my lips, and my mouth goes instantly dry. I feel a stabbing pain in my stomach, and shortly thereafter, I realize it’s nerves. His hand moves ever so slightly upward, and I jump. A second later, the warmth is gone, and he’s fixing the napkin in his lap.

Is. He. Fucking. Kidding?

“Do you guys want to go to Fellingham’s?” Emerson asks, ignoring my probing eyes.

Isaac sits up straight next to me. “I thought your bachelor days were over,” he jokes, winking at Sylvanna. He turns to face me and whispers into my ear, “Emerson used to go to Fellingham’s for one reason and one reason only—pussy.” He laughs. “Sorry, I shouldn’t say that. Chicks. He went for the chicks. Don’t tell Sylvanna.”

I take in Isaac’s words and look over at Emerson. A dark expression clouds his face as he watches Isaac and me.

“I don’t know,” Sylvanna says, looking from Isaac to Emerson. “I have an early meeting tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on,” Emerson urges. One second ago he looked furious as Isaac whispered into my ear. Now he’s sporting a jubilant grin.
Psycho.
Why do some grown men act more like boys than men around women? Do they ever grow up? “It’ll be fun.”

I study him for a minute. He’s acting strange. Maddened. Riled. Bipolar. It thrills and scares me all at the same time. That’s the thing with him. I never know what’s coming next. He’s unpredictable in the best kind of way—without being manic about it, but still retaining mystery.

“Sure,” I chime in, “let’s do it.”

Sylvanna sighs. “Fine. But one drink, okay?” she asks Emerson.

“One drink,” he says, winking at Isaac. And then his heady gaze wanders to me, and I forget to exhale. I forget to inhale, for that matter, because even though he’s only 
looking
 at me, I can feel his hand on my knee again. I can feel his eyes roving all over my body, and I wonder what it would feel like to have his hands
all
over my body.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Emerson

I call an Uber as Sylvanna and Finley use the restroom in the house. It’s a good ten minutes to the bar, and we’ve been drinking heavily—two bottles of wine and nine beers down since Sylvanna and Isaac arrived. I tell myself it’s because we’re adults that like to drink, but I know deep down that Finley and I are the ones drinking ourselves into oblivion.

What the 
hell 
is wrong with me tonight? It’s the dress. It has to be that fucking dress. Tight in all the right places; conservative enough to put my imagination into overdrive. And the whole hand thing? 
God. 
I’m such a tool. Yeah, she seemed to like it, but it was a dick move. Isaac was right next to her—Sylvanna next to me.

My heart may not lie with Sylvanna, but I still owe it to her to be faithful as long as we’re dating, however casual. Which—as of today—we still are. But I’m hoping to change that soon. I 
was 
going to end things last night. But then Finley wanted to test me by inviting her over, and I couldn’t resist. Had I known Isaac would become part of the equation, I might’ve called the whole dinner off. Now it’s turned into some kind of sick game between Finley and me.

The little knowing smiles she continues to throw my way.

The way she arches her back and sticks her chest out.

The way she twirls her hair.

The way she licks her lips.

The way her eyes dilated when she realized it was my hand on her knee.

How much longer can we do this before we can’t resist the temptation?

When the Uber pulls up to the curb, I check my watch. It’s a little past nine. Isaac follows my nervous movements.

“You okay?” he asks, smoking a cigarette. It’s his only habit I absolutely loathe. Well, not the only one. His pursuit of Finley tops the list right now.

“Yeah.” I maneuver away from him so I don’t smell like acrid smoke all night. “You know I hate that,” I say under my breath.

“Brah. Why are you so on edge tonight? You’ve been off all night.”

I shake my head and look down. “I don’t know.” I look at him, and he scowls at me.

“Yeah, you do.”

I open my mouth to answer him, but before I can say anything, the girls come tumbling out of the front door. And by tumbling, I mean literally tumbling on Sylvanna’s part.

“Fuck,” she shrieks as she goes down. Finley gasps and reaches her hand out to pull her up. My heart tightens. Only Finley would help the woman I’ve been fucking—without thinking. They both giggle as they walk over.

“Hey,” Finley says to Isaac. I don’t approve of her lusty intonation. Sylvanna links her arm with mine, and we all pile into the small car. Somehow, everyone decides Finley should go in the middle since she’s the smallest. Isaac offers to take the passenger seat, and when the doors are closed, I realize I’m pressed closely to Finley. Her warm skin is alluring—I want to move my hands up her knee-length dress.

Jesus, what’s wrong with me?

“You okay?” she whispers into my ear. She doesn’t have to move far. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever been this close to her. I can hear her every breath. I can see the tiny freckles on her nose. I can see the way her royal-blue eyes have flecks of gold in them—and the way her lips slightly part when I look at them.

Needless to say, the ten-minute car ride is uncomfortable. I have to keep my hands clasped in my lap to hide my erection. Just the
scent
of her enthralls me. I feel every movement she makes. I hear every sound she makes. When we hit a speed bump, the jolt sends her sideways and onto me. Everyone laughs except for us. Her hands rest on my arm before she pushes herself back up.

Once we get to Fellingham’s—the local sports bar—I eagerly climb out as soon as we stop. I hold the door open for Finley and then Sylvanna. I try to hide my disdain when Isaac wraps his arm around Finley’s shoulder. This whole thing is so fucked up.

Two months ago, when I decided to hire Finley, I knew it was probably a bad idea, for an entirely different reason. I 
needed 
her—this autobiography could only be written by 
her.
 I thought our biggest issue would be my fucked up past. Now, I have feelings for the one person I shouldn’t. Add that into the mix, and I’m pretty sure this whole thing will go down as the worst possible idea in the history of ideas. I never meant to fall for her. This was supposed to be temporary. Now, I’m realizing it’s very, very permanent. And it scares me shitless.

We all grab a table in the back. It’s relatively empty for a Tuesday, which is nice. I like this bar. It’s dark, and they have a lot of beer on tap. We don’t have to talk over the booming sound of other voices. The more I drink, the less I care about Finley and Isaac. After two beers, I have to stop myself and order some fries. Then our conversation becomes kind of fun. I’ll admit it—Isaac can make any situation better. He’s a great guy. There’s a reason he’s my best friend.

Still, that doesn’t mean I think he’s good enough for Finley. I’m not sure anybody’s good enough—not even me.

Especially
not me.

A little past midnight, they ring the last call bell. I stand to use the restroom. I’m feeling a little more sober, a little more like myself. After I take care of business, I wash my hands and walk out into the dark hallway. I stop mid-step when I see Finley leaning against the wall, watching me.

“Hi,” I say, unsure. I look beyond her. Our table is hidden from sight. It’s the first time we’ve been alone since Sylvanna got to the house. Her eyes search mine, sweeping over me with emotion. I feel instantly gutted. She must have stopped drinking too, because I don’t see drunkenness in her eyes. She is alert. Focused.
What am I doing to her?

“Isaac isn’t who I want,” she says slowly, looking down and then back up at me through her lashes. “To answer your earlier question.”

I sigh and run my hand through my hair. “I know.”

What am I doing? 
I know I should walk away, or tell her this is a bad idea. It was always a bad idea. It will always
be
a bad idea. There isn’t a situation where acknowledging our feelings is anything but disturbed. In so many ways.

She watches me wordlessly. I can see the internal struggle she’s fighting. I know, because I’m fighting it too. But fuck it. Even if it’s just for a minute, I’m done fighting.

Just one touch. One kiss.
I walk up to her with my arms at my side. I reach out for her hand, and she gives it. I interlace my fingers with hers. I do the same with her other hand, and I inch slightly closer to her. She looks up at me, and it’s not even a sexual look. It’s different from all her other looks.

Acceptance of our situation: that’s what her pleading, sorrowful eyes are saying.

I unlock my fingers and pull her in for a tight hug, crushing her to me. She wraps her tiny arms around me, grabbing a fistful of my shirt with both hands as if she’s afraid to let go. The motion wrecks me. I hear her sigh against my chest. I close my eyes and rest my chin on top of her head.

It could be like this
.

As soon as I think it, I know it’s not true. Once she knows the truth, we’ll never get a chance to do this again.

“I shouldn’t care who you date, Finley,” I say, pulling her as close as possible. “I have no right to care.” I pull away and look at her, but I place my hands on her shoulders. She just looks at me regretfully, her concerned expression tearing me up inside.

“How did this happen?” she asks, her voice hoarse.

I shrug. “Accidentally.”

I reach out and brush her sun-kissed hair off her shoulder. It’s so soft. My hand travels down to her cheek, and I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. She inhales sharply and closes her eyes. I feel a stabbing pain in my abdomen—I’m not sure if it’s from her reaction or mine. I lower my hand and run my thumb over her lips and down her jaw. Her mouth falls open, and I feel her push her body against mine unconsciously.

“Emerson,” she whispers, opening her eyes. “I don’t think I should write for you anymore.”