Page 41 of Hate Notes

He held his arm out and Ember rushed to her feet to walk him out the door. She shot one bemused, wide-eyed look that was somewhere between gloating and shock over her shoulder as she left.

The door closed and I watched them through the glass. Ember said something that had the old man smiling as they walked from view.

"Sir?" Roman's voice broke through my thoughts. "That went well, didn't it?"

"It did," I agreed, though it hadn't gone well in the way I would have preferred. I liked to be in control. I wanted Davenport to like me and understand my messaging. The fact that Ember had charmed him and made herself even more indispensable was... concerning. But it was something I could work with.

This was why I succeeded where others failed. I was willing and able to adapt and improvise—to take the unexpected and make it appear as though it had been part of my plans all along.

"Should we celebrate?" Roman asked hopefully.

"We haven't closed the deal yet," I reminded him. "Moira, you can take your people with you. Roman and I need to debrief. After that, I'll track down Ember and find out what she spoke with Davenport about on the way out."

I found Ember at her desk half an hour later, head down on her keyboard, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand like a lifeline.

"Ember?"

She jerked upright, a row of random letters appearing on her screen. "I wasn't sleeping!" she said quickly. "I was just... resting my eyes. Very professionally." She sighed. “Sorry. I had such a bad headache from the wine all day yesterday. I tried to go to sleep at a reasonable time last night but I tossed and turned for hours. I’m running on fumes today.”

I paused, torn between offering a word of sympathy and ignoring her plight. I cleared my throat, nodding. "Good work in there."

She opened her mouth like she hadn't heard me, paused, and then smiled. "Oh. Thank you."

I studied her for a moment. "Have dinner with me tonight."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"To discuss the Davenport account," I added quickly. "Professionally."

"Right," she said slowly. "Professionally."

"Eight o'clock?"

"Perfect," she said. "As long as you promise not to make me drink wine again."

I smiled despite myself. "Noted."

As I walked back to my office, I assured myself the dinner was necessary to discuss an important client and had nothing to do with my growing fascination with Ember.

Maybe the most concerning fact was that I hadn’t at all intended to ask her to dinner when I approached her desk. The suggestion had bubbled up out of nowhere and reached my mouth before I could stop myself.

My usually impeccable self-control seemed to be short-circuiting where Ember was involved, and I worried where that might lead if the trend continued.

Considering the…thingsI thought about doing with Ember, a lack of self-control could lead to some very, very complicated and unprofessional places.

20

EMBER

"This is not a date," I told my reflection for the tenth time as I agonized over my outfit choice. "It's just a totally normal, completely professional dinner with my unfairly attractive boss whom I definitely do not have feelings for. At all."

Catman, lounging on my bed, gave me a look that said "keep telling yourself that". Sometimes I swore he had the same judgmental stare as my mother - the one she'd perfected during my "troubled" boarding school years. I could almost hear her voice, even now.

"Emily Marie Hartwell, what exactly do you think you're doing with your boss? And don’t you realize he’s going to think you’re a cheap whore if you dress like that? And why can’t you just take better care of yourself? Would it kill you to exercise or cut back on the sweets?"

I glared at nothing in particular. “Thank you for the encouragement, Mom,” I said, voice sour.

After changing outfits more times than I cared to admit, I finally settled on a figure-hugging black dress that was perhapsa smidge too sexy for a business dinner. But it made my legs look amazing and my cleavage...well, let's just say the girls were sitting up and paying attention.

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