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I ignore the ache, booting up my computer to review the document our general counsel sent me for our meeting later, forcing myself to focus on the words rather than the remembered feel of Emma’s body, the sounds she’d made, the taste of her.
No. Stop thinking about that. It’s cowardly enough to hide out in here without talking to her about what happened. I owe her an explanation, a reason, something other than this incredibly wishy-washy behavior where I tell her no with my words and yes with my body. She doesn’t deserve that.
I just need to figure out what to say.
I lose myself in work as the morning wears on, exiting my office at noon to head down to the fortieth floor for my meeting. Emma doesn’t look up from her desk as I pass by, but the back of my neck still prickles as I wait for the elevator, her gaze a living, breathing thing. I shake off the sensation, telling myself I’m crazy, but as I step in and turn around, our gazes meet, hers radiating sorrow. I open my mouth, no plan as to what’ll come out. Comfort? An apology? To reaffirm this is the way things have to be?
The doors shut, my reflection staring back at me as the car descends, my hair disheveled, dark circles under my eyes. I ignore the reminder of my sleepless night and finger comb my hair the best I can, straightening my tie and shirt cuffs before I exit, donning the CEO persona I have to show everyone here.
Everyone except Emma.
An hour and fifteen minutes later, I return to my office, a part of me relieved to find Emma’s spot empty. She must be at lunch. I swing my door open, finding Gabriel seated in my chair, legs crossed on the desk, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“How do I look? Think Dad would like it?”
I can’t help the laugh that escapes me imagining the aneurysm Dad would’ve had upon Gabriel making himself at home like this. That ball of tension in my gut eases some with something else to focus on. “I’d pay to see his reaction.”
“Well, you can afford it.” His tone is easy, no jealousy or resentment there, and I silently thank God this hasn’t caused a rift between us. I’m not sure what his financial situation is like, but he and Mackenzie seemed happy enough yesterday, at least.
“What do you want for lunch?” I ask. “My treat.”
His brows raise as he takes his feet off the desk. “Well, then. Bring on the prime rib. But first.” He gets up, heading toward the door that hides the elevator, and rubs his palms with glee. “Can I go up? I’ve always wanted to know what it looks like.”
I shrug, pushing down the flare of panic that rises. Dad’s not there. Seeing his stuff won’t affect me. Not again. “Sure.”
He pushes the call button, bouncing on his heels. “What’s it like? Does it feel like he’s…” He swallows, the light in his eyes dimming a bit as he stops moving. “Up there?”
So I’m not the only one with that ridiculous thought. “The whole place is… impersonal. Like something in a magazine that no one actually lives in.”
He nods, understanding what I mean. “Will you move in?”
“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug again, still not sure how I feel about it. “Emma mentioned redecorating it. She said she’d handle it.”
We ride up, and as the silver doors open, my heart doesn’t thud painfully like last time.
“Well, you were right that it looks like no one lives here.”
The apartment is empty, our footsteps echoing loudly on the marble floor. “I guess she started renovating already.” Wouldn’t I have seen furniture being moved, then? Isn’t the elevator into my office the only access?
We poke our heads into rooms I didn’t bother exploring last time, each one bare, and a door hidden in the laundry room reveals a staircase leading down. Maybe everything came out through here. Upon closer inspection, there are scuff marks all along the frame, giving credence to my theory.
“Where’s that lead?” Gabriel asks from behind me, peering down the stairs.
“Sixtieth floor, I’m guessing.”
I shut the door, leaving the investigation for another time.
“It’s not as bad as I thought,” he comments as we head back into the main area. “Not that I really knew what to expect.”
“White furniture, minimalist.” I walk over to the dining alcove, finding even the chandelier that was previously here gone. “Except for this ridiculously big table here, as if he ever had anyone over.”
“Not us, at least.”
No, not us. His sons.
I take a breath, my lungs expanding freely in a way they couldn’t the last time I was up here. Without his furniture, the place seems bigger. Open. Lighter. Maybe I could actually live here.
Gabriel walks over to the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room. “Mackenzie showed me those pics of you and Emma at some benefit. How are you dealing with that? Since, you know, you’re definitely not interested in her?”