The Bedroom Business

She had not run. Why would she? She had ended her re­lationship with Jake, if you could call a night a relationship. Then, after she’d thought it over, she’d decided a preemptive strike made sense. So she’d quit, before he could have the satisfaction of firing her, quit without notice or warning and left him in the lurch.

It was a great feeling.

Emily smiled tightly as she peeled the potatoes and cut them in quarters.

Oh, if only she could see the look on his handsome face when he came into the office Wednesday and found her gone. No Emily to make his appointments. Type his letters. Keep his files. No Emily to make his coffee, take his dictation, organize his notes...

Lie in his arms.

She frowned, took out a pot, dumped the potatoes in and filled it with water.

Where had that silly thought come from? Jake would hardly notice. He’d have some other woman in his arms be­fore the week ended. Yes, maybe she’d dented his ego a little because he was the one who was supposed to end things.

After all, he was the Great Jake McBride.

“Great Egotistical Jerk, is more like it,” she muttered, as she put the pot on the stove and turned on the burner.

Did he think every woman he bedded really wanted to spend the rest of her life with him?

“Ha,” Emily said.

She didn’t want to spend her life with any male, except for Horace. As for that nonsense she’d spun in her head, that she’d fallen in love with Jake...

“Ha,” she said again, and Horace chirped and fluttered his wings as if he found the idea as preposterous as she did. She didn’t love Jake. It was just sex that had made her think so. All those shooting stars going off...

Yes, the sex had been terrific. But love?

“No way,” she muttered, but the conviction in her head didn’t connect with the anguish in her heart and, dammit, there she was, crying again. It was ridiculous. She’d been weeping, on and off, since Sunday night, which was why Serena and Angela kept exchanging those looks...

“Who is he?” Serena had asked, just this morning.

“Probably some fast-talking used-car salesman like the one I divorced,” Angela had said, answering the question when Emily wouldn’t.

“No,” Serena had replied, “he’s probably a duplicate of the skirt-chasing SOB I got rid o£” Then she’d put her arm around Emily and hugged her. “Sweetie, what can we tell you? Men are all the same. Even the ones who look like pet mice are only rats in disguise.”

“Jake doesn’t look like a pet anything,” Emily had said, her voice wobbling, “but you’re right, he’s a grade A, 100% rat.”

And he was.

Emily yanked a paper towel from the roll, wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

This was ridiculous. She had not, repeat, not, loved Jake. Why would she? He was gorgeous and sexy and fun to be with but he wasn’t the lovable kind.

If she cried, it was over her own foolishness in falling for him. In thinking she’d fallen for him, because she hadn’t. She hadn’t. She­—

“Emily? I’m ho-ome.”

Emily blew her nose again and tried, unsuccessfully, to tuck her hair behind her ears.

Angela was here. That meant Serena would be coming in, too, in just a few minutes. And she wasn’t going to have either of them sneak little looks at her, or at each other, anymore. The very last thing she needed right now was to have her two beautiful sisters feeling sorry for her. She’d had enough of that in high school to last a lifetime.

“There you are, Emily.” Angela, looking elegant as al­ways, her blond hair shiny and smooth, her blue eyes spar­kling, slipped an arm around Emily’s waist and hugged her. “Mmm. Something smells good.”

“Meat loaf,” Emily said, and felt two gigantic tears trickle down her cheeks.

“Oh, Em.” Angela sighed and put her hands on Emily’s shoulders. “Sweetie, don’t! Whoever he is, he’s not worth it.”

Emily nodded and wiped her eyes. “You’re right,” she said briskly. “And—and I’m not crying. I was—I was chop­ping onions.”

“Onions?” Serena said, as she entered the kitchen. “Great. I don’t have a date tonight, so...” She bit her lip, shot a guilty look at Emily. “I mean, I adore onions. And what’s that luscious smell?”

“Meat loaf,” Angela said, and shot a warning look at her sister.

Serena raised her eyebrows. “What? I like meat loaf. I wouldn’t say anything bad about meat...” She looked at Emily. “Oh, Emily. Sweetie, you’re crying.”

“I am not crying. What’s with you two? Don’t you know onion tears when you see them?”