Page 56 of Miles Apart
There’s a chef’s kitchen with a marble island parallel to a row of white cabinets. A small dining area converges with a living room next to a panoramic view of the ocean through glass pocket doors. I take in the wood beams on the ceilings and the steel loop that holds fresh logs next to the fireplace. Emma’s living space is an ode to Pottery Barn with sand-colored seating and breathable linens. Blush and champagne accent pillows give a splash of color to complement the calacatta marble coffee table.
“It fits you,” I say about her house, my attention on the black-and-white photos of Emma and Justice over the years on the mantel.
Three bedrooms are upstairs. Emma’s, a spare room she uses for clothing storage, and the room she keeps for Justice whenever she visits.
“Is this okay?” Emma motions to the cream-and-taupe room. A large area rug covers most of the wooden floor, which matches the beams above. The bed is big enough for my size, but I need a desk large enough for the screens I had shipped, and a chair.
“This view is sick.” I can’t pull my eyes away from the open pocket doors leading to a private balcony. I’m starting to understand why there are no blinds on the windows.
“It is.” Emma joins me at the threshold that separates the bedroom from outside. Barefoot, she reaches my shoulder without the pogo sticks she calls heels. It’s different seeing her at home. Nice. Her shoulders aren’t rigid, and she smiles more than I’ve seen—except for when she’s around Jay.
Peace looks divine on Emma, which is why I look away from her profile and head downstairs. She can’t be a distraction; only sex. We’ve fucked under the same roof in Milan for days. Her home is no different, if we keep sex the priority and out of my room. Having her so close tempts me to cross a threshold I’ve refused because of what’s on the other side.
Chapter 26
Emma
Tuesday couldn’t end sooner. Seriously, the bitch can hurry up and rename itself PMS.Probably More Shitis a good summary of my first day back after a month away. I always take the day off after I return from a trip, to settle in, but I spent most of yesterday preparing the room Miles will use. The last time Justice used it was over a year ago. I doubt he cared to lather up with the citrus body wash she keeps in the bathroom, which led to me shopping for toiletries and bigger towels. He’s on his own with everything else and is likely making himself right at home, fucking mine up in the process.
I groan thinking about the text he sent two hours ago, about the flood lights and surveillance cameras he wants to install. They’re probably already up, along with drones and missiles for the long list of burglars he thinks are waiting to break inside. I texted back that it was excessive, to which he replied about shipping his flamethrower from New Jersey. Thank God they’re restricted in California. Also, why the hell does he have one?
My house is fine the way it is. No one is checking for me like he thinks, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate the gesture.No one has ever thought about my safety. Not even my father, a veteran US senator who might have a long list of enemies, for all I know. He gets along with his colleagues from what I can tell, and he hasn’t made national headlines for pissing off any particular group.
Still, it was nice of Miles. Unexpected.
I want to keep you safe, kitten. Will you let me?
Sex, this is just sex. It didn’t happen last night, but maybe Miles was tired from his first day in Lorenzo’s office. He only brought two bags with him when he came over, and he said he’s been busy settling in today.
He was a little distant last night, a detour from our usual banter. I didn’t push it and stayed on my side of the second floor, in my room, with a vagina in need of a tune-up.
Back to work and this mess of a schedule.
I lean into my executive chair and exhale a long, unsteady breath.
Every humanly possible meeting happened today, no thanks to my assistant cramming in a team brainstorming session, three check-ins with clients, and a budget meeting in a five-hour window. I had no time for lunch, which meant I was cranky and hungry and had to plaster on a smile without baring my teeth.
The prick who touched the stash of Twizzlers in my drawer will get a stapler to the forehead.
A tap on my office door has my fingers massaging my temples. If it’s another meeting,I’llneed a flamethrower.
“Knock, knock!”
“Ko—oh my goodness!” I run barefoot from behind my desk into Kojo’s arms. Notes of basil and amber from his cologne tickle my nostrils as he pecks my cheek. “Why aren’t you in Milan for the shows?”
He flicks a bracelet-clad wrist and walks into my office in patent-leather boots, black trousers, and a white tee under ablack vest. “You didn’t stay, and I have business here. When are you done? Quitting time was”—he checks his watch—“three minutes and twelve seconds ago.”
Is it five already?
I reach for my phone to check my messages. Nothing new from Miles.
“Dinner?” I slip my cell into my pocket.
“Traditional,” Kojo says.
“Drinks?”
“Expected.”
