I searched in the closet for clean clothes. Ours were still strewed across the living room.
“I’ll just…get your things, so we can go,” I said, stomping out of the room before she could say anything.
I found my cell phone first and glanced at the influx of messages. I texted my secretary, Margaret, to let her know I would be coming in late. Something had come up unexpectedly.
My phone dinged with a message from Vanessa, and I nearly threw the thing across the room. Just what I wanted to deal with my ex-wife after the night that I had and the morning that only reminded me why this was all a bad idea. Instead, I returned the message, because I knew she would hound me if I didn’t, but I made sure that my impatience was blatantly clear.
I ignored everything else and scooped up Emery’s clothes from the floor.
She was sitting up with the charcoal-gray sheet wrapped around her body. She seemed off-balance, as if last night had been a dream and she was waking up and realizing it hadn’t happened. She had been so comfortable with her body last night that it seemed a damn shame that she was covering it up.
“Just late for work,” I told her. “We have to get going.”
“Right. Of course,” she said.
She took her clothes out of my hand, and I gave her privacy to change. The notion was absurd, but between being late for work, how content I had felt the moment I woke up, and the text from my bitch of an ex, this morning itself felt absurd.
Emery appeared a minute later, dressed in the clothes she’d worn last night, with her dark hair up in a high ponytail. “All ready.”
“Great.”
We hustled back into my truck. The drive across town was quiet, punctuated only by the Christmas songs that were still playing on the radio. I didn’t have it in me to turn it off even though they reminded me of our night together. I pulled up in front of her sister’s house twenty minutes later.
She smiled weakly at me. “Have fun at work,” she choked out.
I wanted to kick myself. But I’d known that this wasn’t a smart idea. I didn’t date girls in town—whether or not they were here for a weekend—for a damn good reason. It made things…complicated. And complicated was not something I could afford outside of the boardroom.
“Thanks. Have fun with your sister.”
“My sister,” she repeated numbly. “Okay. Well, um…bye.”
She hopped out of the truck, gave me a half-wave, and then darted for the confines of the house. She didn’t look back before disappearing into the house, and I had the distinct feeling that I had just made her feel cheap.
“Shit,” I whispered in the still-freezing air.
I hurried back to my house, took a much-needed shower, and then changed into a crisp black Tom Ford suit that I’d had custom-made at Malouf’s in town. It was like the Nordstrom of Lubbock. Family-owned, the store provided and tailored designer and custom-fit clothes by appointment only. I had a standing appointment. I looked like a million bucks. I should feel like a million bucks after last night. Instead, I felt like something had gone horribly wrong when it should have been much simpler.
An hour later, I tramped into my office and was ready for lunch since I’d foregone breakfast in my haste to get into work. Margaret was hot on my heels when I entered Wright Construction.
“Good morning, Mr. Wright,” she said, shuffling along with a notebook, iPad, and a pad of sticky notes. “Mr. McCoy called this morning, said it was urgent about the merger, sir. You also had a call from Vanessa. Well, two calls, but I let one go to voice mail. Nick Brown left a message about canceling his appointment because he’s going out of town. Alex Langley called out sick. Personally, it sounded like he was out late and hungover. Elizabeth Copeland had an important update on the Lakeridge complex, sir. Sounded rather urgent as well.”
“Margaret,” I said with a sigh as I reached the door to my office.
“Yes, sir?” She was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed this early in the morning.
“I feel a bit under the weather. Cancel all of my appointments for the day and let Mr. McCoy know that I’ll handle the merger in the morning.”
“But, sir—” she said again.
“Margaret, let me run my company.”
“Of course,” she said in a daze, handing me the iPad with my daily notes on it. “Also, Morgan is waiting in your office.”
I sighed heavily. “Thank you, Margaret. That will be all.”
When I entered my office, Morgan was sitting on the top of my desk, fiddling with the Newton’s Cradle kinetic pendulum that swished back and forth. Her dark eyes met mine across the room. “Late night?” she asked with a sardonic tone.