Page 57 of Reputation (Tempt)

Emerson frowned, but then she whipped her attention to me, her eyes narrowing in recognition. I said nothing, following them through the maze of hallways until we exited the hospital into a corridor where a black Escalade with dark tinted windows was waiting.

Jackson was standing next to it, and he stepped forward when he spotted us. “Mr. Crawford. Emerson.”

“Thank you, Jackson,” I said as he held open the door for us. I waited for Emerson to climb in, and then I followed her.

The discharge process had been surprisingly quick. I got the feeling the hospital wanted to expedite our exit. Sure, I’d been a dick at times, but we were talking about Emerson’s well-being. I didn’t think I was being completely unreasonable.

Though, considering the way she’d looked at me this morning when I’d berated the doctor, maybe Ihadgone overboard. I told myself I was just leaning into this new role—fake fiancé. But I knew that wasn’t the truth. I’d been worried about her. I still was.

I ground my molars so hard I thought they might crack, frustrated by the lack of answers. How did they have no idea what had happened? How could we prevent it from happening again?

Reduce her stress, maybe. I sure as hell wasn’t helping with that.

I hated myself for putting her in this position. I knew she was under a lot of pressure with her competition coming up. And I didn’t want to add to that, especially not after what the doctor had said about stress potentially causing the reaction that had landed her in the hospital.

And while the doctor seemed satisfied with her answer, I wasn’t convinced. I lived with Emerson, and I’d noticed that she’d seemed tense lately. She sang less, smiled less.

“Congratulations,” Jackson said, once he was settled in the driver’s seat.

“Thanks,” I said, appreciating his support. If he had his doubts about the true nature of my relationship with Emerson, I trusted him to be smart enough to keep them to himself.

It would be relatively simple to make Brooklyn believe this was real. I had a feeling she was going to be too excited to question it. But Emerson was right—the rest of my household staff might take more convincing. Moreproofof our love. Emerson and I had some work to do.

I studied her from the back seat of the Escalade. She’d given no hint as to her thoughts, even if she’d agreed to go along with the charade. Instead, she peered out the tinted windows, her silence putting me even more on edge.

We needed to talk about Brooklyn and so many other things, but I sensed Emerson needed a moment to collect herself. I’d thrown a lot at her in a short amount of time. Hell, it had been my idea, and I was still reeling from the shock of it all. From how quickly my life had spiraled out of control.

“Holy shit,” she whispered as the front of the hospital came into view. Her attention snagged on the army of paparazzi flanking the front entrance. “Please tell me they aren’t waiting for us.”

I didn’t want to lie or sugarcoat it. “They are.”

“So, this is my life now.” She didn’t sound happy about it, and I felt even worse for dragging her into this.

She hadn’t asked for the media attention. She didn’t even seem to want it, unlike other women I’d been with.

I placed my hand over hers. “Hey. You okay?”

She shook her head slowly, her attention focused on the frenzy outside the window. “You’re sure they can’t see us?”

“Yes.” I didn’t mention that they would’ve already swarmed the car if they’d known we were in here. I didn’t want to give her even more cause for alarm.

Hell, I’d offered her ten million dollars to play the role of a lifetime—my fake fiancée. Ten million dollars to pretend to be engaged to me for a year. Any other woman would’ve leaped at the prospect, even without the additional offer of a princely sum of money.

But Emerson wasn’t just any other woman.

When I’d given her the chance to ask for anything she’d wanted, she hadn’t. Then, when I’d accepted her offer of ten million dollars, she’d told me she was joking.

For a split second, I’d wondered if she was playing hardball. If she was trying to squeeze me for more, like my ex would’ve done. But I knew Emerson, and I didn’t think that was true. In fact, the more we’d talked at the hospital, the more concerns she’d listed—especially regarding my daughter—the more I was certain that wasn’t the case.

We drove in silence, and I didn’t move my hand. I told myself to, but I didn’t want to. I liked the feel of her hand in mine. I needed the reassurance that she was okay.

I was grateful I didn’t have to focus on the road, because all I could concentrate on was the woman beside me. I stared down at the hospital bracelet with contempt. I should’ve been grateful she was okay—and I was. But all I kept thinking was how terrified I’d been when I’d heard that Emerson had been taken to the hospital.

How had I let this happen?

I’d vowed never to let another woman have control over me, yet here I found myself wrapped up in Emerson. Concerned about her well-being. And not just as an employee or a friend, but as someone I cared about.

She was magnetic and funny. Smart and fucking gorgeous. And the way she interacted with my daughter made me think she was the missing piece from our lives.

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