Page 39 of Take It Offline

She looks me straight in the eye. “An episode ofThe Boys.”

Shit. “That bad, huh?” Bonus point for her taste in shows, though.

“It’s a disaster. No, worse. A catastrophe.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. It’s too fucking cute. “No one can agree. I’m ready to throw everyone in a room and?—”

I grasp her forearm to stop her. “Terrible idea. Only do that if you want to waste a day and lose all faith in humanity.”

“Great,” she deadpans.

I can’t help but smile at her. The project is probably fucked, but suddenly, working together is looking a hell of a lot more fun.

Why didn’t I think of this sooner?

Up on the big screen, the doc looks bloodier than aCarrieremake. Roberts clearly took glee in redlining all of Emma’s sections and leaving pedantic arguments over any bullshit thing he could think of.

Fucking hell. “What an ass.”

“He’s not all bad,” she says far too politely. She’ll need to be a better liar than that if she wants to last in management.

“You hate him,” I say.

Emma keeps typing.

I duck lower and angle in. “Admit it.”

Her breath catches. “I’d rather not.”

Ridiculous. I can’t believe she’d protect Roberts’s feelings over mine. I rock back. “You never seem to have any problems saying you hate me. Am I special?”

Briefly, the corner of her lips curls up, but she stifles it.Almost got her.“You’re different.”

Not exactly how I’d hoped to hear it, but it doesn’t stop the traitorous little jump in my chest. Good or bad, being anything to Emma will always be better than nothing.

“You want to know how I know you don’t like him?” I ask.

There’s no denying the flicker of interest in her eyes as she finally peers over at me. “Okay, tell me.”

“You get a little wrinkle,” I say. Slowly, because I’m a fan of keeping my limbs, I reach out and bop her nose. “Right here.”

She’s fighting a smile, but it peeks out at the corners.

“Am I wrong?” I ask, raising a single brow, and fuck, when she grins, she’s downright dangerous.

I’m seriously screwed.

“Is that why you’re being nice to me now?” she asks.

Ouch. I probably deserve that. “Maybe I just want to be your friend. Ever think of that?”

“I know you don’t respect me?—”

“Whoa, back up.” That comment hits me like a punch to the gut. How the hell does she think I don’t respect her? “When have I ever said that?”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Then let me be clear. I respect the hell out of you, Emma.”

She gives me a frown, clearly unconvinced.

---