Page 15

CHAPTER 15

EMILY

D: I’m sorry, Goldie. I’m an idiot.

“ N o shit, asshole,” I mutter, glaring at Dallas’s message on my phone.

“I’m sorry?”

I startle, looking up to see the man behind the coat check desk gaping at me.

“Oh, no, not you.” I wave a hand, holding my phone up.

He nods, going back to the rack of coats to find mine, right as another message comes through.

D: Where’d you go baby?

Ignoring his messages—and the way my body reacts when he calls me baby — I tuck my phone into my purse, waiting for my coat.

I lied to Andy. I told him I was coming down with a migraine and that I had to leave urgently before it got too bad. He believed me. But unfortunately, Jenn’s brother, Simon, being a literal doctor, was slightly more difficult to convince. He wanted to take me home to make sure I got back safe. With another lie— that my sister was already on her way to come get me—he took my word for it and let me go. Now, if I could just get my goddamn coat.

“Here you are, madame.” The attendant appears, holding my coat and offering to put it on for me.

I brush off his chivalry, far too heated right now to wrap myself in wool, and I hand the man a tip, taking the coat from him with a smile. He nods, tucking the money into the top pocket of his waistcoat, and I hightail it out of there before Dallas, or anyone else for that matter, can catch up to me.

The cold night air cutting through Chambers Street is doing nothing to help cool me down as I walk out of the venue. Shrugging on my coat so I don’t have to carry it, I’m stopped by one of the security guards huddled outside, asking me if I want him to hail me a cab.

“No, thank you.” I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

And, honestly, I know it’s stupid to be walking the Downtown streets alone, especially in four-inch heels that will be of no help to me whatsoever if I end up getting chased by an assailant, but I’m really angry, and I’m hoping the walk will help to cool my jets.

I don’t even know why I’m so angry. I was only dancing with Simon because I felt obligated. Like if I’d declined, it might get back to Andy and he’d be pissed. But seeing Dallas dancing with that woman. Laughing with her. Seeing her hands all over him. Her perfect breasts practically thrust in his face. I was jealous. And I hate myself for it because I have absolutely no right. First, I have no claim over him, at all. Second, nothing can ever come out of whatever is even happening between the two of us. Third, and most importantly, Dallas Shaw is a renowned playboy; of course he has women throwing themselves at him at every opportunity. How am I even surprised?

I turn right onto Broadway, the December air finally winning the battle and chilling me through to the bone. Hugging my arms around myself, I continue walking, but just as I’m crossing over Reade Street, I’m stopped mid-crosswalk by the abrupt honking of the car pulling up to the line. Squinting through the gleam of headlights, I catch sight of a Lamborghini badge on the hood, and I stop short. Are you serious?

“Come on, Goldie!” a familiar voice calls out over the rumble of the roaring engine, a hand waving at me. “Get in.”

And I know I should just keep walking. He can’t turn up Broadway, and I could flag down a cab before he has a chance to circle the block. But honestly, my feet are killing me already. Who was I to think I could walk anywhere in these heels? Where the hell did I even think I was walking to? The Upper West Side? Idiot .

Rolling my eyes, I walk to the passenger side, the door gliding up, and I reluctantly get into the car knowing full well that this is possibly the dumbest decision I’ve ever made as an adult. I can feel his eyes on me as I fasten my seatbelt, but I refuse to look at him. I feel like a fool, and the last thing I want him to see is my resignation. So I stare straight ahead while Dallas navigates the city streets.

After a few moments of tension-laced silence, he speaks first. “Why’d you leave?”

“I have a headache,” I lie, feeling him look at me.

“C’mon, now,” he says with a knowing smile in his tone. “Don’t lie to me, Goldie.”

I roll my eyes, folding my arms across my chest with a huff. “Just take me home.”

“Okay,” he says without missing a beat.

It’s only when we’re approaching the Brooklyn Bridge that I realize we’re not going home at all. At least not to my home, which is in the complete opposite direction.

I spear Dallas with a harsh glare, catching his smirk that’s highlighted by the city lights. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Shrugging a shoulder, he doesn’t look at me, that casual grin lingering. “Home. ”

“I want you to take me home, Dallas,” I say through gritted teeth. “To my home.”

He looks at me then, grin falling, his eyes penetrating mine in a way that momentarily steals my breath.

“Is that what you really want, Goldie?” His voice is so low, I almost miss it.

I stare at him for what feels like an eternity but is probably no longer that a few seconds before I finally shake my head. The corner of his mouth tips up at one side and he reaches across, his hand finding mine and giving it a tender squeeze before returning to the steering wheel.

With a heavy exhale, I sag back into the plush leather seat, looking out at the view of the city as we drive across the bridge, wondering what the hell I’m even doing right now and trying so hard not to think about what that one simple touch just did to my insides.

It isn’t long before Dallas pulls into the parking garage under his building, reversing into what I assume is his designated spot. Killing the engine, silence settles around us, and he’s out of the car and standing by my door before I even have a chance to unfasten my seatbelt.

Grudgingly, I take his hand and allow him to help me up, keeping hold of him as he walks me through the quiet garage to the waiting elevator, still holding onto him as we ascend to the fifth floor, and clutching his hand as we step off the elevator and walk to his door. It’s only then that I realize he’s limping.

“Are you okay?”

Glancing down at me with a quirked brow like he’s confused by my question, I jut my chin in the direction of his leg. “You’re limping.”

“Pulled a muscle last night,” he says like it’s no big deal. “But I got a scan this morning, and it’s nothing serious.”

He enters his code into the keypad and opens the door, waiting for me to walk through first, letting go of my hand, he grazes my lower back as I enter. I somehow forgot just how spectacular the view is from this place, the city skyline alight from across the river. Breathtaking.

“Shit,” Dallas hisses under his breath.

I startle, looking back to see him grab his upper thigh.

“It doesn’t look like nothing serious,” I say, instinctively moving closer to him.

“Aw, you worried about me, Goldie?”

I roll my eyes, shrugging off my coat. “Tell yourself that if it helps.”

Dallas winks at me, taking my coat and hanging it in the small closet next to the front door before tossing his wallet and keys onto the side table. “Would you like a drink?”

“Hmmm.” I tap my chin in mock consideration. “Beer or protein shake… How can I possibly choose?”

“Actually, smart ass—” He gives my side a playful tickle as he passes, causing me to giggle. “I bought wine.”

“You what?” Surprised, I follow him to the kitchen at the far end of the space where he opens a small built-in wine fridge that appears to be fully stocked.

He crouches down, reading the labels out loud. “Chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, rose, or your favorite,” he glances back at me with a smug smile, “cabernet.”

I can’t help but laugh at the way he says the words. Sauvignon with a hard g. Rose, without the accent. But also, my heart skitters in my chest at the thought that he went out of his way to buy wine. “You stocked up on wine? For me?”

Dallas stands to his full height, looking down at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. “Pfft. No,” he scoffs. “Of course I didn’t.” Rolling his eyes, he flashes me another devastating grin, and I swear my heart melts.

“I’ll take a rosé , please,” I ask, annunciating the accent.

“One rose , coming up,” he teases, grabbing the bottle from its rack .

I shove him playfully, but he snags my wrist and pulls me flush against him, and suddenly the lighthearted air between us shifts into something thick with the kind of tension that pools low in my belly.

I look up at him, taking in the way his green eyes flare, my brows knitting together at his sudden change in mood. It’s not scary or anything, just confusing.

“I was jealous,” is all he says, a crease etched between his eyebrows like he’s trying to make sense of his own words.

“I made a stupid mistake dancing with that woman.” He blinks hard, bowing his head a moment, his forehead touching mine. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just wanted to see—” His eyes flit between mine, and I witness a sliver of uncharacteristic doubt in his gaze as he says, “I wanted to see that this thing between us… isn’t just one-sided.”

“Dallas, I?—”

“How do you think I felt, Goldie?” he interjects. “Forced to just stand there and watch that tuxedo-wearing jerkoff talk to you, touch you, make you smile, flaunt you like a smug, age-appropriate asshole...” His jaw ticks and he lifts his hand, raking his fingers through his hair, which is a lot less perfectly tamed than it was earlier this evening. “He got to do all the things I want to do with you. And I had to just stand there and take it.”

I can see just how hard it is for him to admit this to me, and my heart breaks a little. I didn’t go out of my way to try and hurt him tonight. That was the last thing I wanted.

“I was pissed,” Dallas says, adding quickly, “Not at you. Just… pissed. Because it’s not fair. I’ve never—” He stops himself, scrubbing a hand over his jaw in contemplation.

“Never what?” I press, because like hell he’s just going to leave me hanging like that.

His throat works with a hard swallow. “I’ve never felt about a woman… the way I feel about you.” His voice is so low, I almost missed it. Almost . “I’ve never been jealous before.” He stares into my eyes, so openly vulnerable. “And I fucking hate it.”

“I’m sorry,” is all I can say because I am sorry. I hate that I made him feel this way. “I didn’t know Jenn was trying to set me up.” I shake my head because saying it out loud sounds ridiculous. I’m still kind of pissed that it even happened. “I was blindsided. I-I didn’t know what to do.”

He cups my cheek with one hand, his forehead pressed against mine, and I listen to his heavy, tremulous exhale. “So tell me, Goldie… why did you run out? And don’t tell me it was because of some bullshit headache.”

I look into his eyes, my heart racing. “I was jealous…” I say under a whisper.

A slow, satisfied smile tugs at Dallas’s lips, his arm snaking around my waist, bracketing me, and I look up at him, watching in real time as the mischievous glint in his eyes makes way for molten heat. I release a shuddering breath, my gaze dipping from his eyes to his lips and back again. I want him to kiss me. More than anything. But I also know if he does, I’m as good as done for.

“This dress,” Dallas whispers, his calloused fingers trailing the curve of my shoulder before stopping at the neckline and toying with the delicate satin. “It’s been taunting me all night.” His gaze purposefully moves down to the swell of my breasts, and he drags his tongue over his bottom lip, his green eyes darkening.

And, suddenly, the anticipation swirling in my stomach turns to nerves, clawing at me from the inside. I’m anxious. Uncomfortably so. To the point of pain.

Oh my God, what the hell am I even doing here?

I push him away, managing to take a step back, placing my trembling hands over my chest. Panic curls around me, but it has nothing to do with the almost ten-year age gap or the risk of losing my job. Right now, that’s the least of my worries.

I try to take a deep breath, but it’s not enough .

Oh no… I’m starting to spiral.

“Hey, hey,” a soothing voice says, interrupting my freak out. “Goldie, look at me.”

Through another rough breath, I meet Dallas’s eyes. A crease burrows between his eyebrows, emphasizing the look of concern in his gaze as he cups my face in both hands, coming so close that all I see is him. “Emily, breathe, baby.”

I take a few slow, steady breaths in through my nose, out through my mouth, centering myself as best as I can.

“Where’d you go, Goldie?” Dallas asks after a moment, his thumbs stoking my cheeks.

“I need to tell you something.”

His gaze flits between mine, the crease between his eyebrows deepening. “You can tell me anything.”

I swallow hard. God, I feel sick. But I need to tell him.

“I-I…” I search for the words I need, but I’m at a loss. I can’t.

“I’m not—” I snap my mouth shut, panic swelling again. “I don’t?—”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Dallas’s hushed voice interjects.

I shake my head. “No, it’s not, I?—”

“Emily, it’s just me.”

I close my eyes, and the tears I didn’t even realize I’d been fighting to contain spill onto my cheeks as I say through a wavering breath, “I don’t want you to see me.”