going to tell on me? I'm the boss.
Emmy could practically hear the snarky tone in his voice there, and it made her laugh. It was also weirdly flattering to think of him behaving like a teenager in the middle of a business deal, just because they'd slept together the previous night.
Although he was apparently having the same effect on her, she realized, when she noticed the clock on her kitchen wall was showing just shy of eight.
Got to run and be my own boss — later!
She thrust the phone deep into her purse to resist the temptation of further texting, and hoped any response would be muffled by the sheer volume of stuff inside it, including (it wasn't an exhaustive list) a pair of fake-fur-lined-gloves, a notebook and three ballpoint pens (one working), a daily planner, at least four tubes of lipstick, a rape whistle, a pack of Kleenex, a pocket-sized hairbrush with hair ties wrapped around the handle, and various scraps of paper which had had a use once and now just added to the trash.
It worked, because she didn't check it until after she'd opened the store and dealt with the morning's mail, and some new arrivals. There were two messages, back to back.
So can I expect you to answer messages during opening hours, or are you a stricter boss that I am?
And
Maybe I underestimated your sense of discipline.
That last one, sent just minutes ago, seemed ripe with subtext, and contributed to the residual lust Emmy had been feeling since she'd woken up. It would've been disturbing, if it hadn't been so, well, hot. But she was all too aware that it didn't bode well for any future self-control in Eric's presence, which threatened to send her imagination soaring — again — when Natalie walked in with a cheery "Good morning!" and Emmy started like a kid caught with the hand in the candy jar.
Of course, Nat noticed.
"You're looking a little cagey this morning, missy," she teased. "So how was the big damn opera gala last night? Did Mr. Oswell behave? More to the point, did you?"
Emmy thanked the stars that it was a cold morning, and she was wearing a turtleneck. She wasn't ready to share last night with anyone just yet, so she steeled herself and stared Nat straight in the eye when she answered.
"It was great, thank you. Brilliant performance — the lead soprano was absolutely awesome, and the dinner... " she faltered, then, belatedly remembering the whole walkout scenario. "The dinner was very nice. A bit stuffy — some of the patrons were unbelievably snobby, but I kind of expected that."
"Uh-uh," Nat said, looking unconvinced. "And Eric? Not too stuffy, I bet?"
"No," Emmy said, smiling. "Not too stuffy. But quite the gentleman. He came to pick me up in a limo, waited for me at the door, all that... It was sort of like going to the prom."
"Really? I didn't think he was that kind of guy. That's...unexpected."
"Yes. It was actually really nice. But I did get some stares."
"Well he is one of Manhattan's most eligible bachelors, Em. You can't expect to pass unnoticed."
"Maybe you're right."
"And when it ended you all went home your separate ways? Or did he try anything on the way home?"
"No, he didn't," Emmy said — because, well, Eric hadn't tried to jump her in the car, so she wasn't exactly lying. "He really was the perfect gentleman."
Well, apart from abandoning her in the middle of dinner under the scrutiny of Manhattan's elite, but she hoped that wouldn't ever come to light. Apparently, Natalie seemed to believe her — Gina would've ripped through her bullshit in seconds — but Emmy noticed with a sinking feeling that she was heading towards the computer
"I tell you what, why don't we check the gossip sites? I bet they'll have pics from last night," Nat said cheerily, and Emmy just had to grit her teeth and hope for the best.
Natalie was as efficient as ever and found the right website within seconds. She scrolled rapidly through the first few images on the screen, pausing with a whoop.
"Gotcha! Oh my God, Emmy, you look absolutely stunning! What on earth are you wearing? It looks like serious couture stuff — have you been shopping behind my back?"
Cringing, Emmy made her way around the desk, expecting the worst, but the photo was flattering, both for her and for Eric, who was smiling directly at the camera, and looking devastatingly handsome. The caption, thankfully, just read "Mr. Eric