Page 71 of One Night Only
“The Pack My Protein guys are setting up in the boardroom,” Andy explains, waving for me to follow him out of Emily’s office. And as I do, I cast a sidelong glance at my girl to find her watching me. And that’s when I see it. There in her big honey eyes as clear as day. Fear. Something happened. And my stomach rolls with concern. I need to speak to her.
The meeting with the ready-made meal company went well, at least for all I know. The guys seemed nice enough, and they offered me a big chunk of money to be the face of their upcoming social media campaign. But honestly, I wasn’t really paying attention. Not like I should have been. I wasn’t rude, but I definitely didn’t give them the full Dallas Shaw experience. I couldn’t. My brain was too busy racking itself with what could have possibly happened to upset Emily.
“You got plans for lunch?” Andy asks as he walks me out of the boardroom.
“I’ve gotta get to the air field.” I check my watch, realizing I’m running late and at serious risk of copping a fine. “We’re playing Miami tomorrow night.”
We stop by the door to Emily’s office as Andy tells me that he’ll get the contract filed with legal, and as he’s going on about emailing it through to the PR guys, I can’t help but peer over his shoulder, noticing Emily isn’t at her desk. Where is she?
I say goodbye to Andy and hurry out of the office, passing Franny’s office on my way. But she’s not in either. As I continue back through reception, I pull my phone from my pocket and start a new text as I impatiently press the call button for the elevator.
Me: Where are you?
Thankfully, I don’t have to wait too long for a response.
Goldie: Lunch.
Me: Where??
The elevator arrives and I step on with at least six other people. I keep my head down, not in the mood to indulge in any hockey fan talk with randoms right now.
Goldie: The salad bar across the street.
Pocketing my phone as soon as I exit the elevator, I snake my way through the throng of corporate suits crowding the lobby and zip up my jacket as I step outside on the busy sidewalk, running between a break in traffic across Madison.
As I walk into the pretentious salad bar that charges twenty bucks for a chopped salad, I spot Emily at a high table in the back, sitting there with Fran, and my shoulders sag with relief when I see the smile on her lips. Keeping my head down, I shoulder my way through the lunch time crowd, sidling up to their table.
“Oh, wow, fancy seeing you here,” Fran says with a wry smile.
“Yeah, I love a twenty-dollar salad,” I mutter.
“Hey, man. I’m only here for the brownie!” Fran shrugs, popping a piece of crumbled up brownie in her mouth.
“Number sixty-four!”
Emily hops off her stool and cranes her neck.
“That you?” I ask her.
She nods.
I take her ticket stub from her and weave my way through the sea of people waiting. Exchanging the ticket for a Styrofoam bowl, I thank the man and turn back to the girls.
“Can we talk?”
Emily looks up at me, glancing at Fran.
“You go, girl.” Fran smiles, holding her hands up in surrender. “I have to get back for a conference call with L.A.”
With an obvious sigh, Emily grabs her bag and shrugs on her coat, and I carry her overpriced salad as I lead the way back through the throng and out onto the busy sidewalk. Before she can say anything, I turn right and head up Madison, toward the garage where I parked. Emily keeps up with me, walking next to me but not too close. And I fucking hate that. What I wouldn’t give right now to grab her hand and entwine my fingers throughhers, or snake my arm around her shoulders and pull her close, maybe even press a kiss to the top of her head.
When we reach the parking garage, I don’t bother with the valet and instead, press the call button for the elevator. Emily doesn’t say anything, just stands next to me, waiting. And when the rickety elevator door shudders open, she casts me a dubious glance, reluctant as she steps in. The second the door closes and we start climbing, I press the emergency stop and I’m on her, flanking her until she’s pressed up against the side of the metal box with nowhere to go, forced to look up at me with those beautiful, big, caramel eyes.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask, resting a hand against the wall above her head, leaning in so close I can see her pulse quicken.
Her throat bobs with a hard swallow. “What are you t-talking about?”
“Don’t play games with me, Goldie.” I bite back my smirk, studying her face. “You couldn’t even look at me back there.”
