Page 45 of Hate the One You're With
She’s a woman I should stay far away from, but for now, I have to stick around her because other people’s livelihoods are on the line. Liam, the numbers guy and CEO of our company, is already diving into the reports from Langley Media. He doesn’t think he’ll be the one to take charge of it, but he’s confident he can find someone I can hire to run it.
So, here I am, stuck in this ridiculous situation, trying to keep my distance from a woman who’s nothing but trouble—while also trying to keep my sanity intact.
Clarissa swears Emmersyn isn’t cold, but she’s wrong. Emmersyn is a master manipulator, charming people with smiles and good intentions. But everything she does is calculated, designed to win others over until she no longer needs them. Then, she tosses them aside without a second thought.
I remember the sweet, sunshiny girl I married—or agreedto marry—vanishing at some point. She turned into someone distant, calculating, and completely absorbed in her own world. Then there was Trudy, or . . . was it the other way around? Honestly, I can’t even remember the order anymore, but it stung to realize just how wrong we were for each other.
Emmersyn is polite, even cordial, with everyone and peeks at the baby, but she doesn’t get too close to Emma. It’s like she’s scared of her—or maybe babies just aren’t her thing. This only confirms what I’ve known all along—we never would have made it as a couple. We want completely different things.
Max shows us to our room. Thankfully, it has a couch, and without me even saying a word, Emmersyn volunteers to take it. It’s around eleven when we’re both settled in, the silence between us heavy. The day has been too long and too grueling for small talk. I’m so exhausted that I can’t sleep. A couple of hours later, I hear crying from the other room. I cover my eyes with my arm, hoping Emma will settle down soon.
A few minutes later, I hear Emmersyn quietly slip out of the room. There are muffled voices, a couple of soft chuckles, and then silence. She doesn’t come back, and when I go to look for her, I find her by the big window, softly singing and cradling Emma. The way she holds the baby, so gently, so lovingly, is nothing like the woman I thought I knew.
It’s a side of her I’ve never seen before—a side I didn’t even know existed.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Caleb
I wakeup to the unsettling sensation of something warm and heavy pressing down on my chest. My brain is still foggy from sleep, and for a moment, I have no idea where I am. Then I crack open my eyes and find myself face-to-face with Bentley.
The cat is perched on my chest like he’s staking his claim. His copper eyes narrow as he scrutinizesme, probably judging every life choice that led me to this moment.Me too, buddy. Me too.
His tail flicks back and forth, brushing against my face with just enough force to be annoying. I try to shift, but Bentley isn’t having any of it. He digs his claws into my shirt, a not-so-subtle reminder that he’s in charge now.
It feels like I’ve been taken hostage on a battlefield, pinned down by an enemy who’s just waiting for me to make the wrong move. And here I thought the worst of my battles were behind me.
Great. Of all the spots in this massive penthouse, this damn cat decided I’m the perfect place for his morning nap. I never thought I’d be woken up by a cat, much less one that looks at me like I’m an intruder in his kingdom. Should I tell him this isn’t our house and he should behave like a good guest?
“Seriously?” I mutter, glaring at Bentley, who stares back with an expression that practically screams,I dare you to move.
I attempt to sit up, but Bentley just stretches out even more, his claws pricking through the comforter. It’s like he’s saying,Go ahead, make my day.
I’m stuck. Literally pinned down by a furball that weighs more than it looks. Bentley’s eyes are locked onto mine, daring me to try and move him. I’m not sure whether to laugh or scream, but one thing’s for sure—I’m not spending the rest of the morning as this cat’s personal mattress.
I glance around the room, searching for an escape route. My options are limited—very limited—unless I want to risk Bentley turning my chest into a pincushion. Then I spot Emmersyn, still asleep on the couch across the room. She’s gotto be my answer. The only way out of this feline hostage situation is her.
“Emmersyn,” I hiss, careful not to make any sudden moves that might encourage Bentley to dig his claws in deeper. “Emmersyn. A little help here?”
She stirs, blinking sleepily as she tries to make sense of the situation. “What’s wrong?” she mumbles, her voice heavy with sleep. Then she notices Bentley sprawled across my chest and smirks. “Oh, I see. Looks like Bentley’s made himself at home.”
“Yeah, well, I’d like to make it off this bed in one piece,” I reply, trying to keep my voice low and even. The last thing I need is this cat deciding I’m some kind of scratching post. “Can you get him off me?”
Emmersyn sits up, stretching like she’s just had the best sleep of her life, then gives me a look that’s way too smug for this time of day. “I could . . . but remember the two-foot rule? If I help you, you lose something from the inheritance. You sure you want to risk it?”
I stare at her, incredulous. “You’re seriously bringing up that ridiculous rule right now? I’m under attack here! You should make an exception. Find it in your heart to?—”
She raises an eyebrow, cutting me off. “The last time I checked, you thought I was . . . What was it?” She pauses, clearly enjoying the moment. As she shifts to stand, the blanket slips down, revealing her skimpy pajama top clinging to her curves like a second skin. My eyes immediately zero in on her perky tits, barely contained by the thin fabric.
For a split second, I forget all about the damn cat. My mind drifts to what I’d do if I weren’t pinned down—how I’dreach out and pull her closer, let my hands roam over the soft skin just peeking out from the edge of her top. My mouth practically waters at the thought of tasting her, teasing those perfect breasts until she’s gasping for breath.
Bentley’s low growl, a sound that’s half warning and half irritation, snaps me back to the present. Right, I’m supposed to be fighting for my life, not fantasizing about Emmersyn’s tempting body.
“Oh right,” she says with a wicked grin, clearly noticing where my gaze has landed. “I’m heartless.”
Bentley, as if on cue, lets out another purr that sounds suspiciously like agreement.
“Please, Emmersyn,” I plead, trying to muster every ounce of charm I have left. I shift slightly, wincing as Bentley’s claws dig a little deeper into my chest.
