by Lauren Layne
“Do better at what next time?”
“Emma’s assignment,” Cole explained. “Camille’s handed you the mother of all ammunition, making you Emma’s boss like this. Don’t squander this opportunity.”
Alex frowned, and Cole sighed in exasperation. “You’re helpless. Next month give her something interesting to write about.”
“I have no idea what Stiletto readers find interesting,” Alex muttered, his gaze falling on an article called “Mastering the Side Braid.”
“I’m not talking about what’s interesting to readers; I’m talking about what’s interesting to you,” Cole said. “Why not get inside her head? Find out if she has an Alex Cassidy voodoo doll under her mattress.”
“I assure you, I don’t give a fuck if or how Emma Sinclair thinks of me.”
“So why’d you call me in here?” Cole asked, his expression confused.
“I didn’t!” Alex said, frustration prompting him to raise his voice. “You just entered, uninvited.”
“Oh. My bad,” Cole said, with a cocky grin. “Good luck, boss. Have fun with your lipstick.”
Alex stared at the door as it shut behind Cole. His sports editor’s suggestion had been diabolical. Alex was a professional. Even if he did want to get inside Emma’s head after all this time, he wouldn’t be so underhanded as to use his temporary boss status against her.
Would he?
Then he remembered that night after their rehearsal dinner—remembered her words.
You thought I’d never marry you if I knew the real you? Well, congratulations, Cassidy. You’re absolutely right. I don’t want to marry you.
Remembered the way his chest had felt like it cracked in two.
Alex clicked his pen as his frown deepened.
Maybe he could be that underhanded after all.
Chapter 8
“He wants you to write a story on your ex-boyfriends?” Julie asked. “He can’t be serious.”
Emma pulled a box of Thai food out of her fridge—well, Camille’s fridge—did a quick sniff test, and deemed it edible.
“Trust me,” Emma said, pulling a plate out of the cupboard. “He was serious.”
“But why?” Julie wailed. “You guys have always been so civil about your dirty, dirty past.”
“Sure, if by civil, you mean barely speaking,” Emma replied, licking pad Thai off her thumb as she put the leftovers into the microwave.
“So what changed? He just decided to be a jerk all of a sudden?”
“I dunno,” Emma said, taking off her earring and then shifting her phone to the other ear so she could remove the second one. “Maybe it was a power trip thing?”
Even as she said it, it felt wrong. That didn’t seem like Cassidy. The man knew he was in charge. Always had. He didn’t require other people’s acquiescence to get a power rush.
“I hope you smashed his balls when he told you. No. Lit them on fire.”
“Yes, because that’s totally something I would do,” Emma said, grabbing a fork to stir her pad Thai. “Light a man’s testicles on fire.”
“Not just any man, Em. We’re talking the man who left you at the altar and now wants you to write about it.”
Emma didn’t respond right away, and Julie pounced. “That is how it went down, right? He left you at the altar? You never talk about it, but we’ve tried to put the pieces together. . . .”
Emma went to the fridge for some wine. She needed it. “I was left standing in a white dress on my wedding day, yes,” she finally replied.
She could practically hear Julie’s eyes narrowing.
“Why do I get the sense there’s more to this story?” Julie asked.
“There’s always more to the story.”
Julie sighed. “But you’re not going to tell me, are you?”
Emma bit her lip. She sometimes felt a little guilty that her friends had turned Cassidy into the villain in their failed relationship. The guy deserved some of the blame, for sure, but he wasn’t quite the villain that she’d let her friends believe.
Emma herself had played a part in their explosive ending.
A big part.
“It’s so not as juicy as it is in your head,” Emma said, taking the plate out of the microwave. It was steaming like crazy so she set it aside to let it cool.
“Fine. But if you didn’t light his balls on fire, did you yell? Or at least raise your voice a little?”
“Couldn’t,” Emma said, swirling her wine. “It was over email.”
Julie was silent for several seconds. “He told you your next assignment over email? Why? He met with the rest of us in person. That coward.”
“To be fair, we avoid each other whenever possible,” Emma said. “It’s mutual.”
Still, it had been a pretty shitty way to get the news.
And this made two story ideas in a row that Emma had no control over. First the stupid blind date piece mandated by Camille, and now Cassidy suggesting she write about ex-boyfriends.
He’d claimed that it had been awhile since Stiletto had captured the ex factor. Which was probably true. Emma couldn’t remember reading anything about exes in Stiletto for at least the past year or so.
Even still, Emma had itched to point out that any of the other columnists could have covered it.
But she hadn’t. Partially because it’s what he’d expect her to do. But mostly because it would likely be Riley, Julie, or Grace who would take the story if she didn’t. All three of whom were in the blissful, in-love stages of their relationship. Dealing with exes was a messy business that might put their current happiness at risk.
Emma wouldn’t wish that upon her worst enemies, much less her best friends.
“So you’re going to do it?” Julie asked. “Seriously?”
Emma swirled her wine. “The thing is, Jules . . . he had sort of a pretty good idea. Since it’s the December issue, he suggested doing a ‘Twelve Days of Exes’ sort of thing. You know, for twelve days, reach out to an ex-boyfriend and . . . I don’t know? Get closure? Deliver that last parting comeback that didn’t occur to you until after the breakup? See if the sex is as good as you remember it?”
“Ooh, do that last one with Cassidy,” Julie said, her voice all dreamy. “I bet he’s awesome in bed.”
“I’m sure Mitchell would love to hear that.”
“Eh, he’s not here,” Julie said. “But, seriously, do you even have twelve exes?”
“Unfortunately,” Emma muttered, stabbing at her cooling leftovers with her fork. “Part of the joys of reaching your thirties and still being single. Plenty of exes.”
“So are you going to write about . . . Cassidy?”
Emma ditched the fork and reached for the wine. “I sort of have to, don’t I? As far as previous relationships go, he’s the big one. If I don’t write about him, it feels . . . dishonest.”
“It’s funny,” Julie mused. “All this time I really did think that you and Cassidy were all the way moved on. You’re both so Zen about the whole failed-wedding thing. But now I wonder—”
“Don’t,” Emma interrupted. “Don’t turn this into a thing.”
“I didn’t turn it into a thing, Cassidy did, by basically waving his editor-in-chief dick around and forcing you to revisit the past.”
“I can assure you, Cassidy will get the same word count allocation as any other ex that I write about,” Emma said.
“That’ll chap his ass. You should totally put his name next to that weirdo you dated a few months ago. You know, the guy who wore scarves, even in summer?”
“Christian.” Emma took a sip of her wine. “He was a weirdo. Anyway, I should go, Jules. I need to reheat my reheated leftovers.”
“Okay. I should go, too. Mitchell will be back any minute asking if I want to go for a run. It’s like he doesn’t know me at all. It’s time for cocktails, not movement.”
Emma smiled. “Go show him the way. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
After saying good-bye, Emma put the pa
d Thai back in the microwave, but before she could start it, there was a knock at the door.
She went to answer it.
And of all the people who could have been on the other side of the peephole, this was perhaps the absolute last person she would have expected.
Emma opened the door. “Danielle?”
Cassidy’s girlfriend was wearing a sleek black pantsuit that screamed Girl Power! and made Emma briefly wonder what Danielle did for a living. Attorney? Broker? Advertising? Ninja?
But it wasn’t the clothes that captured Emma’s attention. It was the nervous, slightly embarrassed expression on the other woman’s face.
“Are you looking for Cassidy?” Emma asked, thinking maybe he wasn’t at home, and Danielle didn’t want to stand waiting in the hallway.
“No, I just came from his place actually,” Danielle said, licking her lips nervously. “Can we—can I come in for a sec?”
Uh-oh.
Emma thought for sure she and Danielle were going to be able to avoid the awkward chat about Emma and Cassidy’s thorny past, but what else could Danielle want to talk to her about?
Emma mentally readied herself for the You have nothing to worry about—Cassidy and I are long over talk, but Danielle beat her to the punch.
“What I’m about to ask you is beyond awkward, veering toward inappropriate,” Danielle said as soon as Emma closed the door.
“Um, okay,” Emma replied. “Do we need wine for this?” She gestured toward the kitchen.
Danielle shook her head. “I won’t take up that much of your time, but by all means, grab your glass.”
Emma didn’t move, and Danielle took a deep breath. “I just broke up with Alex.”
Emma blinked. It took her a second to register what Danielle was saying, and when her brain finally did process it . . .
Emma wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that bit of information. “Okay . . .”
“Not because of anything to do with you,” Danielle rushed to say. “At least not directly. I mean, he told me about you guys, but he said it wasn’t a big deal.”
Ouch.
Emma crossed her arms, feeling beyond weird. “So if it doesn’t have anything to do with me—”
Danielle laughed nervously. “Right. You want to know why I’m here. Okay, well . . . I’ll be perfectly blunt and say that while Alex is a great guy, I never got the sense that we were going to make it. He’s so . . . closed off, you know? We got along, but I never felt like I was reaching him. Not really. It’s always been like that, but in recent weeks he’s even further away than ever.”
I so do not want to be having this conversation. Should have grabbed that glass of wine.
“And then . . . oh, boy.” Danielle blew out a breath. “Okay, I’m just going to spit this out. That guy you went on a date with. Benedict? There were, um, sparks. Or something. Like when he looked at me, I felt like I was seeing him in a way Alex would never allow.”
Emma scratched her eyebrow. “Yeah. I sort of saw that happen.”
Danielle blushed. “I thought maybe you might have. And I wasn’t going to do anything about it, I swear. I’m not that girl. But then the other day, Alex had a bunch of Stiletto articles on his desk and he was asking my opinion on some of them, and I saw yours. . . .”
“Ah,” Emma said, beginning to understand. “And you learned that Benedict was very much still on the market.”
Cassidy’s girlfriend—no, ex-girlfriend—blushed. “You must think I’m terrible. Dumping one guy and five minutes later hitting up his ex about her ex. It’s just that . . . I’m thirty-four, and I want so badly to find someone—”
Emma smiled and held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.”
Danielle broke off. “You do?”
“Sure,” Emma said with a shrug. “Finding someone you have sparks with is rare. And nobody should stay in a relationship that they don’t think is going anywhere. It wouldn’t be fair to you. Or Cassidy.”
Danielle tilted her head slightly. “You guys sure are mature about this. How is it possible that there’s no bad blood between you?”
Emma laughed. “It’s more like the blood froze. What you interpret as civil is more like . . . deliberate indifference.”
Deliberate indifference—that was a good one. She liked it. Suspected Cassidy would, too. If they’d ever stay in each other’s company long enough to talk about it.
“Well, regardless, I guess I just wanted to double-check that I wouldn’t be moving in on someone else’s guy if I called Benedict.”
“I can’t promise that he hasn’t started seeing someone in the past couple weeks,” Emma said. “We haven’t spoken. But if he is seeing someone, it’s not me.”
“Okay,” Danielle said, taking a breath. “Okay, thanks. And now for the extra awkward part. . . .”
Emma smiled. “You want his phone number?”
The pretty brunette all but sagged in relief. “You’re awesome. Seriously.”
Emma retrieved her phone from the counter and scrolled through her received calls until she found where Benedict had called her to confirm their date.
She gave Danielle the number, and felt a little flicker of alarm that she didn’t feel the least bit weird in doing so. The flicker escalated to a flame as she realized that she was happy.
Happy that Cassidy and Danielle had broken up.
Uh-oh.
She knew her friends and sister thought she was emotionally closed off. Emma herself sometimes worried that she was partially dead inside.
Well, she definitely wasn’t dead inside now.
“Sorry I interrupted your evening,” Danielle said as she pulled her purse higher onto her shoulder and stepped into the hallway, having gotten what she came for.
“No problem,” Emma said, swallowing her panic and the flurry of emotions rolling through her. “Kept the night from being boring.”
Danielle glanced briefly at Cassidy’s door, her expression not so much sad as thoughtful. “You know the weirdest part of all this? I don’t even think Alex will mind. When I suggested that he and I end things, he was just . . .”
Danielle ran a palm down over the front of her face as though to indicate expressionlessness. “Nothing. Straight-faced, no reaction beyond a polite smile and a good-bye hug. It was like I was his sister, or something.”
“I’m sure he cared,” Emma said kindly. But even as she said it, she knew she was probably lying. Like Emma, Cassidy wasn’t cruel—he never meant to toy with anyone’s emotions, or lead women on. But, like Emma, he held himself back. From everyone.
Danielle shrugged. “Maybe. Okay, I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks again for not throwing me out.”
Emma waved good-bye, and was about to shut the door when her gaze landed on Cassidy’s front door. How perfectly fitting that he got dumped on the same day he’d antagonized her by mentioning her exes.
Thank you, karma.
And then, because Emma apparently didn’t have any sense whatsoever, she listened to an urge she hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
She walked forward and knocked on the door of her ex-fiancé.
Chapter 9
Alex’s best guess as to who could be knocking on his door was Danielle.
Not that he thought she’d changed her mind. But the woman had forgotten her umbrella. Again.
But it wasn’t Danielle.
“Emma.”
For several seconds after he opened the door, they merely stared at each other. She was wearing gray pants and a white blouse unbuttoned just enough to hint at subtle cleavage. Her brown hair was loose and around her shoulders.
And her eyes? Unreadable as ever.
“You owe me a meeting,” she said finally.
“Do I?”
“Yes,” she said, sweeping past him and entering his apartment as though she owned the place. “I talked to Julie and she said that you had in-person discussions with the rest of the columnists about their December stories. I didn
’t get the in-person part, or the discussion. A mandated story topic via email? Really?”
“Gosh, I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t have jumped at the chance to have this friendly chat in person,” he muttered as he shut the door.
Emma moved into the main living room area and looked around. The layout of his apartment was almost identical to Camille’s, but that’s where the similarities ended. Camille preferred fancy, fussy furniture and a billion pillows and pictures and lamps.
Alex was well aware that his own taste was classic minimalist bachelor. A sleek black sofa, basic coffee table, a bar-height dining table for two. He kept the lighting low. Liked the way it accentuated the city lights.
Emma ran a finger over the dark wood of his sideboard as she stepped all the way into the room. “Very . . . you.”
“You know what I like about you, Emma? How you can manage so much insult into just two words.”
She turned to face him, her only response a wink.
“Drink?” he asked.
“Yes, please. I had just poured myself a glass when I got derailed by a visitor.”
“Oh, yeah?” He pulled the cork off a bottle of open red on the counter and reached for two glasses.
“Yep.”
Her voice never lost its perfectly civil edge. Neither did his.
But when she announced that it was Danielle who had stopped by, Alex might have faltered while pouring the wine. Just for a half second.
“My girlfriend came to see you,” he said, handing her the glass.
“Ex-girlfriend from the way I heard it,” Emma said, lifting her eyebrows as she took a sip of wine.
He took a sip of his own wine and watched her. “So that’s the real reason you’re here. Rub salt in the wound?”
“Honestly?” she swirled her glass and watched the wine. “Yes. I had a . . . shall we say bit of pique about the way you forced a story on me via email. Thought this seemed like a good chance to get back at you.”
“Yeah, you’re really the picture of a woman bent on vengeance,” he said, taking in the haughty tilt of her chin and the coolness in her eyes.
Emma shrugged. “The revenge urged passed. Being petty wasn’t worth the effort.”
