“I was just thinking of you,” he said smoothly. “Do you like your new Miami wardrobe?”
“Yes, of course, thank you, but I wish you hadn’t gone to the trouble.”
“It was no trouble at all. You’re important to me, and I wanted you to feel special.”
“Well, you certainly succeeded in doing that. I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.”
“Great. Mission accomplished!”
They laughed together.
“I miss you,” he said, his voice a sensuous whisper. “Come over tonight.”
“I can’t. I have company.”
“I told you I don’t want to share you with other guys.”
“Emilio, relax. I’m hanging out with Jocelyn, not Leonardo DiCaprio!”
He laughed, scolded her for being a smart-ass and vowed to get even. “I’m excited about our trip to Miami, and I hope you are, too...”
I am, but I’m nervous about our sleeping arrangements.
“Are you all packed and ready to go?” he asked.
“I’ll finish packing tomorrow after work.”
“I thought you were taking the day off?”
“I can’t. Channel 6 News is doing a feature story on Mrs. Fontaine, and she wants staff on hand for pictures and interviews.”
“I’m picking you up at six. Don’t forget. And pack everything I bought you.”
“Okay, pops, I will,” she drawled, unable to resist poking fun at him.
“I love it when you call me Big Poppa!”
Sharleen cracked up, laughed so hard tears spilled down her cheeks.
When they ended the phone call, she joined Jocelyn in the kitchen, but thoughts of Emilio remained. From the very beginning she’d known there was something special about him. It was the way he spoke to her, his chivalrous, old-fashioned ways and his gentle nature. He never raised his voice, never lost his cool and treated everyone—from his butler to his gardener—with respect. And as Sharleen sat at the kitchen table, sipping her cocktail, she wondered if she’d be able to resist him in Miami.
Chapter 12
Sharleen rose from her desk, spent a few minutes stretching her tired, aching muscles and strode out of her office. Since arriving at Pathways that morning, she’d been working nonstop, and this was her only chance to take a break before her three o’clock session. Most of her colleagues had left for the day, and the few who remained were in the reception area chatting about their plans for the Memorial Day weekend. The center was infused with sunlight, the air smelled of freshly brewed coffee and the framed quotes hanging on the walls invigorated her.
Sharleen caught sight of the clock hanging above the fish tank, and her thoughts turned to Emilio. They were leaving for Miami that evening, and after a long, stressful week, she was looking forward to having some fun in the sun. She’d packed yesterday, but still had misgivings about wearing the outfits Emilio had bought her. What if people stare? What if they point at me? And most importantly, what will Emilio think when he sees my—
“I can’t do this anymore. It’s too stressful,” said a female voice from inside the staff room.
Frowning, she stopped abruptly in the hallway. She wondered if one of her colleagues was having an emotional breakdown. It happened more often than her boss cared to admit, and these days nothing that happened at Pathways Center surprised her.
Sharleen knew it was wrong to eavesdrop, but she leaned against the staff-room door and listened for several minutes.
“It’s not over until I say it’s over, and if you tell Mrs. Fontaine about us, I’ll post naked pictures of you online. Don’t tempt me. I’ll do it.”
“You can’t,” a high-pitched voice wailed. “My parents are ministers pastoring in Augusta. They’d be mortified.”
“Then do what I say, or else.”
Enraged, Sharleen threw open the door and stalked inside. Brad was in the kitchen with his back to her, and a buxom intern with curly brown hair was cornered against the microwave stand.
Her eyes narrowed, zeroed in on him with acute precision. He had one hand inside the intern’s blouse, the other underneath her skirt and his mouth against her neck. “Let her go.”
The intern gasped and jumped in the air. Wiping her tearstained cheeks, she straightened her clothes and fled the room as if her life was in grave danger.
“What’s up?” Brad wore an arch grin. “I didn’t see you there.”
“I’m going to report you to the human-resources department for—”
“There’s nothing to tell. I came in here to grab a drink.” He gestured to the coffee mug on the table. Beside it was an iPhone, a stack of envelopes and a BLT sandwich. “Focus on doing your job, not stirring up malicious gossip.”