Page 7 of One Night Only
I spear him with a pointed look.
His brows jump in that way that causes his curly hairline to momentarily recede. “Oh, Emily?”
I deadpan. No, Sherlock Holmes; the guy down on the corner holding aJesus is comingsign.
“She’s my new assistant,” he says as if it’s obvious. “Do you even read the monthly newsletter I send out?”
I snort. “No.”
He rolls his eyes.
“What happened to Paris?”
Andy shifts in his chair, suddenly looking a little uncomfortable. “She… broke the rules.”
Interest sufficiently piqued, I arch a brow. “Whatrules?”
“The terms of her employment.”
I stare at him, waiting for more.
“She hadrelationswith a client,” he mutters, looking down at the papers in front of him.
That’s a rule? Well, damn.
Finishing the dregs of my beer, I stare out at nothing in the distance, thinking back to the look in Emily’s eyes when she saw me just now, fear and something else flashing in her gaze.
It’s been four weeks since that night. Four long weeks I’ve spent driving myself crazy, wondering what the hell happened. Wondering where she went. Racking my brain with what I possibly could’ve done that was so goddamn terrible she felt the need to sneak out on me the morning after.
I’ve had my fair share of hook ups. I’ve even had a few since that very night. I’m ano stringskind of guy, and I make damn sure the ladies I go home with know that about me up front. It’s like a disclaimer; I don’t want to deal with the drama of a woman who thinks I’m about to commit just because we fuck. But that night, four weeks ago, it was different. I felt more with Emily than I’ve felt for any woman. She was sexy but vulnerable, with this innocence about her. Hell, I even looked in her eyes as I came. Another first for me. But there was something about her. Something that rattled me through to my core in the best possible way. Something that, for the very first time in my life, made me want more. But then she left. And for the last month, I’ve been reminding myself thatthat’sthe exact reason I remain single as a Pringle.
But now she’s back…
“Don’t even think about it, Shaw.”
Andy’s stern voice pulls me from my thoughts and I look at him to see he’s still focused on the documents in his hands.
“What?” I choose to play dumb.
He glances at me then, offering a knowing look, his shoulders falling with a heavy sigh. “I like her, Dallas,” he begins. “She’s good at her job, and she’s the first assistant I’ve had that Jenn actually likes.” He shakes his head at me as if to answer any andall future questions I may or may not have on the matter. “She’s off limits.” He arches a warning brow. “Stay away from her.”
And sure, I could come clean right now and tell him that his warning is, in fact, four weeks too late. But I don’t. Instead, I shrug a shoulder and turn my attention to my steak with a muttered, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
When we’re finished up with lunch, Andy’s shiny SUV arrives at the curb and I say goodbye before crossing the street and heading down 49thto the garage where I parked. But, as if I’m on autopilot, I continue straight past the garage entrance, apologizing as I make my way through a throng of tourists snapping photos of the city before, finally, turning right onto Madison Avenue.
Like magic, I come to a stop outside a familiar lobby entrance of a generic sky-scraping building, and I take a moment to consider myself. Sure, I could turn around, walk back to the garage, collect my car and drive home like I probably should.
She left you, Dallas, my subconscious reminds me like an asshole. And as usual, the smug bastard is right. She did leave me. And sure, some guys might accept that as an obvious sign that a woman is not interested and move on. But, in a city of eight-million people, there’s something to say about her coming back into my life like this. Of all the competent, experienced people Andy could’ve hired as his assistant, he hires her? That’s got to be fate or some shit.
Pushing my way through the revolving glass doors, I jut my chin at the security guard who offers me a knowing wink and finger-guns before buzzing me through the turnstiles. And, as nerves try to get the better of me, I step onto one of the elevators and press the button for level twenty-two, HMC Management’s headquarters.
CHAPTER 3
EMILY
Ifeel sick. Like,reallysick. As I stare at Andy’s calendar, specifically the details of his lunch meeting today at Smith & Wollensky, I read the name over and over again.Dallas Shaw. As in the sameDallasI had drunken sex with a month ago. It takes all I have not to bring up every last morsel of the chicken salad sandwich I scarfed for lunch. Burying my head in my hands, I groan.
I’ve always had the worst kind of luck. And I know everyone says that, and they’re usually just being melodramatic, but I’m serious. My luck is so bad that it really shouldn’t be a surprise that the guy I meet at a bar and go home with for the first time in my life is not only a professional athlete, but he’s also my new boss’s client. I’m so going to be fired.
