“Ready for breakfast, Kev?”
It was Sunday. Finally. His sister was heading back to Houston, thank God, and tomorrow…well, tomorrow the workweek would begin. How it would begin was still in question. What he knew for sure was that Emma might still be his assistant, but outside the office, she would be in his bed.
Permanently.
Emma was not in on this plan yet, though after last night’s revelations, the woman probably had some inkling about her future. Their future. Feeling light of heart, he headed to the kitchen and started on breakfast. He didn’t cook, but how hard could it be to scramble some eggs?
Harder than it looked, apparently. He probably should have made more of an effort to remove the broken shells and not checked the game scores while he did the one-handed stir. But really, his distraction was attributable to Flynn, who’d sent what he’d uncovered so far about Emma. Most of it confirmed everything she’d told him. He paused when he came to the section about her father, currently in a Pennsylvania penitentiary on a manslaughter charge after a bar brawl between rival motorcycle club gangs.
And Brody thought he had daddy issues.
So Papa Strickland wouldn’t be popping in for Thanksgiving dinner anytime soon. There were plenty of other ways Brody could help Emma. Her degree, her sister, her…nutritional needs.
“Whaddya think, Kev?” Kevin didn’t bother to raise his head from his curled-up position under the stool. “Yeah, we’re going out for breakfast.”
He headed back to the bedroom to tell Emma. She was still in the bathroom, the god-awful singing now replaced by the sound of a hairdryer. On the dresser, her phone vibrated. His head told him he shouldn’t look, but his heart and eyes were already there.
Ray f*ck
ing Grigson.
Fury rolled through Brody as he picked up the phone, his hand moving of its own accord.
Got something on Kane I can use yet? My patience is at an end.
Brody scrolled up the message thread, his heart thumping at each new damning piece of information. Shards of white-hot anger sliced through his brain when he came to the video.
He didn’t need to watch it.
He didn’t need to be reminded of how he’d lost control at the barest provocation. How he’d let himself be goaded into drilling his dick into her soft, wet heat.
Blaming Emma for finding himself in this predicament would be pointless. He’d been played for a fool, but he was as much at fault here. More so. Because he’d known as soon as Grigson gave her up for a mere three thousand dollars that he’d let a vixen into the henhouse.
Doing nothing was the enemy. It was time to finish this once and for all.
…
Emma emerged into the kitchen, feeling cleaner than she’d felt in years. Amazing what a night of unburdening, toe-curling sex and a long, hot shower could do for a woman’s outlook. There was no sign of Brody, just a pan of very brown—okay, burned—scrambled eggs and a hastily scrawled note.
Gone to get bagels. B.
She allowed herself a moment to luxuriate in the domesticity surrounding her. And something else. Hope. Was it possible they had a chance? He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to boot her ass to the curb, but tomorrow they were back in the office. Could they really sustain whatever was happening between them and work together? She wanted to think so, even if it meant putting up with the workplace gossips. Flynn and Hunter were like a couple of old women.
He would help get Ray off her back in a heartbeat. She didn’t want to ask him, but she needed to put aside her pride, accept the help she knew he wanted to give, and hope that Ray would leave it at that.
Time to see if Daisy had checked in. Her sister had left a message last night and rather than listen to it, Emma called her back while she leaned on the counter. It had been two days since she’d spoken to her, and guilt at her neglect gnawed at her insides.
“Hey, is everything okay?”
“One of Ray’s guys stopped by.”
Her heart stalled, stuttered, and shuddered to a stop.
“In Philly? What did he say?” Please God, she hoped that’s all he did. Talked.
“Something about not knowing where you are. You went off with some rich guy and haven’t been seen since.”
Bullshit. Ray didn’t like that she hadn’t come up with a plan to screw over Brody.
“It’s sort of complicated—”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this! It’s one thing to have to wait tables with all those dirty old lechers, but now you’re taking your clothes off like the other sluts at the club?”
“I don’t do anything unless I want to.”
She snorted. “You’re no better than mom.”