Taking the Score(36)

Except she wasn’t sure that girl existed anymore. Brody had torn her apart in his effort to figure her out. All the puzzle pieces that made up her whole were lying in a broken mess, because he needed to see the inner workings.

Emma Strickland sat on a wall. Emma Strickland had a great fall…

She worried that he might be the only person who could put her back together again.

“Kat, do you ever think that maybe you wouldn’t want to always be a stripper?”

She considered this with her customary gravity. “I know this body will not always be beautiful. But I have Roth IRA that will help with retirement.”

“You have your life all worked out.”

Her friend shrugged in that oh-so-Romanian way. “I have few wants. I learned a long time ago that you can only rely on yourself. That pleasure cannot last. This body cannot last. But…” She looked off into the middle distance. “I understand that there are people who work better with someone else. This man, he wanted to take care of you, make you his woman.”

“While he refuses to trust me. While he wants to run the show behind my back.”

“You are annoyed because he did something nice for you.”

“Because it came with strings and my requirement to bow down and kiss his ring.”

Kat frowned. “There are always the strings. This is how it goes with relationships. With love. His instinct is to care for you with the tools he has. Money, influence. Yours is to go into the situation expecting it to fail.”

Fucking Eastern Europeans and their searing wisdom. “I didn’t. I didn’t have any expectations at all.”

“You did. You have”—she waved a hand—“the anti-expectations. You thought because he was your boss, it would never work. Then you thought because he had money, and was willing to pay your debt, it would never work. Then you thought because he has no trust for women, it will never work. These are, what you say, first world problems. Accept that this man loves you in his own way, imperfect as it is right now, and teach him how to love you the way you need.”

Was she creating barriers where none existed? But her hearing was just fine. I forgive you, he’d said. How could they move forward with that distrust between them? She could overlook the fact that he was her boss and that he’d paid off her debt to Ray, though his habit of making decisions without her input really chapped her ass. But if he was always waiting for her to betray him…

Hurt people hurt people, and she wasn’t sure which of them would hurt the other more. One thing she did know was that this ache in her heart would eventually fade, because the only way out was through.





Chapter Twenty-Two

Emma smoothed the skirt that did not need smoothing and surreptitiously checked her phone again. Two minutes past her scheduled interview time. She smiled nervously at the receptionist for the Teagan Consulting Group, who gave a sympathetic smile in return, then mouthed, “Any moment now.”

The leather portfolio in her lap was stuffed with paper copies of her references and a résumé. Not that it was necessary. The person who would be interviewing her—a Mr. Tyler—would have received them with her application three days ago. This was the third job she’d interviewed for this week and she had a good feeling about it, especially as she’d received the tip from Hunter, when she’d called him a week ago asking if he’d provide a reference.

Entry-level property consultant. Working for Score Property had taught her so much, so she knew she could do it. The benefits were excellent, salary almost in her preferred range, and bonus: it offered tuition after a year. She could finish her degree at night, finally get those letters after her name.

A phone rang and the receptionist picked it up. “Yes, Mr. Tyler. Right away.”

“You can go in now,” she said to Emma.

With a nod of thanks, Emma wiped her clammy hand on her skirt and walked into the office. She gasped. It couldn’t be—no, no, no. Heart in a free fall, she took in the broad, instantly recognizable shoulders of the man standing at the window with his back to her. Having seen him in that pose a million times before, it was etched on her eyeballs.

A flurry of panicked thoughts pinwheeled through her mind as Brody turned, those silver-gray eyes betraying nothing.

“Ms. Strickland, have a seat.”

She remained standing, feet warring with her brain.

“What are you doing here?” But really, she didn’t want to know because her feet had won the battle. She was already pivoting on her heel and placing a shaking hand on the doorknob.

“Running again, Emma?”

No fair. She was a lot of things, but a coward wasn’t one of them. Composing herself without showing any signs of doing so, most notably breathing, was difficult. Turning, she found him leaning on his desk, so handsome pain slammed through her gut. How dare he look that good in a suit?

“I came here to interview for a job, but now I’m questioning if one even exists.”

“There’s a job,” he said softly. “Perhaps you should give me your résumé.”

Her fingers dug into the leather portfolio reflexively, concerned he might try to wrest it from her. She’d printed her résumé on 100-bond creamy vellum, which cost her what little she had left and damn, even that was precious. He’d already taken enough. “I’m sure you already have it.”

“Well, how about you show me yours and I’ll show you mine?” A curl of amusement lit up his mouth.

The bastard thought this was funny? “What’s going on here, Brody? Is there a job or isn’t there—you know what, even if there is, I wouldn’t want it. I can’t work for you.”

And still she hadn’t walked right out that door. “Why are you here? Do you own this place?”

“It’s one of my subsidiaries.”

Of course. She should have been suspicious when she got a call the very next day. The job search process never happened that quickly, but she’d assumed her rotten luck was turning. Damn Hunter Dade.

“Have a seat, Emma.”

She should have run from that office like hounds were nipping at her heels, but she hadn’t seen Brody in two weeks, and the void he’d left in her life had near destroyed her. Five minutes hearing whatever junk he had to deliver might tide her over. Hell, she wouldn’t even have to listen; she’d just watch that sexy mouth as it shaped words and that huge hand as it scrubbed his hair and that magic sex wand forefinger as it pushed his glasses back up his nose. Whatever garbage he had to say, she wouldn’t hear it above the pounding of her heart.

This would be her last act of selfishness. Gaze on his beauty one more time.

Setting herself down in the seat opposite him, she laced her hands over the portfolio in her lap.

“So the job you’re here about—”

“The entry-level property consultant job.” Which likely didn’t exist.

“Right. I’ve had a good look at your résumé and I think it’s only fair that you read mine. See if you’re a good fit for what we do here.” He handed a page over to her.

Heaving an annoyed sigh, she snatched it from him. Just your fairly standard billionaire résumé with name, email, addre—she blinked.

Address: Hell, Illinois.

Her gaze flickered downward as she tried not to look too absorbed in the most riveting thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

Phone Number: 1-900-IM-AN-IDIOT

She firmed her lips against a smile.

Objective: To win back the woman I don’t deserve or die trying.

Too. Cute.

“These things tend to be padded or a bunch of lies,” she muttered through quivering lips. He needed to know exactly how much weight she was giving this frivolous, yet highly romantic gesture.

“Speaking from experience, Ms. Strickland?”

Ignoring him, she read on, each word ratcheting up her pulse to triple-time levels.

Core Competencies:

Novelty socks wearer. God in the sack. Doctor Who and Star Wars trivia that wows at parties. Not insane (unless sexually provoked). Excellent singing voice (bonus: can make those with terrible singing voices sound good). Keurig button presser extraordinaire. At least twelve words of Spanish. Hot in glasses. Fuck-hot in a suit. Adored by cats named Kevin.

Education:

Extensive jacking off to Victoria’s Secret catalogs between the ages of 13 and 14 (okay, 15)

Bachelor’s degree in sex against the wall, on the bedroom floor, and in the shower, with a minor in safe sex on a balcony lounger at sixty floors up*

Graduate work in cunnilingus. Still need to produce an oral defense to get my PhD

* Unafraid of heights, but have deep-seated trust issues

Work Experience:

Jessica Benson, about two hours in the 4th grade—demonstrated innovation and early romance skills when I kissed the little pixie during art class. Showcased my ability to “take it on the chin” when she punched me on the chin.

Gillian Unger, freshman to junior year of college—gained experience as “boyfriend material” when singled out by the “cool girl.” Learned that women don’t like when you throw them over for a night of drunken debauchery with your friends in the math club. Exhibited incredible maturity* when she dumped me for a dick on the hockey team.

*Only slept with one of her roommates during payback plan.