to bed.”
He stares at me.
“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask.
“My brothers are all going to Vegas tonight.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“They’re chasing booze and wild women.”
My face falls.
He wraps his arms around me. “I already have my wild woman; I’m not interested in what they are looking for.”
I smile up at him, surprisingly grateful that he’s not going.
“Will you miss me?” he whispers.
“Probably not.”
“You probably could try and be flirtier in our conversations, you know?”
“Could I?” Our lips touch, and he kisses me softly.
“Are you sure you have to go?” he murmurs against my lips.
“Yes, Jameson.”
“I love you,” he whispers.
My heart somersaults in my chest at hearing those precious words. “Have a nice day.”
“That’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“But that’s all you’re getting.” I kiss him quickly and pull out of his arms. “Please stop pressuring me. I’ll call you tonight.”
He puts his two hands into his suit pockets and smiles sexily as he watches me walk into the building.
I get into the elevator with a hammering heart and flushed cheeks.
Why is he so damn gorgeous?
I walk out of work just after one o’clock and see the limo and Alan standing beside it. He smiles warmly and opens the back door as if gesturing for me to get in. I smile and make my way over to him. I haven’t heard from Jameson all day and wasn’t sure if Alan was in fact coming to collect me. “Hello.”
He smiles warmly. “Hello, Emily. It’s so lovely to see you.”
I get into the back of the limo and find a lone red rose on the back seat, waiting for me.
Oh.
I smile and inhale it deeply; a beautiful perfume fills the space. The car pulls out from the curb, and I get a vision of myself stomping on the yellow roses the other night. Maniac.
I was half hoping that Jameson would be in the car waiting for me. Should I even be going away right now? Isn’t sorting this out with him more important?
No.
You had these plans before he decided to waltz back in . . . stick to them.
I should call and thank him, though. I dial his number.
“Hello,” his sexy voice purrs down the line.
My stomach flutters at the sound of his voice. “Hi,” I breathe.
“Are you with Alan?”
“I am. Thank you for my rose.”
“So red is better?”
“Seems that way.” I feel my face blush in embarrassment.
“Mental note to never buy anything yellow ever again.”
I giggle, embarrassed.
“You have a good weekend,” he eventually replies.
“You too.”
“I’m not going to call you this weekend.”
“Why not?” I ask.
“Your words are playing on my mind.”
“What words?”
“You told me not to force this between us.”
I listen.
“I’m stepping back.”
My heart drops. “You’re giving up?”
“No. Just the opposite; I’m making plans for our future. But I understand that you need time. Me forcing you to forgive me before you’re ready may not be the smartest move.”
I smile softly as I listen, hope blooming in my chest.
“You just call me whenever you want to speak to me,” he says.
“Okay.”
“And that could be fifty times a day. I’ll be waiting for your call like a lovesick schoolboy.”
I smile as I hang on the line . . . I really do want to see him this weekend.
No.
“Okay.”
“Goodbye, Emily.”
“Goodbye,” I whisper. I hang up, smell my rose, and smile sadly out the window as New York flies by. I feel like I’m in a subspace. Caught between two men, each with their own memory—one of Jameson Miles’s coldhearted dismissal and the other of playful Jim’s overwhelming love. Each time I feel myself leaning toward one, the other jumps in my way. I’m not sure how to turn this off, but I need to work it out . . . and sooner rather than later.
Half an hour later the limo pulls up at the airport, and Alan opens my door. I clutch my rose in my hand, knowing that I can’t take it in.
Alan retrieves my bag from the trunk. “Would you like me to carry this in for you?” he asks.
“No, thank you.” I look down at my rose. I feel strangely attached to it and can’t stand the thought of it dying. “Would you be able to put the rose in some water for me, please?” I ask him.
He smiles warmly. “Of course.” He takes it from me. “I’ll put it in water at Mr. Miles’s apartment for you.”
“Thank you.” I shrug, suddenly feeling stupid. “Goodbye, Alan.”
“I’ll see you on Sunday when we pick you up.”
“Okay.” With a meek wave,