writing and glances at me. “Anything you’d like to add, Samuel?”
She’s the one who’s the genius. Her ideas, her mature brand of enthusiasm, the way she confidently offers suggestions and asks questions…
I don’t know why she doesn’t take an eye for an eye and be a jerk right back to me. But instead, she’s including me in the conversation.
She’s doing it again—she’s giving a shit. Genuinely, unabashedly inviting my input.
In doing that, she’s putting herself out there. Making herself vulnerable in a way I sure as fuck never will.
Never again, anyway.
But damn if I’m not tempted to put my guard down. Just a little. Just enough for Emma to glimpse my non-asshole side. Because she makes caring look good.
She makes me want to care too.
My head’s telling me to run. Caring means letting her in, and I know better than to do that.
But my gut is telling me Emma is different. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to her. I’m Frodo and she’s the ring. I gotta resist. Gotta keep my head on straight. But she’s got this willingness to subject herself to the ass kicking she visited on me last night that’s a fucking siren song.
“Let’s do the tapas family style,” I say. “Everything passed around the table. Chef Katie’s gonna kill me, but I think it’s the right call for this group.”
Emma makes a note. Milly looks from me to Emma and back again.
What? I mouth.
Milly just shakes her head. You’re in trouble, she mouths back.
The three of us flesh out the menu. Emma defers to me on the food. Takes charge on the wine. She gets bolder and firmer with each pick.
I like them all.
I especially like that she takes no shit. When I suggest a red to accompany the dessert course—cinnamon sugar churros with chocolate ganache dipping sauce—Emma calls me out.
“You don’t pair a decadent wine with a decadent dessert like that,” she says. “We want a punchy counterpoint to the creaminess of the chocolate. The richness. Something that’s easy to drink. I say sparkling—a cava.”
Milly looks at me, eyes wide with glee. “I say she’s right.”
Oh yeah, I’m in trouble.
Lots of it.
“Well.” Milly taps her hands against her knees. “I gotta run. Emma, you have my number. Reach out anytime, day or night. We’re thrilled to have you on the farm. Right, Samuel?”
I shoot Milly the darkest look I can muster.
“Good luck,” she murmurs to Emma, patting her shoulder before heading out the door.
Emma smiles. “She’s great.”
“She’s the worst, but I love her.” I stand, closing my folio. “I have an eleven with the kitchen staff. Anything else you need?”
“Not at the moment, no. I’ll follow up with Milly about the decor and pull the wines we discussed. Let’s give them a try when you have a sec.”
She moves to stand, her skirt gliding up her thighs as she leans forward. A surge of dark hunger moves through me. I shift on my feet, unsteady.
I do not like how this woman makes me so goddamn unsteady all the time.
“My schedule’s packed for the next two days,” I grunt. “Don’t have time.”
She draws to her full height—can’t be more than five one, five two at most—and the look in her eyes turns flinty. For such a little thing, she’s got real presence.
“You just saw what happens when you don’t stonewall me, right? We not only get shit done, we crush it.”
I run a hand over my stubble. “I always crush it. Whether or not you’re here.”
“We’ll see about that.” She tucks her notebook underneath her arm. “In the meantime, stop playing games, Beauregard. The pouting’s just childish. Put on your big boy undies and let’s see how far we can take this thing.”
Without waiting for a reply, she turns and leaves. Head high, shoulders pulled back. Pert ass straining against the fabric of her slim skirt.
Those fucking skirts she wears. They’re modest but…not.
Curling my hands into fists, I lean them against my desk. That hunger is everywhere now, throbbing inside my skin alongside the very real anger and annoyance I’ve felt since I first laid eyes on Emma. Was that really only seventy-two hours ago?
In my day-to-day life, I maintain an impeccable sense of control. It hasn’t been a struggle. The people who work for me do what I say, and they do it exactly how I want them to. The Barn Door’s success is no accident.
Now, though, I am struggling to maintain that control, thanks to Emma.