by Lauren Layne
Riley clucked him under the chin. “I’ll make it worth your while.”
Jake turned toward Grace. “What about me? Will you make it worth my while?”
“Don’t even pretend that you mind wearing a tux,” Grace said, topping off her wine glass.
“Bond,” Jake said in a low voice. “James Bond.”
Sam paused in his chewing. “Okay. Okay, I think you’re on to something. I might be able to get excited about the tux. I’m going to 007 the shit out of this.”
Julie rolled her eyes. “Cassidy?”
“I do own a tux, actually,” he said, wiping his mouth neatly with his napkin.
Sam and Jake gaped. “You own one? What the hell for?”
“Hey, I own one,” Mitchell said from the head of the table, sounding indignant.
Jake waved a hand at him. “You have season tickets to the opera. You probably own two.”
Mitchell shrugged, completely unashamed.
“I’ve had it for awhile,” Cassidy said. “I’ll need to make sure it still fits, but it did last year when I wore it to my cousin’s wedding, so I should be good.”
Grace shook her head. “You men don’t understand how easy you have it. You buy one good tux in your life, and it never goes out of style. Can you imagine if we wore a dress from . . . Cassidy, how old is your tux?”
Emma was sitting next to Cassidy, so she didn’t have to see his face, but she could tell from the slightly stiff way he cut a bite of his chicken and deliberately took a bite that he did not want to answer that question.
And there could be only one reason why he wouldn’t want to explain.
Emma wasn’t the only one to figure it out.
Riley groaned. “It’s your wedding tux, isn’t it?”
“Awwwwkward,” Jake said, in a fake dramatic voice before giving Cassidy a shit-eating grin.
“What was I supposed to do, burn it?” Cassidy asked.
“Actually, yes,” Riley said, jabbing her fork at him. “It would serve you right for ditching our girl on your wedding day.”
Emma froze. Hell, everyone froze. Emma and Cassidy may have made peace with their past. They may be able to participate in the same wedding. They could sit beside each other at a dinner party.
But they never talked about that day. Not with each other. Not with their friends.
“Ri,” Sam said in a warning voice, and Grace and Julie shot her shut-the-hell-up glares.
But Riley, was, well, Riley. She was as good a friend as there was, but she had a very low tolerance for bullshit.
And Emma was almost grateful. They had to rip this Band-Aid off sometime.
“No, it’s okay,” Emma said, setting her hand on Grace’s arm before Grace’s glare could bore a hole in Riley’s forehead.
All eyes turned to her and Cassidy, and Emma fiddled with her fork.
Riley tilted her head. “You did abandon her on her wedding day, right?” Her voice was quieter now. More hesitant.
Cassidy lifted his wine glass. “She mentioned that bit, did she?”
“Because it happened,” Emma said, refusing to let Cassidy get away with talking about her as though she weren’t there.
He hesitated. “It did,” he said slowly, cutting her a brief thoughtful glance as he swirled his wine glass before turning his attention back to Riley.
“Did Emma also mention that the night before her wedding, she threw her engagement ring at my head?” he asked.
Attention shifted from Cassidy to Emma, and all eyes were rather wide. Including the guys’.
She lifted her finger in protest. “I assure you, it was well deserved.”
“Tell me something, Jake, since you’re the only married guy,” Cassidy said, leaning forward so he could glance down the table at Jake.
Jake leaned back in his chair to avoid Cassidy’s gaze. “I am not here. I can’t see you, I can’t hear you. . . . Please for the love of God leave me out of this.”
Cassidy pressed on. “If Grace had told you the night before your wedding that you were the last man on earth that she would ever consider marrying, would you have shown up the next day?”
“Emma!” Julie gasped. “You told him that?”
“Trust me,” Emma said, waving her fork around at the group. “You would have thrown your ring, too, and had words if you knew the full story.”
“But you still showed up the next day?” Grace asked Emma, her voice gentle.
Yup. Emma had shown up the next day. Cassidy hadn’t. Her sister had had to drag her away from the church and had patiently fed a couch-ridden Emma nothing but root beer floats for two weeks before quietly insisting that Emma was too young to throw her life away.
So Emma had gotten off the couch. Brushed her hair. And moved to New York City, and never looked back.
“It doesn’t matter,” Emma said, when the silence stretched on. “It was a long time ago when we were both immature and stupid. We’ve moved on.”
Cassidy nodded once in agreement. “We’ve moved on.”
But from the looks going around the table, Emma had the sneaking suspicion that she and Cassidy were the only ones who believed that.
Chapter 12
Alex’s day had been complete shit.
Two copy editors had quit within an hour of each other. Then one of the printers had gone on the fritz. A major advertiser had declared bankruptcy and pulled out of a prime spot in the December issue.
And just as he was thinking it was impossible for the night to be any worse than the day, an epic thunderstorm rolled in on as he walked home—without an umbrella.
All Alex wanted was a glass of the French Malbec he’d opened the night before and the spy thriller he’d been trying to finish for weeks but just couldn’t quite find the time for.
Alex caught the elevator at his apartment building just as it was closing, running a hand through his wet hair, only to glance up sheepishly when he realized he wasn’t alone.
“Sorry,” he muttered at a guy he didn’t recognize.
“No worries,” the man said in a British accent. “Coming down rather hard out there, isn’t it?”
Alex glanced at the man, whose reddish-brown hair was perfectly styled and not the least bit wet. Neither was the bottom of his gray suit pants water-marked like Alex’s, and his Burberry jacket didn’t show so much as a drop. Even the umbrella in the man’s hand was dry.
Clearly he’d taken a cab. Or had a personal driver.
“Sure is,” Alex said grumpily.
Belatedly he realized he hadn’t pushed the button for his floor, but the man was also going to twenty-four.
“Just move in, or visiting someone?” Alex asked.
The man smiled politely. “Visiting someone.”
“Ah.”
“An ex-girlfriend, actually,” the man muttered, as though a little disbelieving.
“Ouch,” Alex said in sympathy. “Picking up a box of forgotten items, or having one last ‘talk’?”
“Neither. I haven’t even seen her in a year or so, but she’s a journalist and doing a story on ex-boyfriends, and since she’s one of the noncrazy ones, I figured . . . why not help her out?”
Alex closed his eyes.
Incredible.
He should be putting his shitty day behind him with a good book and a glass of wine, but here he was, all but escorting his ex-fiancée’s ex up to her apartment so that she could write a story that Alex himself had pushed on her.
He’d barely seen Emma since the dinner party at Julie and Mitchell’s, but when he had, the mood had been downright glacial.
Their chilly relationship, which he had thought was beginning to thaw, had taken a turn toward the next ice age thanks to the spontaneous dinner conversation about their ill-fated wedding day.
But Alex was not inclined to share the blame for that little development. If it had been up to him, they’d have kept dodging their friends’ questions about their past.
Instead Emma had green-lighted everyone else’s curiosit
y and gotten answers—or a lack of answers—that she hadn’t liked one bit.
Well, too damn bad, Em. I didn’t like your answers much, either.
He was the bad guy. He got that.
Preferred it, even. Because being cast as the villain was a hell of a lot better than everyone knowing that you’d spent your wedding day half-drunk, feeling like there was a crater where your heart should have been.
Alex suspected that was the real reason for the coldness of his and Emma’s current relationship. There was something numbing in all of those icy exchanges.
And numbness was better than pain.
Most of the time.
But today?
Today he wasn’t numb. He was mad. Mad at the world. Mad at this British chump who’d somehow dodged the rain. Mad at himself for caring that another man was headed up to Emma’s apartment.
Mad at Emma . . . just for being Emma.
He forced a smile at the guy. “Oh, you’re going to see Emma Sinclair?”
The guy smiled in response. “Yes. You know her?”
“Sure.” Alex smiled and extended a hand. “Alex Cassidy. Emma’s neighbor and boss.”
“Jason Grint,” the other man said, accepting the handshake. “Neighbor and boss, huh. Poor Emmy.”
Emmy.
Alex pulled his hand back before his grip tightened in response to the stupid nickname.
“Yeah, it’s a long story,” he said, as he held the elevator open for Jason. “Say, you mind if I tag along for your interview? Emma and I keep having to reschedule our usual meeting, and I’m dying to see how she’s coming along with the story.”
“Um, sure,” Jason said, looking a little unsure for the first time as he followed Alex down the hall. “So, you work for . . . what’s the magazine’s name? The girly one.”
“Stiletto,” Alex said, pausing in front of Emma’s door. “And I’m actually just the interim editor-in-chief while the real boss is on vacation.”
“Huh.” Jason said. “That must be—”
“Surreal? Trust me, it is,” Alex said.
Then he knocked on Emma’s door.
Her reaction when she saw him standing next to Jason was everything he’d hoped for. Disbelief. Annoyance. Alarm.
“Look who I found in the elevator,” Alex said, resting an arm on her doorjamb and leaning in just slightly.
Her eyes narrowed. “How delightful.”
“Very,” Cassidy said. “We had lots to talk about. Lots in common, actually.”
Emma stepped aside so a puzzled-looking Jason could enter.
She started to close the door on Alex without another word, but he stopped it with his palm. “I thought I’d sit in on this one.”
“Nope,” she said, trying to shut the door again. “There is literally no chance of that.”
“Emma,” he said, his voice cajoling and maybe a little condescending. “I haven’t been getting progress reports on your stories like I have from everyone else.”
She glanced at Jason, who’d had the good sense to let himself into the living room instead of eavesdropping.
Emma turned so she could face Alex head-on, stepping forward so they were face-to-face. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Supervising my employee.”
“Don’t be an ass, Cassidy. You said if I wrote this idiotic story you’d stay out of my business.”
“If all your ex-boyfriends are as dull as this one, there won’t be a story,” he whispered back.
“Don’t worry, they’re not all dull,” she shot back. “In fact, there’s a real asshole in the bunch, and I’m still debating whether he’s worthy of mentioning—”
He put his hand on her waist to move her aside as he stepped into her apartment, ignoring both her sharp intake of breath at the contact and his own unexplainable urge to keep his hand on her waist. To pull her closer.
Alex dropped his hand, clenching his fist in reaction, and moved past her, focusing his attention on Jason. “What can we get you to drink?” he asked in a man-in-charge voice that had Emma bristling behind him.
“Water would be great,” Jason said.
Jason’s relationship with Emma must have been a hell of a lot more peaceful than Alex’s if the man wanted water. He moved to the fridge like he owned the place, pulling out a Brita water filter and searching around until he found a glass.
“You’re sure this is all you’re having?” Alex asked as he poured. “I’m going to have a glass of red.”
“Are you now?” Emma said, both hands on hips. She was wearing a berry-colored dress that was high necked and long sleeved and would have been unsexy as hell if it didn’t hug her body in all the right places.
“Some wine would be great,” Jason said, his voice slightly relieved.
Emma gave Alex one last glare before going to a small wine rack next to the dining table and pulling out a bottle.
She shoved it at Alex’s chest before giving Jason a soft, sweet smile that Alex couldn’t remember seeing from her . . . ever.
“Jace. I’ve barely had a chance to say hello! How have you been?”
She walked toward her ex with open arms, and Alex stabbed the corkscrew into the top of the bottle with more force than necessary as the two exchanged a long hug. That lingered.
Emma gestured for him to take a seat in one of the chairs, and she sat on the couch across from Jason, crossing her legs. Alex didn’t think he was imagining the way Jason’s gaze latched on to Emma’s slim calf.
Asshole.
He poured three glasses, and carried them all into the living room where he set Jason’s on the table in front of him before holding one out to Emma. Forcing her to take it—to touch his hand.
She was smart, though, and used two fingers to take the glass at the top, avoiding his touch altogether.
Emma probably had the right idea, avoiding their touch, but Alex was still simmering with the same angry restlessness that had been bugging him all day. So to punish her—to punish them both—he deliberately sat beside her on the couch. Just close enough that her arm had to brush his when she set her wine glass down to reach for her notebook.
She shifted away from him under the guise of crossing her legs to the other side, and Cassidy almost smiled as he took a sip of the wine.
Simper and smile all you want for Jason, honey. I bet he doesn’t make your body hum like this.
“So how does this work?” Jason asked, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrents between Alex and Emma.
“Well, the first thing to know is that I absolutely will not at any point in the article, reference your name or any details that would lead back to you. Your own mother wouldn’t know I was talking about you.”
“A shame,” he said with a wink. “Mum always liked you.”
You’ve got to be kidding me, Alex thought.
But Emma apparently didn’t recognize the line for what it was, and merely laughed. “I always liked her, too. Give her my best, if you would. Okay, so I have just three basic questions—if you could answer as honestly as you can, without fear of hurting my feelings.”
“Okay,” Jason said, taking a sip of wine. “Let’s have it.”
“What was your gut reaction when you got an email from me, asking for this meeting?”
Emma didn’t look down at her notebook when she asked, and the question rolled off her tongue as though she’d asked it several times before. Which she probably had. For the first time, Alex questioned his own judgment on assigning her a story that would put her into contact with men she’d dated. Kissed. Slept with.
Maybe even loved.
“First reaction?” Jason said, scratching his cheek idly. “Terror.”
Emma laughed in surprise. “I’ll admit, that’s the first time I’ve gotten that particular response.”
“Well, probably because none of your other exes are currently engaged to a redhead,” Jason said with a wink. “My first thought that Gretchen would kill me for getting together with one of my exes
.”
Alex took another sip of wine to hide his surprise. Jason was in a relationship. A serious relationship. And Emma didn’t look the least bit fazed.
“Congratulations,” she said, leaning across the table to squeeze his hand. “I’m so happy for you.”
Alex glanced at her profile. She did look happy, genuinely so, which filled him with . . . relief? Which was messed up. Why would he be relieved that Emma wasn’t torn up about a prior lover getting married to someone else?
“Thanks,” Jason said, grinning. “It happened kind of fast, but she and I actually dated back in high school, and then reconnected, and . . . it just worked.”
She smiled. “I’m glad. Okay, so even with that terror, though, you still came to see me?”
“I did. Ran it by Gretch, and turns out she’s a big fan of Stiletto. Was thrilled at the idea that I might be part of a story.”
Emma took a sip of her wine and wrote something down. “Okay, well then for Gretchen’s sake, keep in mind that I absolutely won’t mention your name in conjunction with this next question, so . . . what do you most remember about our time together? It can be a moment or a memory, or just a feeling.”
Alex tensed. He didn’t want to hear about Emma’s time with this man. Or any man.
How the hell had he thought tagging along to this stupid meeting was a good idea?
Jason swirled his wine as he thought about this. “I remember the reading.”
“Reading,” Emma repeated.
He shrugged. “In a good way, I assure you. But we had this Sunday morning routine—”
Jason broke off as though embarrassed, and Emma smiled encouragingly. “I remember.”
Alex shifted on the couch, realizing his mistake in being here more with every passing second.
“We’d sleep in. Go to Starbucks, then the bookstore, when it opened, and we’d browse for an hour, sometimes longer . . .”
“But never buy anything,” she said, holding up a finger. “Not unless we really truly didn’t have anything at home to read.”
Jason laughed at the memory. “Right. The price we pay for tiny Manhattan apartments.”
“Actually the price for a Manhattan apartment is, in fact, the actual price of rent,” Alex pointed out. “It’s one of the highest cost-of-living cities in the country.”
