“Lied her ass off,” Olivia said. “The rest of it was bad enough…” Her gaze met Emma’s, a brew of tigress challenge and remembered pain. “That’s what hurt the most. He thought he was going to be a father.”
And he was prepared to cage his desires and needs to do the right thing. Marry a woman who was incompatible in every way so that her child—their child—would get the best start in life. Every moment she spent here drew her tighter and tighter into the orbit of this amazingly honorable man who had been trying to do good by Emma from the start. Save her from the club and a life on the streets.
Look how she repaid him. With half truths, omissions, and the threat of public shame with Ray’s video.
The chill in the room brought on by Gabby’s revelation about Brody’s ex had spread to Emma’s heart, and evidently, it showed. In an uncharacteristically sympathetic query, Kat raised an eyebrow while Olivia eyed Emma shrewdly, taking her measure. Panic eddied in her gut, a need to remove herself from this suddenly claustrophobic situation.
Thankfully, Kat picked up on her vibe. “Before I go, I show one lucky volunteer how to win man on pole.”
Gabby shot up. “Me, me!”
Kat gave her the twice-over, then a curt nod of assent. Standing, she gestured at the cake. “The rest, have slice of your cock cake.”
Kat spent a few moments instructing Gabby in hand placement and watched approvingly when she managed a few bunny hops around the pole. So involved in encouraging Gabby, no one noticed the door to the suite opening.
“You ladies sure know how to throw a party.”
Emma’s eyes shot up at the sound of that voice: Mr. Cross.
Grinning, Flynn pulled his gaze away from the pole shenanigans and attached it to Emma. Smile fading, his expression was now riddled with confusion. “Hey, Emma,” he said.
Oh, hell, no.
A hulking shape emerged from behind Flynn. Brody.
Worlds collide.
Olivia stood and fisted her hands at her hips. “What are you doing here?” she snapped at Flynn.
He glared back. “Jess invited me for a drink.”
Olivia murdered Jess with a look, then put Flynn six feet under twice with another.
Flynn broke the gaze first and said to Emma, “Has Brody got you on chaperone duty, Emma?” He turned to Brody. “Hell, man, you’re making her work on a Saturday. That’s cruel.”
Emma watched in slo-mo as the room shifted with awareness. Olivia took a long, puzzled look at Emma. Realizing he’d put his foot in it but not knowing why, Flynn frowned at Brody, whose mouth formed a grim seal.
“Emma?” Olivia asked. “You’re…I thought your voice sounded familiar. You’re Emma. Brody’s assistant Emma! Damn…” She looked at her with new eyes. “On the phone, you sound like a mouse. But you’re a—are you a stripper as well? Called Chardonnay?”
Flynn squinted at Olivia. “Liv, as usual you’ve got it all wrong. How in the hell would you mistake butter-wouldn’t-melt Emma here for a stripper? She works at that club slingin’ cocktails, not gettin’ buck naked.” He tipped an imaginary hat at Katerina, who was still dressed in her revealing stripper attire. “No offense, ma’am.”
Terror barged through Emma’s veins. Mr. Cross knew she worked at Club Girl? Oh, God. How soon before her business was splashed all over the office?
“Explaining anything to you, Flynn Cross,” said an exasperated Olivia, “would be a waste of my precious breath.” She crossed her arms and cocked a hip with a slightly drunken lurch. “Emma, you’re clearly not a stripper, but for some reason, you’re playin’ one on TV. Feel free to jump in and tell us all about it.”
Shit, it had to be done. Eventually, Emma found the courage to raise her eyes to Brody. Here she was cozying up to his sister, burrowing further into his life, then getting her cover blown. He must be pissed.
So color her surprised as all get out when she met his smiling gaze.
“Emma’s been staying with me while her hardwood flooring is being repaired,” Brody said, not taking those silver-gray eyes off her. “Flood damage.”
Her heart caught at how he was covering for her, minimizing her shame. Emotion reared in her chest at his protectiveness.
“Yeah, that’s what I walked in on in your kitchen a couple of days ago,” Liv said with a smirk. “Flood damage.”
Brody sighed. “Liv, it’s none of your—”
“Brody,” Emma cut in, “it’s okay.” Technically, it was no one’s business, but she was sick of pretending, of hiding who she was. This cloak of respectability she’d been wearing was waterlogged with her lies. It needed to be thrown off. “A series of unfortunate events involving bad debts, a ballistic cat, and a terrible lap dance at a strip club has led me to Brody—and his bed. Where he is a f*ck
ing rock star.” She turned to a gaping Olivia. “You asked.”
Olivia laughed. “I did.”