“It’s your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Birthdays have never been a big deal for me. I celebrated Gotcha Day growing up like most people celebrate birthdays.”
“Gotcha Day?”
“The day my parents brought me home from the adoption agency. They always said everyone had a birthday, but the day they got me was the best present they ever received. So they started to celebrate Gotcha Day with me instead of their own birthdays. It just sort of stuck, and birthdays are just a number for me.”
“That’s really incredible. But you still should have told me it was your birthday.” It didn’t escape me that Emerie barely acknowledged her birthday, while my ex-wife thought her birthday was a national holiday. That had always annoyed the shit out of me even before things got really bad.
She shrugged. “Anyway, I’m just being a big baby. Baldwin made reservations at this popular French restaurant where it’s impossible to get a table, and I was supposed to meet him at eight.”
“What happened?”
“He texted me and said Rachel was pissed that he blew her off to take me to dinner the other night, and when he’d mentioned he was taking me out again, she got annoyed, so he had to cancel tonight.”
The guy was a total asshole. He was definitely stringing Emerie along. There was no doubt in my mind after everything she’d told me and then seeing how he reacted the other night when I’d suggested she and I grab a bite to eat. He was territorial about her in more than a friendly way. Yet he wanted to have his cake and eat it, too.
“I know you have feelings for him. But the guy seems like an asshole to me.”
“I just need to let go and move on.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
“I should go out and celebrate my birthday myself—pick someone up in a bar and bring him home with me.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
She sighed. “I know. I’m just not a random-hookup type of girl. I’ve tried it, and I hate myself for weeks after. It’s not worth it.”
Thank God. The thought of her bringing some random guy home to hook up with made me physically sick. Speaking of which…my random hookup was upstairs waiting.
“What are you going to do tonight?” I asked.
“I’m just going to finish up this file and then head home. I’m tired anyway.”
“Okay. Don’t stay too long. We’ll celebrate tomorrow. I’ll take you to Joey’s for lunch.”
Emerie forced a sad smile. “That sounds good.” Her eyes dropped to my feet. “No shoes?”
“I just ran down quick.”
“You’re working late and forget something?”
“No…I…uh…have company.”
“Oh.” Her face, which was already sad, looked like I’d just told her a puppy had died. This time, she couldn’t even force a smile. “Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be out of here shortly anyway.”
I said goodnight but felt like complete shit walking away. Why did I feel like two hundred pounds of added weight was sitting on my shoulders as I rode the elevator back upstairs? It wasn’t me who had screwed her over. I hadn’t even known it was her birthday.
I walked back into my apartment, completely lost in thought, only to be greeted by Emily. She was standing in the doorway that led to my living room, wearing nothing but those sexy-as-shit skinny-heeled shoes and her black lace G-string.
Nothing like a pair of perky D cups to cheer you up when you’re feeling down.
She tilted her head and crossed her legs at the ankles. The shoes were definitely staying on. I could almost feel them digging into my back already. “Like what you see?”
I responded without words, stalking over and lifting her up, guiding her legs to wrap around my waist. “You can ride me later. Right now, I’m going to fuck you on my kitchen table. You okay with that, Emerie?”
She chuckled. “Emily. I think all the blood is rushing south and messing with your ability to speak.”
Fuck. I’d called her Emerie and hadn’t even noticed.
“That must be it.” I walked us to the table and spread her out so I could quickly unbuckle my pants, but when I looked back up at her smiling face, I saw Emerie.
Emerie.
Not Emily who I was just about to fuck.
I blinked a few times, and my eyes came into focus. Chestnut hair, dark Italian skin, big brown eyes. The two looked nothing alike. Hovering over her, I held off on taking down my underwear to clear my head and get back in the moment. Then I took her mouth again, and we were kissing.
But I couldn’t shake the image of Emerie crying alone at her desk. Her big blue eyes red, fair skin blotched, sad about some asshole who was probably eating escargot and would wake her up with shaking walls at two in the morning.
Fuck.
Fuck.
“Fuuuuckkk.” I stood up and dragged my hand through my hair, wanting to yank it out in frustration.
“What? What’s wrong?”
I pulled up my pants as I responded. “It’s a client. She called while I was downstairs, and I blew her off. But I need to go work on something.”