Page 19 of The Rookie's Sister

I follow her gaze to where Rachel stands motionless, lips parted, brows drawn together. For the first time, my ex looks genuinely thrown.

A satisfied smirk tugs at my mouth as I face Emma again.

“I think you managed to one-up her, Miss Thompson.”

With a satisfied hum, she straightens my bow tie and pulls me back into the crowd. I follow in a daze, nerves still jangling from her unexpected PDA. Sneaky, brilliant woman. Those soft lips of hers might just be the end of me.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur. We pointedly avoid Rachel’s orbit, though I catch her shooting us resentful glares when she thinks we aren’t looking. At one point, Mark steers her forcefully away when she tries approaching us, his smug smile replaced by a thunderous glower.

Good. Let him deal with her dramatics for once.

Emma is a vision all night, working the room effortlessly. Watching her charm and disarm these elite circles stirs something uncomfortably close to pride. And that kiss plays on loop in my head, tormenting me.

Near midnight, the gala winds down and guests drift out. Rachel pointedly refuses to look at us, clearly unhappy her little stunt failed to provoke a reaction, and fired back on her. I help Emma into her coat, unable to resist grazing her neckline with my fingertips. Her sharp intake of breath gratifies me.

We say our goodbyes to friends and step out into the night. The cool air helps clear the remaining haze from my brain. As we wait for the limo, Emma turns to me, eyes gleaming.

“We make a pretty good team, Johnson.”

I study her upturned face, once again struck by her loveliness. Not just her beauty, but her wit, strength and tenacity. Qualities Rachel never possessed. I take her hand, running my thumb across her knuckles.

“The best. We definitely gave Rachel a run for her money tonight.” I hesitate. “But are you sure you’re okay? I know seeing her couldn’t have been easy.”

Emma lifts her chin. “Please. I’m more than equipped to handle your petty exes.” But she softens it with a teasing smile.

The limo pulls up, and I open the door for her. As we settle inside, I feel myself relaxing for the first time all evening. Alone with her in the darkness, this complicated woman next to me almost feels like someone I could get used to having around.

If only things were different.

The ride back to Emma’s apartment passes comfortably. The radio plays softly as the city lights stream by outside. Emma kicks off her heels with a contented sigh and tucks her feet beneath her, a wry smile on her face.

“These shoes are gorgeous, but torture devices. My feet will ache for days.”

I chuckle. “Beauty is pain, or so I hear.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “Easy for you to say. Men get to wear comfortable shoes while women teeter around in stilettos and call it fashion.”

“Hey, don’t knock the bow tie. I can barely breathe in this penguin suit.” I pluck at my collar in demonstration.

Emma laughs—a rich, warm sound I realize I could listen to all night. She nudges my shoulder playfully, and a jolt goes through me. “Poor baby. It’s no comparison. Next time, I’ll find myself a nice pair of Yeezys to wear.”

I clutch my chest in mock horror. “Such blasphemy! Your stylist would have a heart attack.”

Her answering laugh makes everything inside me go soft and liquid. I study her smiling profile as the limo cruises downtown, her sharp edges softened after a night of laughter and connection. Not for the cameras or Rachel’s benefit—but genuine moments just between us.

I should regret getting drawn further into this scheme with Emma. Nothing waits for us down this path but complications and heartache. But the more layers she reveals, the harder it gets to remember this is just a performance. One that will end after the curtain call.

The limo slows outside her building, and I step out to walk her to the door. Outside the car, the biting air makes me long for the warmth of her body again. We pause at the entrance, reluctance pulling me as taut as a bowstring.

Emma searches my face, cheeks flushed prettily from the champagne. And, maybe, a little from our physical interactions tonight. “Thank you again for tonight.”

She rises on tiptoe to kiss my cheek, lips grazing the corner of my mouth. Electricity skitters across my skin everywhere she touched. Our eyes connect, and something dangerous flickers between us—an acknowledgment of this illicit attraction simmering beneath the surface.

With a whispered goodnight, Emma slips inside. I stand frozen on the sidewalk as icy wind lashes my face. Tonight was a revelation. Emma has slipped beneath my armor and coiled herself around my heart before I realized the danger. And now I understand one thing with sudden, breathtaking clarity—I’m in serious trouble.

NINE

EMMA

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