Page 24 of Collide (Collide 1)

Chapter 8: To Hell with Self-Control

Over the next few weeks, Emily fell into her routine at the restaurant with ease and was happy that Dillon found himself in a more normal schedule. He wasn't getting in as late in the evenings. For Emily, things started to calm down. Dillon pulled a few strings with a client of his, who held a position high up in the New York City school district, landing Emily a full-time teaching position located in Greenwich Village. She was excited that in less than a month she would finally start her career at what she had spent so many years in college for and was even happier that she'd be surrounded by first graders. It was the grade she had wanted to teach because she felt the beginning of a child's educational start in life was their most important.

"Are you almost ready, babe?" Dillon called out impatiently while waiting on her couch.

"Just give me two more minutes. " She pinned up the last few strands of her hair.

She studied her reflection in the mirror and decided that even though the auburn mess was uncooperative on this particular afternoon it would have to do. She threw on a green-and-brown boho summer dress with spaghetti straps, grabbed a pair of brown heels, and slipped into the living room.

"You look quite delicious," Dillon remarked with a smile on his face as he moved toward her. "Are you excited?"

"I am, but you don't have to do this. " She snaked her arms around his neck, her heels dangling from her fingertips. "I have enough clothing. "

"Yes, but you don't have any from the boutiques on Fifth Avenue. " He pulled her closer and breathed against her cheek. "And, not to mention, I'd love to get you some more sexy lingerie from there, too. "

"I bet you would," she replied, arching her brow.

He tilted her neck back, feathering kisses against it. "You have no idea. "

Olivia cleared her throat, interrupting them from the intimate moment. "Where are you two lovers off to today?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

With a smart-ass smile on his face, Dillon walked over to Olivia, slinging his arm over her shoulder. "Well, if it isn't my favorite person in the world. "

"Get off me, Douche," she spat, ducking her smaller frame out from beneath him.

"Dillon's taking me clothes shopping," Emily quickly interjected. She curled her arms around Dillon's stomach and pulled him away. She slipped her feet into her heels. "What are you doing today?"

"I'm finishing up the last of my painting and taking it to the gallery for the show," she replied as she poured herself a cup of coffee. "You're still coming, right?"

"I wouldn't miss it for anything, chick. "

"Do you want to come with me tomorrow to get our nails done?" Olivia asked. "I so need a pedicure, too. "

Dillon slid his arm around Emily's waist, leading her toward the door. "I hate to break up this female conversation, but I have places to take my girlfriend to, Ollie. "

Emily kinked her neck back to look at Olivia. "Yes, Liv, it's a mani-pedi date. I'll see you later. "

Olivia shook her head, and watched the two of them walk out of the apartment.

"You know, you really need to stop being such a jerk to her," Emily said, settling herself into the seat of Dillon's car. "She's been nice to you the past few weeks. "

"I'm just kidding around with her, Em. " He closed the door. Emily watched as he made his way around the car and slid into his seat. "She needs to learn how to take a joke," he said, starting the engine.

"I know, but please - for my sake - just leave her alone, okay?"

Grabbing for her hand, he maneuvered himself into traffic. "Alright, alright, I'll leave her alone. "

"Thank you. "

He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it. "No problem. Do me a favor though. There's a file in the backseat. Can you grab it for me?"

She unbuckled her seatbelt and reached for it. After adjusting it over her body again, she glanced down at the file. Her heart skidded across her chest when she saw the name Blake Industries on the top-right corner. Although not graceful by any means, she had somewhat managed to keep her "new friend" from her thoughts the past several weeks, and now out of nowhere, she was essentially holding him in her hands.

"Here," she said, attempting to hand the file to Dillon.

"Just hang onto it for now. We're stopping by his penthouse before we go shopping. I have some papers I need him to sign before the weekend's over. " He laughed, running his hand through his dirty-blonde hair. "He's a pain in my ass, I have to admit. The motherfucker's always adjusting his damn stocks. "

"Oh. . . well. . . I'll just wait in the car while you go up then. " She tried to appear casual as she glanced out the passenger-side window.

"You're not going to wait in the car. One, it's going to take a while because I have to go over a few things with him, and two, I want you to see what we will eventually be living in one day. His place is off the hook. "

Emily let out a sigh. Nevertheless, fifteen minutes later, she found herself stepping out of the car in front of the building that housed her worst nightmare and her wettest dream.

After tossing his keys to the valet, Dillon pointed to the top of the massive structure. "You see that?" he asked Emily.

She tilted her head, her eyes following the slender ribbon of blue sky all the way up to the top of the building.

She nodded.

"That's where he lives like a fucking king overlooking all of this. " He spread his arms open, gesturing over the Lenox Hill area of the Upper East Side. "One day, we'll be living like him," he smiled, placing his hand on the small of her back.

With the tip of his hat, the door attendant greeted them, acknowledging Dillon by his last name like an old friend. When they walked into the Italian Renaissance-style lobby, Emily noticed a few people milling around, swathed in some of the most expensive clothing and jewelry she had ever laid eyes on. Looking down at her summer dress from Walmart and heels from Payless, to say she felt a little out of her comfort zone was an understatement.

The elevator ride up to the seventy-fifth floor was torturous for her. When she heard the cheerful ding before the doors slid open, she wanted to melt into the walls and camouflage herself into the grains of the wood. The long walk down to the end of the hall had her feeling as if she was a bloody piece of meat suddenly cast out into a sea of awaiting sharks.

One particular shark that is.

As they approached the door, Emily wiped her hand across her now sweat-beaded forehead, her heart drumming in her chest erratically.

Dillon gave a quick knock, and after what felt like forever, it opened. Behind it stood a buxom redheaded bombshell. Other than her smile, she was wearing nothing but pink-laced panties and a matching bra hidden beneath one of Gavin's white button-down shirts.

Unbuttoned nonetheless.

"Wow, you look great. " Dillon beamed a smile at the woman, but it quickly dropped when Emily shot him a look.

"Hey, Dillon," the woman rasped, pulling him in for a hug. "Like, seriously, long time no see. "

Crossing her arms, Emily shifted in her heels and plastered a smile across her face.

Dillon quickly eyed Emily, cleared his throat, and returned his attention to the woman. "It has been a long time, Natasha. I'm assuming the big man's home? I never called to let him know I was stopping by. "

"Yeah, he's out on the terrace with his laptop. Like, you know how he is, all work and no play," she laughed. "I just happened to be coming out of the bathroom when you knocked. "

Dillon nodded. "Yeah, I know how he is with work. "

"Who's this?" Natasha asked, closing the door behind them.

"This is the future Mrs. Parker," Dillon smiled and curled his arm around Emily's waist. "Emily, this is Natasha Bradford. She's Gavin's. . . friend?"

"I'm Gavin's flavor of the month," she giggled. Emily's mouth hung slightly agape at the woman's statement. "But it's okay with me. I get things like this," she giggle

d again as she playfully fingered a diamond necklace.

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