“Is that possible?”
“Not always. But sometimes.” I study her a moment, and that sexy trepidation I’ve noticed several times before has returned with a vengeance. “Emily,” I say softly, lifting my chin toward our destination. “We’re ten feet from the building, and my car, which means us leaving together, and we aren’t moving any closer to achieving that goal. Is this nerves or second thoughts?”
“I really want to know about you and Harvard and—”
“Understood. And I’ll tell you, but we’re still standing here.”
She glances at the building and then back to me. “I wasn’t, but now that you just pointed all of that out, I am. It’s been a while and you’re…”
“I’m what?”
“You. You’re just you, and don’t ask me to explain that because like you, I can’t.”
There is something so damn sweet about this woman that hits all the right spots and I reach over and caress hair from her face. “We’re going to be good together. We already are. I feel it. You have to feel it, too. Do you feel it?”
“Yes,” she says. “I do.”
Pleased with her answer, I link our arms again and we cross a walkway toward the building. “I don’t have to ask to know you’re a good attorney,” she comments a few steps later. “You’re very persuasive.”
I laugh. “Some would say I’m an asshole.”
“Are you?”
“If I’m dealing with an asshole, then yes, I’m an asshole. Have you taken the LSAT?”
“Even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you. I have no desire to compare scores.”
“Now you’ve really made me curious.”
“Why?” she asks as we reach the glass doors to the building. “It’s nothing you haven’t already done and done very well.”
I key a code into the security panel and open the door. “What was your score?” I press again.
Her answer is to purses her lips, and her stride into the building, making a beeline for the elevators. I laugh and pursue, snagging her hand. “I need to get my bag,” I say, leading her in the opposite direction. “And then I’m going to get your scores out of you.”
“I didn’t even say I took the test.”
“We both know you did.”
Her cell phone rings, she stops walking to reach into her purse, and I release her and motion to the desk. “I’ll grab my bag.”
She nods, and I head for the security desk, giving Randy a wave. By the time I reach the counter, he’s sets my bag on top, and leans close. “Your father was with a woman tonight.”
“I know,” I say. “I had the misfortune of running into them. Do you know her?”
“No, but I saw her with your brother a couple of weeks back at a restaurant around the corner.”
My fucking brother is manipulating and spying on my father. Why does this surprise me? “Thanks, Randy. Do me a favor. Make me a copy of tonight’s security feed, wipe it clean, and send it to my apartment.”
“Consider it done.”
I give him a nod and grab my cell phone from my pocket, turning to find Emily standing in profile near the elevator corridor, her head tilted low. I text Seth: My father’s at Jeffrey’s with a woman. Randy says he saw her with Derek off location. I know nothing else.
I wait for a reply, watching Emily as she turns just enough for me to see the anger on her face, a perfect match for what I’m feeling right now. Well, not a perfect match per se. She’s sweet at her core, while I’m not sure what the hell I am, but it’s not even close to sweet. I’m everything she is not, and that makes her damn appealing.
Deciding to hell with Seth’s reply, I stick my phone in my pocket, and start walking toward Emily, a man on a mission to get us both naked as soon as possible. No more delays and I really have no clue how I went from furious in that restaurant to laughing on the walk over here, but I’m damn sure not laughing now. Neither is she. Her spine is stiff, her long brown hair hiding her face, but I can hear her muffled, terse whispers. I’m almost on top of her when she ends the call and faces me, all but jumping out of my jacket in the process.
“You scared me,” she says, stuffing her phone back in her purse. “Sorry about that.” She cuts her gaze. “It was my landlord and he’s—”
“You don’t need to make up stories for me.”
Her gaze jerks to mine. “What?”
“You don’t lie well and that’s a compliment.”
“I’m not—”
“Don’t,” I order softly, shackling her hips under my jacket, her hand settling on my chest, where it balls rather than flattens.
She pales. “What?”
“Say nothing or tell me everything, but don’t lie to me.”
Her fingers grip a section of my shirt. “Nothing then.”