by Ellie Hall
"Do you mean do I like your apartment? It's fine. Not really my style, but hey, it's your place."
He paused, his attention captured by a small sculpture atop the table. He'd commissioned it back when he and Veronica were still together because she had to have one of Shuman's pieces. No one confirmed it was being made. He went on to explain to Emma that there were only three sculptures made by the reclusive artist per year. He supposed Shuman couldn't refuse his high offer.
Emma stood in front of the piece and tilted her head. "What is it?"
"It's by Shuman," Will said as if that was explanation enough.
"Sherman? Shaman? Shoe Man? Like Tin Man?" she asked.
"Shuman," Will corrected. He couldn't tell if she was being obtuse or had never heard of the guy.
She shrugged. "Who's that?"
"He's a famous sculptor. Everyone knows he's the most sought-after artist of the century."
"Last I checked I'm part of the collective everyone. I had a science teacher once called Mr. Shellman but he was more into the tangible rather than the abstract." Emma poked the piece of art with her forefinger. "What does he use to sculpt? Playdough? I could do better than that."
"You could?"
"Yeah. With cookie dough. It looks like a lumpy eggplant to me."
All the heartache and stress from being home erupted out of Will in a long peel of laughter. He picked up the sculpture and turned it over in his hands.
Emma almost smiled.
When his laughter died away, Will said, "I paid a million dollars for a lumpy eggplant?"
"Oh, I mean, it's a, um, gourd, like the kind used in Thanksgiving decorations."
"It's supposed to be the spirit of the ocean."
Emma shook her head. "I've never seen the spirit of the ocean but I'm quite certain it isn't ugly."
"You think my lumpy eggplant-ocean spirit is ugly?" Will asked mock offended.
"I think your lumpy eggplant-ocean spirit could have paid for a small village to eat for a lifetime or fund underserved schools or save the ocean itself. My good friend Clara works at an animal shelter. They can always use extra funds you have lying around. You know, instead of buying ugly cement eggplants. Just saying."
Will's mouth dropped open. "You don't think I'm generous?" He went on to list the philanthropic organizations he'd donated to in that quarter alone.
"Okay, you're generous but what are you trying to prove? Certainly that you don't have good taste in art."
"And you do?"
"Not particularly." Emma strolled across the room, taking in the décor. "But I'm just the fake girlfriend. It doesn't matter what I think." She paused her tour of the living room in front of a bookshelf. "Although you do have decent taste in books." Emma ran her finger along a few of the spines.
Will smiled. He had missed his book collection. "Make yourself at home," Will said.
"My home had a leaky roof, lacked in fine art, and butlers." Emma stopped in front of a painting and pointed. "I feel like I've seen that in a museum somewhere."
"A butler, singular. Also, it's on loan from the Guggenheim Bilbao. Have you been?"
"Will, I have no idea what you just said."
"The museum in Spain."
"I meant I think I've seen a picture of it in a book."
"All the same." Maybe they were from different worlds. Surely, he had room in his for her. He didn't grow up with a silver spoon but after the tragedy, Sydney taught him how to eat from one.
Emma strolled past him, concluding her survey of the space. "Why not hire a professional?"
"Cleaning service? They come three times a week."
"No, I meant don't they have people whose job it is to repair careers instead of paying off your new assistant?"
Will snorted. "Firstly, who's they? My agent? Manager? The celebrity world?" He tossed his phone on a table and it landed with a clatter that echoed through the spacious flat. "Secondly, they'll just as soon be paid off by gossip sites. No, we need to keep this private."
"I mean there are probably women more qualified than me."
He didn't know how to say he was glad it was she but would be lying if it hadn't crossed his mind that she might betray him too. "You seem sweet and wholesome. Like you wouldn't know the first thing about selling someone out, breaking the law, or living a decadent lifestyle."
"No, I suppose not. But why would I sell someone out? That seems unnecessarily mean."
"You hate me."
"That's not exactly true," she said slowly.
"Prove it."
"It's just better if we keep our distance."
"When we're not in public."
"Right." She nodded emphatically.
"But when we're in public…"
"Yeah, whatever."
"I guess that's where we should start. Um, what do you like to do?"
Emma shrugged. "I told you. Baking—"
"I mean for fun? Do you even know how to have fun?" He knew he wasn't helping his don't-hate-me case but she was so guarded they'd fail to convince the paparazzi and Nexxiss that they were actually together.
"Since I don't have a private jet or unlimited funds…Mostly Netflix, um…" She glanced at him. "Probably not the kind of illegal activities and wickedness you're used to."
He was about to explain the problem with the paparazzi but stopped himself because she was just trying to get under his skin. "I get the sense you don't know how to have a good time whether following the law or against it."
Her hands flew to her hips. "What makes you think that?"
"Just a hunch. Name the last fun thing you did."
If she'd asked him the same thing, he'd lie and mention going to a club. However, until he'd spent time with her, even with the banter and disagreements, his own spirit felt like the lumpy sculpture on the table across the room. Now it felt lighter.
Emma's eyes narrowed as though offended by the question, which only made the grin on his lips bigger.
Chapter 7
Emma
Will infuriated her. He was pompous and she wanted to wipe the smirk off his face.
He repeated his question. "What was the last fun thing you did?"
She huffed, annoyed. "I ate ice cream and watched a Hallmark Christmas movie." And cried but she left that part out.
"That's what you call fun? I'm not convinced."
"It was a romantic comedy. Also, I visited the Museum of Natural History." She and Penny had met her aunt and uncle there while they were visiting but still, it was enjoyable.
He scrunched up his face. "Sounds like something you’d do with your grandparents."
Close enough. "I went out for free appetizer hour with some girls from work." It was the same night she'd discovered Everett's dalliances and she'd rather forget all about it.
"Did you drink cola and eat nachos?"
"Yes. How'd you know?" Her cheeks heated. He was teasing her.
“You seem like a cola and nachos kind of girl.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Amusement played in his eyes and he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
It had been a long time since she'd had fun and laughed heartily like Will did when she'd insulted his sculpture. "To answer your question, the last fun thing I did? My life was supposed to be plenty fun. I'd planned a tour of Europe last summer. Paris, Berlin, Rome. But—" Her shoulders dropped.
"You didn't go." His tone changed, softened.
She glanced away so he wouldn't see the disappointment in her eyes. "I've been short on funds." She left out how it was to be her honeymoon with Everett. She'd planned every detail, practically living vicariously through online travel sites.
Emma slouched onto a chair but it was stiff and didn't provide the support she needed. She sprang to her feet and poked her finger into Will's chest, accentuating each word. "You tricked me. No personal questions." His chest was rock hard.
He gripped her finger, lowering it. A fizzy zing shot from her hand
and landed in her belly among the butterflies, and they scattered in all directions.
Will smirked and shrugged as though equally determined to find out more about her personal life as she was to get him to break his diet and enjoy cookies.
"All that aside, welcome to my home. I hope you enjoy your stay."
She harrumphed.
He beckoned her down the hall. He stopped short and she knocked into him.
"Sorry," she muttered.
His hand landed on the side of her face. "You have a faint bruise."
She gazed at her boots. "It's not from you. I closed my head in the freezer earlier."
"Not cold enough outside for you?"
"No, ice cream."
"Oh, right. The breakfast of champions."
"Yeah, because I'm really winning at life," she mumbled at the same time he pushed open a dark, wooden door.
A large, low bed was in the middle of the room. The combination of manly and modern made her want to grab a cozy blanket and curl up with a sweet, warm drink.
They both stood in the doorway. She could feel the heat radiating from him and had the silly notion to lean into him, to absorb some of it, if only to stoke the coals in her chest. Instead, she turned around to face him. Their eyes met. His glinted in the low light. She wanted to look away but didn't want to seem weak under his gaze. His lips quirked.
She backed up slowly momentarily unsure of his intentions. "Do all your assistants stay with you?"
"No, I only require an assistant when in a new city, but I haven't been back to London for a while. This was unexpected and I'm sure I'll need some help getting back to it on my home turf. We'll head over to HQ tomorrow."
"Wouldn't it make more sense for me to live elsewhere if you want to remake your image?" Emma and Everett hadn't moved in together. She was old fashioned like that. Some of her friends encouraged her to try living with him first to make sure they were compatible. She imagined she would've known about his late nights if they'd given it a shot.
As if he noticed her sensitivity he said, "We'll be on separate floors. I own the whole building. If this room isn't to your liking, you can have your pick."
"Oh." She barely concealed her relief and judgment. There he went, flaunting his wealth again.
He hesitated then said, "I'll be upstairs if you need me." He started down the hall, taking what seemed to be sadness with him. She almost regretted seeing him go.
She turned back to the well-appointed room. Where were her bags? What about the bathroom? If she got thirsty? Electricity was different in England, right? What else was there she didn't know about this foreign land?
She supposed she could ask Bartholomew, but Will's last words echoed as his footfalls pattered away… if you need me.
She didn't want to admit that she might. Part of her wanted to call him back if only to continue their immature arguing because it was better than the emotions that pressed against her when she was alone. Then as if he'd had the same thought, he returned.
Emma felt her lips lifting into a smile.
Will clicked off his cell phone and slid it into his pocket. "Actually, I'll be out. Late, likely. See you in the morning." Without a glance over his shoulder, he left.
In the silence of the building, she was indeed alone.
Thanks to a heavy case of jetlag, Emma slept more soundly than she had in ages. In the morning, she woke slowly, taking in her surroundings. Moments later, Bartholomew knocked gently on the door and announced himself.
"Come in."
He drew her curtains open, letting in the pale, early morning London light. He also set a tray with tea and cookies on her bedside. She greeted him, feeling rather fancy yet uncertain about customs.
"Good morning to you, Miss. You'll find a note from Mr. Wheaton here as well. Should you require anything else, please ring."
She noticed the bell by the bed. "Okay. Thank you. Where is he?"
"Mr. Wheaton left for the day."
"You mean he never came home." She recalled his sudden departure the night before, the reputation Melody warned her about, and the gossip sites she'd stalked while on the plane.
"No, Miss. He returned and checked to make sure you were settled in."
Her brow furrowed. Whatever. She supposed she wasn't into his definition of fun anyway. "Well, thank you."
Bartholomew nodded. After he closed the door, she picked up the note.
Good morning, Miss Jones, assistant to yours truly with the rock-hard abs, charming wit, and winning voice. If you need me to sing Rudolph again, I'll be glad to. For your first official day on the job please see to the following:
Send a thank you note to Mr. Shuman. Stationary in office.
Pick up suit from the tailor on Portobello Road.
Boxing Day shopping: Anna, Stephanie, Brooke, Marie, Allie, and Sylvia.
Schedule Quinn for eleven on Wednesday.
Bartholomew will provide you lunch.
You should have a complete Apex manual in your email. Please review. There will be a quiz.
Just kidding.
Meet me at HQ 14:00.
Enjoy sunny London.
Not kidding.
Yours,
Will
She wrinkled the list in her hand and then smoothed it out. It was sweet of him to calm her in-flight nerves by singing Rudolph. And he was charming. Also his abs… She grumbled, annoyed with herself.
On the tray was a credit card as well. She'd certainly write Mr. Shuman a message. She had no idea where Portobello Road or HQ was. Who was Quinn? The women listed? His lovers? She'd have to be resourceful.
She kicked off the covers and instantly shivered. She'd been too tired to find her pajamas and merely slept in her shirt from the day before. She scurried to the bathroom and proceeded to struggle with the old-fashioned faucet. She turned on the tap and the water scalded her. The other one was freezing. She had to get the hot and cold going at the same time to make it warm.
She stomped the floor, frustrated.
"William, you can take your eggplant sculpture, the sleek lines and surfaces, your stupid plumbing, and—" She growled and pulled out her phone, ready to take the first flight back to New York. Twenty-nine email notifications caught her eye. Of course, the first one was her credit card bill. The to-do list lay on the counter. She had a job so she could pay off the debt and then some.
"Fine, I'll stay," she hollered. "But how do I work this thing?"
Just then, a knock sounded on the door.
"Miss Jones, if you're decent, I can help." Bartholomew's voice came muffled from the other side of the door.
"Do you mean for me to say please?" she hollered back. Then she realized he was asking if she was dressed. Her hands flew to her thighs, which were bare. A plush robe hung from a hook beside the door and she quickly covered herself.
Soon, she was a pro at operating the sink, the shower, and what Bartholomew called the loo.
While her hair dried, she wandered into Will's office. It was like a movie set, everything untouched. If he'd only just returned to the apartment after the remodel, he probably hadn't even been in there yet.
She sat behind the desk and bounced in the chair before kicking her feet up. Lowering her voice she said, "Basil, Benson, Bartholomew, do my bidding. Emma, make me laugh. Ha ha ha. World, admire my abs." She half expected the three men in Will's service to appear. When they didn't, Emma slung her hands behind her head and glanced up. A sigh escaped.
Feeling slightly guilty at making fun of Will, she rummaged through the drawers until she found the stationary and penned a note. It was probably longer, more detailed, and demanding than he'd intended but then he should have done it himself. She licked the envelope and wandered through the flat until she found Bartholomew.
After giving him the envelope to mail and getting directions to HQ, he helped her into her jacket. "Really, you don't have to. I'm perfectly capable of putting my jacket on."
"Well, of course, Miss. Then what
would I do? Stand here on my hands?" He didn't seem to be joking.
"Can you do that?" Emma asked, joking.
He hardly cracked a smile. "Mr. Wheaton can do a handstand. He has many exceptional skills."
"I'm sure they were on display last night." Emma scoffed.
Bartholomew opened his mouth to speak and then held back. "I apologize, I'm not sure I get your meaning."
Emma shook her head as she stepped into the brisk day.
The butler called, "Be sure to check both ways before crossing."
She gave a friendly wave and ducked into the nearest entryway and out of view. She typed the directions for the tailor into her phone and figured she could ask someone about Boxing Day and Quinn.
Emma had only left the United States once before and that was a trip to Mexico for summer break with Penny and a few of their friends. It was just before she'd met Everett at a study group senior year in college.
She shrugged off the memory as she strolled down the lane, feeling free and invigorated and—Emma shrieked as she jumped onto the sidewalk. A car honked, nearly striking her. She'd forgotten cars drive on the opposite side of the road than the US.
With her heart pounding in her chest, she continued to Portobello Road. The street was crowded and she overheard people talking about Boxing Day sales, which didn't make sense because as far as she knew the sport of boxing didn't involve discounted items.
After picking up Will's suit and paying with his card, she asked the tailor, "What's Boxing Day?"
"Sale day mostly." He went on to explain it was also a day to give to charities, visit family, and continue the celebrations of Christmas.
She popped in and out of shops and purchased six gift certificates to a quaint bakery. The salesperson wrapped them in small brown paper boxes and wrapped them with string. She also bought a dozen cookies to bring to HQ because it was her first day on her second job or was it her second day on her first job—? Never mind, she told herself. If Will had something else in mind, he should've been more specific.
Emma returned to the apartment when her sister called.
