I flop back against the couch cushions, the tea in my stomach curdling.
Her voice is gentle but firm. “Now, tell me what the hell happened with Linda this morning.”
“She knows,” I say simply, rubbing my scar.
“What do you mean, she knows?”
“Emmitt asked for a copy of the team handbook yesterday.”
“So?”
“When Linda went into the shared drive to print it for him, she could see that I was in the document, too. My cursor highlighting the section about staff conduct.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. She said it was a little fishy we were looking at the same policy section on the same day.” I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. “She didn’t ask for confirmation, though. Said if she did, she’d be professionally obligated to take action based on the answer.”
“It’s a good thing she loves you for helping her kick that Diet Coke habit.”
“That bit of goodwill likely saved me from getting fired. At least, for a day or two.”
“But what now? Do you cut it off with Emmitt?”
The thought rips open a new crater in my chest. “I don’t know. Maybe. She said there might be another option, but she needs time to research it.”
“What do you mean, another option? One where you two could be together?”
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t give me details because she doesn’t want to get my hopes up before she’s sure it’s possible.” I meet Whitney’s eyes. “But she warned me I need to be careful before it’s too late.”
“Before it’s too late for what?”
“I think before whatever she’s researching becomes impossible. Like maybe there’s a window for…something. But I don’t know what.”
Whitney tugs the hair tie out of her bun, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. “You can’t lie low for much longer, or people are definitely going to know something’s up.”
She’s right, but—
Her phone buzzes in her pocket. She tugs it out and turns the screen to show me who’s calling. I stare at the device as if it might explode because it’s none other than Emmitt Buckley.
“It’s…Emmitt,” she says, as if my entire body hasn’t already gone stiff.
The blood drains from my face. “Don’t answer it. I can’t talk to him right now. Even on your phone. Especially on your phone.”
“He’ll just call back.”
But he doesn’t. Instead, a minute after the buzzing stops, a text comes through. She reads the message aloud: “Where are you?”
I was right. He went to my place. I knew he would, and sure enough, he drove straight there after that disaster of a game, looking for answers I can’t give him.
“I don’t think he’s talking to me,” Whitney says, as if it’s not obvious. I shoot her a look, and she tosses back a wide grin. “What? Do you think he is?”
I throw a pillow at her, but a small slice of me is grateful for the humor. “Of course not.”
Whitney’s phone buzzes again. She reads it to me. “‘You picked the right Emmitt that night. This one’s not giving up.’”
Damn him and his loyalty. His determination.
“McKenna,” Whitney says softly, dragging me back to the present. “You sure you can’t talk to him?”
