She arched an eyebrow. “You mean, like me. Because even though she thinks I’m a stripper, a personal assistant leeching off her boss wouldn’t be much better.”
“It doesn’t matter what she thinks. And you’re not leeching.” He didn’t enjoy the insinuation that he thought like his sister or that Emma still thought she was using him. “You’re the one who went with the stripper persona. You could have said your name was anything but Emma, that you were anyone but my employee. But you chose that. Why?”
Discomfort brushed her features. “It was the first thing that came to mind.”
“Liar.”
“It was…” She tugged on Kevin’s leash, and after drawing him closer, picked him up. Her tell. When she was uncomfortable, she used the cat as a shield. “You ever hear that saying—I think it’s Mark Twain—if you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything?”
“You’re not a stripper, Emma. How is that remotely close to your truth?”
“Let’s just say that but for the grace of God, that could have been my life. I’ve worked my ass off to make sure it wasn’t my life, but sometimes it feels like I’m just one paycheck away from a soup kitchen. Or a permanent stripper job. Even now, after all that’s happened in the last few months—working at the club, stripper for a night—I feel I haven’t hit rock bottom yet.”
But she was hovering a few feet off the ground, was the unspoken implication.
“You haven’t. You won’t.” He wouldn’t let her.
Her smile was regal. This woman had such pride, and his heart tightened just thinking of how brave she was. Emma was the kind of woman who would charge hell with a bucket of ice water.
“I know I won’t. But I also know I—well, I have to make some changes. Take control.”
“What kind of changes?” There was that niggle again telling him he had barely scratched the surface of Emma Strickland.
“I found a studio apartment, and I’m going to see it tomorrow.”
Something in her voice sounded off, but he set it aside because this news should have pleased him. Emma and her demon cat would be out of his hair and he could get back to normal.
“Let me guess, some hovel in a bad neighborhood.”
Her pretty brows angled together. “Everything looks like a hovel when you’re living on the sixtieth floor, Brody.”
“Emma, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay. It will be okay.” The way she said that, it sounded like she was trying to convince herself. “Olivia said your ex-fiancée hurt you.”
So they were done talking about Emma. Okay, it was quid pro quo and she had peeled back a layer of herself; maybe he owed her a secret or two. Familiar needful things reared up. The need to connect with someone he suspected had undergone her own brand of suffering.
“My ex-fiancée said that I didn’t have it in me to give her what she needed. I was too busy taking what I needed. From her body. From her soul.”
“She sounds like a drama queen.” Beneath the dark veil of her lashes, she studied him, until recognition dawned on her face. “She couldn’t handle you in bed. Didn’t like when you got all bossy.” She pressed a hand to his chest, so small yet he felt trapped by her strength. It was a pleasant sensation.
“Something like that. She said I was selfish. Greedy.”
“It’s a two-way street,” Emma murmured, her words soft, but fierce at once. “Sometimes you have to take what you need and hope the other person can handle the invasion.”
“Invasion?”
“That’s what love is, isn’t it? Families, friends, lovers. It’s an invasion of each other’s space, minds, hearts. Someone’s always jockeying for control. For it to truly work, there has to be equality. Each side has to be strong enough to handle it.”
Invasion. An oddly perfect way to describe it. “Yet again, I ask, who are you, Emma Strickland?”
She laughed. “I’m just saying that this invasion can’t end in one person conquering and the other person feeling like they were bashed over the head with the love stick. That’s okay for a while, but eventually both parties have to reach a point of balance.”
She stroked her knuckles along his chin, her touch soothing and inciting at once. This notion of balance meant a great deal to her. Was this why she refused to accept his help, because doing so shifted the balance between them to a point she couldn’t reconcile?
For a few moments, they held each other’s gazes, no shyness or awkwardness. Just looking at each other because the indulgence of it felt right.
“Olivia said your ex moved on to another billionaire,” she prompted. “That it crushed you.”
Destroyed him. “She cheated on me.” He drew a deep breath. “With my father.”
Silence reigned, except for the distant sounds of the city below them and the beat of his heart.
“Wow, what a skank.” Her eyes widened in horrified recognition. “They’re not…they’re not still together, are they?”
He nodded.
“Married?”
Another nod.
“Your former fiancée is now your stepmother?” There was no disguising her disgust.
“Yeah, she swapped me out for the older, richer model. Desperate to have Kane as a last name, but with the wife-of-a-senator tag as well. We hadn’t gone public yet with our engagement, so my father’s PR machine was able to keep it out of the press.”
Taut moments passed as she mulled that over. After about twenty seconds, she said, “Brody, I’m sorry. It sounds like this complete bee-yatch was all wrong for you, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
A dull ache warred with awareness of the ridiculous soap-opera dramatics of it all. He’d never been close to his father, yet the betrayal still stung like a fingernail scraped over an open wound. And what he’d told Emma wasn’t even the worst of it. He couldn’t share the rest. It was still too raw.
“Emma, I know all about gold diggers. They tell you how crazy they are about you, inflate your ridiculous ego, and promise you that their world would be an abyss without you. You’ve done none of those things, except maybe make me feel like a god when I rip multiple orgasms from you.” He blew out a breath. “I’m not worried about you wanting me for my money. I know you don’t. You’ve had several opportunities to get my help and you chose not to. Either I’m right or you’re working an incredible long game.”
She wanted to let him in—he could see the struggle manifest in her tight expression—but she’d clearly lived an independent life. Relying on herself for everything. Sheer awe at all she must have overcome bloomed in his chest.
“You shouldn’t be so trusting,” she whispered.
“Have I reason to distrust you?”
She chewed on her lip. “I’d never hurt you, Brody. You’ve been nothing but kindness itself.”
“But…” Awareness stole up on him. “Sex has complicated what should have been a favor.”
“Sex always complicates things. Anyone who says different is a liar.” She stepped into him, the cat between them like a fluffy, mean-spirited chaperone. “But complicated with you happens to be what I need right now. I need this. Whatever this is.”
And when she didn’t need it anymore? When she didn’t need him, what then?
She read his mind. “In a couple of days, if this studio works out, we go back to Ms. Strickland and Mr. Kane, and hope that we can still stand to be around each other at the office.”
“What if we can’t stand not to be around each other? What if we can’t keep our hands off each other?” He could barely think around her. Returning to before was not going to suddenly clear his mind.
“Doesn’t sound so productive.”
“Oh, I dunno. We produced something great during our time in the home office these last couple of days.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Her frown caught at his heart. She was already distancing herself, bringing the armor back up. Ms. Strickland was ready to make a comeback.
He didn’t want his assistant anymore. He wanted Emma, the real Emma. But for now, he’d play her game and work his way through the puzzle she presented.
…
The heavy-duty walls around Emma’s heart were taking a pounding. What the hell was she doing hinting about her wild past and inviting this man to probe further? Worse, she wanted him to pick at the scabs of her pain and rip them off.
The video Ray had sent popped into her brain for a toxic visit. Given Brody’s history with his ex, he would assume she’d been in on some plan to scam him. Trap him in her greedy crosshairs. Coupled with Olivia’s visit, it added up to bye-bye, Emma. She had to escape sooner than later. The only question was how far.
Daisy’s words echoed like spectral taunts in her skull: we could run.
Emma’s life was buffering. It might well come to a control-alt-delete reboot, because damned if she could think of an alternative. Disappear, suffer bodily injury, or screw Brody over. And because none of those alternatives involved anything more permanent with this man, she’d take what she could and memorize the way he made her feel.