“Why?” Emmett says.
Guess he’s going for his shamelessly obtuse tack again. I look at the elevators. A car is waiting.
I step up and press the button, and of course Emmett follows right after me. But there’s nothing to be done about it. The doors shut, and the car starts to ascend.
Emmett is standing close enough to look at my screen if he wants. He smells even better in the enclosed space. The elevator, which is big enough to accommodate at least twelve adults, seems tiny. I feel like a trapped animal.
“So… You going to answer my question?” His tone says he will have his answer.
Demanding bosshole! “He was upset that I canceled our plans, so he was like, ‘Me or the job,’ and I said the job,” I say very fast, praying he only catches maybe a quarter of what I’m saying but is satisfied anyway. Also, I didn’t technically cancel, but I don’t want to get into details with Emmett. It’s already embarrassing enough that he’s read those pathetic texts from Rick. Emmett’s probably judging me for sure now—how could you be so blind as to date somebody this awful?
In my defense, I dumped Rick. Still… I should’ve known even before I started. Done my due diligence, like I always do when GrantEm is doing market and industry assessments. If I had, I would’ve known Rick was junk and not wasted my precious time on a doomed relationship.
Emmett beams like an athlete who just set a world record at the Olympic Games. “I didn’t hear you. Say that again.”
I squint up at him. He totally heard every word out of my mouth. Is this some kind of weird torment he’s adopted because he’s upset about me barging in on him last night? Or maybe he’s annoyed about the kiss-turned-sex, which made him feel extra cheap?
I want to keep my mouth shut, but he looks too expectant. He hasn’t okayed my Excel model. I should humor him until then.
“He was upset I canceled our plans on him, so he said, ‘Me or the job,’ and I said job,” I repeat.
Emmett nods. By then, we’re on our floor, thank God!
“My office,” he says, all brisk and back to business.
I sag with relief at the change in demeanor. I can handle professional Emmett.
On the other hand… His office means the scene of crime. I just hope it doesn’t remind him of what happened last night, especially when he’s acting normal—irritating and bossy.
I also hope there’s no sign of my thong.
Actually, scratch that. No sign would probably mean he picked it up, although I can’t picture him bending down to pick up someone’s already-worn underwear. Hopefully, I’ll find it before he does and can subtly take care of it.
I follow him into his office, make sure to take the other couch and boot my laptop while surreptitiously scanning the area under the couch of shame.
Nothing. Did he fling it somewhere last night after ripping it off me? The details were lost in the haze of pleasure.
I hope it’s in some dark corner of his office, to be discovered by a janitor. That would be less embarrassing than Emmett keeping it. And a janitor won’t know who it belongs to. He’ll just assume Emmett’s a perv.
I steal a quick look in my boss’s direction. Did he just smirk?
Oh yes he did. He might not have found my thong, but he hasn’t forgotten a thing about last night. I inhale deeply. Gotta re-center myself.
Should we discuss what happened last night and set things straight? Nobody’s in the office, so it’s a perfect time. But he isn’t hinting he wants to talk about it, which I guess means that we should pretend like it never happened.
More than fine by me.
Clinging to what’s left of my sanity and professionalism, I pull up Excel. I quickly plug the missing projections and assumptions into the model. The work that took me over an hour last night only takes minutes with my brain functioning better. Why can’t Emmett let me sleep more regularly?
He reviews the exhibits and projections I sent him this morning while I tinker with Excel. I tell myself it doesn’t matter what his verdict is. I plan on spending this evening working.
“Okay. This looks good,” he says finally.
I freeze. Did I hear that right? This is the first time he’s told me everything looks fine without asking for corrections. This is almost as surreal as me walking in on him and kissing him and…stuff last night.
Just to be sure, I say, “Really?”
“Yeah. Nice work.”