Since I made a vow to myself to never, ever fall for a woman like my mother.
Not that Emma is like her—at least as far as I can tell from our short acquaintance. My mother was impulsive and selfish, and I see little evidence of those traits in my companion. Nor is Emma an alcoholic. All she had to drink at dinner was water—a choice I heartily approve. I have nothing against moderate social drinking, but I can’t deny that when I see a woman imbibe more than a couple of glasses of wine, I get uncomfortable flashbacks to my vodka-and-vomit-soaked childhood.
To this day, I can’t stand vodka, even of the upscale variety.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out, glancing at the screen.
Fuck.
My inbox is blowing up with urgent messages from Jarrod Lee, my Chief Investment Officer. I must’ve forgotten to check my phone during dinner because there are five emails in a row. An opportunity to invest in high-risk municipal bonds has fallen into our lap, and he needs to know if we should pull the trigger, given our views on interest rates. I swiftly review the bond specs and fire off a reply authorizing the $700 million investment.
Our analysts expect the municipality to have a successful capital raise before the next Fed meeting, which means our investment should double in value before the bond market tanks on the interest rate hike.
I finish with the emails just as the car pulls up to the curb in front of Emma’s apartment. Getting out, I open the door on her side and help her out. Her hand lightly touches mine as she climbs out of the car, and I can’t help closing my fingers around that small palm, then holding it a second too long.
Her startled gaze flies up to mine again, and I feel a tremor pass through her as she pulls her hand away. “Marcus…” Her voice is decidedly unsteady. “I really need to—”
“Of course.” I give her a smile as I walk her to the door, though the newly awakened caveman inside me howls in frustration. “You have to go. I understand.”
She nods, fumbling inside her bag as we stop in front of the door. Extracting her keys, she looks up, adorably flushed. “I do. My cats need to be fed, and I have to get up early for work tomorrow, and—”
“Emma.” I stop her rambling with another deceptively calm smile. “Say no more. I promised not to pressure you, and I won’t.”
Her flush intensifies. “Oh. Well, thank you. I had a great time.”
“Me too. What are you doing tomorrow night?”
She blinks up at me. “Tomorrow?”
“Friday,” I say helpfully. “You know, the day before the weekend?”
“Oh, I—” She stops and bites her lip. “You want to see me tomorrow?”
“I do.” And the day after, and the one after that, I realize to my shock. This dinner was far too short to satisfy my curiosity about Emma and her effect on me. I want to fuck her, yes, but I’m also intrigued by her.
I want to understand what makes her tick, and why that matters to me.
“I guess…” She hesitates, then blurts, “I guess that would be okay.”
“Excellent.” It takes everything I have to conceal my savage satisfaction. “Any specific food preference?”
“I’m not picky about food, but I do have a budget preference,” she says, and I sigh, realizing we’re going to fight that battle all over again.
Now is not the time for it, though, so I just nod and say, “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind. Pick you up at seven?”
“Okay.” She smiles up at me. “Seven it is. Thanks again.”
And before I can so much as kiss her cheek, she turns around, opens the door, and disappears inside to a chorus of outraged meows.
17
Emma
“Are you seriously telling me that you have a second date with Marcus Carelli of Carelli Capital Management?” Kendall’s eyes look like they’re about to pop through my phone screen.
“Yes, why? Do you know him?” I angle the phone slightly and look around to make sure the bookstore is still empty. My boss is off having a long lunch, and though it would’ve been smart to use this downtime to edit the short story I’ve been procrastinating on, I couldn’t resist video-calling Kendall about my date instead.
“Do I know Marcus Carelli?” Her voice rises. “Are you shitting me? Are you that oblivious to the world?”
“Um…”
“Never mind.” Her face grows in the phone camera as she leans in. “I should know by now. If it’s not in a book or doesn’t have a tail, it doesn’t exist for you.”
I sigh. My friend is nothing if not a drama queen. “Just tell me already. What do you know about Marcus? Because I’m seeing him again tonight, and—”
“You couldn’t be bothered to google him?”