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They walked into the café together feeling upbeat.
But Hector wasn’t willing to let her off the hook. “We can’t tell Mr. Chapman no,” he said, sounding horrified.
She tried to change his mind, pointing out they were keeping the billionaire waiting every minute they argued. But Hector had seen her at her worst enough times to know that she wasn’t quite at bucket-level pain yet.
“It has to be you,” he said, handing her the coffee cup.
Resigned to her fate, Emma took it and trudged to the elevators.
And once again, Garrett Chapman stared out his window and didn’t say a word.
Garrett listenedto the door close behind him. Disgusted, he banged his head on the glass.
He didn’t even need to look at the security footage to know that Emma hadn’t even glanced at his carefully laid trap.
Instead, she’d said, “Here’s your coffee, sir!” Then she set the cup on the only clear corner of his desk, leaving without a backward glance, just like she had every day since this farce had begun.
Emma hadn’t even commented on the increasing clutter. It must have been killing her not to say anything. His high schoolnemesis had been incapable of keeping her thoughts to herself. Her smart mouth had gotten her in and out of trouble more times than he could count.
But did she take the bait this time? That was a big fat hell no.
Pivoting, Garrett surveyed the carefully laid-out disaster before him. Almost every square inch of his office had been covered with piles of fake documents.
He’d spent an entire weekend dummying up contracts and sensitive financial documents to lay the perfect trap. Garrett knew entrapment was a bit underhanded, but what other way did he have to expose her?
At first, he’d merely covered his desk with them, even half turning one so she could read the name of the Montevalle development with ease.
When that hadn’t proved tempting enough, he had started arranging papers on the side tables, an avalanche spreading out onto every available surface—even the couch.
And damn it, she hadn’t so much as batted an eye. Not even to inform him that his office was becoming a firetrap.
Sighing, he started stacking his fake documents into a big pile. He’d have to have Fletcher’s assistant shred them before his analysts saw them and demanded to know what the hell was going on.
Chapter Four
EMMA
The Stop Requested button on the bus must have been malfunctioning because the sign didn’t go on and the driver blew past her stop by several blocks. It would have been fine except for the fact San Diego was experiencing a rare day of torrential rain.
Emma had marginal success staying dry, darting from awning to tree cover, hugging buildings to take advantage of that small space around them that was spared the rain.
She was across the street from her apartment building when a Tesla flew past to turn the corner, sending up a huge spray of dirty puddle water all over her cream-colored tights.
Swearing, she shook out the water that had run into her shoes and trudged up the steps to the third floor, bypassing the elevator to avoid the landlord, who had been on the rampage for the last week.
And with good reason she thought, her stomach dropping as she opened the door and it caught halfway.
“Oh God,” she muttered squeezing inside as a stack of old magazines threatened to topple over on her.
Emma dripped on the doormat, wiping her feet and looking around in dismay. Pedro was rearranging again.
When Emma had moved to town, she had been grateful to have a cheapplace she could stay in while working her minimum wage job. Her mother had been doubly grateful she’d be living with family, an older male cousin who could keep an eye on her as she got back on her feet after the accident.
But her mother hadn’t seen her brother’s only son in years. And she certainly hadn’t visited him before Emma moved in to share his crowded two-bedroom apartment.
Pedro was a hoarder.
That wasn’t an official diagnosis. Also, according to the stricter definitions Emma had read online, it wasn’t entirely accurate. But Emma knew that’s what this was.