The one whispering that maybe the relief of making it through the encounter was laced with something else.
The faintest hint of disappointment that it had ended so soon. Curiosity about what he’d been about to say.
And the traitorous thought that maybe—just maybe—she already wanted to see him again.
Chapter 9
Thursday, going on Friday.
Accessories scattered, thoughts even more so.
They left the party just before midnight.
The ride back was comfortably quiet. Emma leaned her temple against the cool window, watching the lights of San Diego blur past. Her reflection hovered faintly on the glass, like a ghost drifting over the city.
She’d met Darren Cole tonight. Her mind kept replaying it, trying to name each sensation like she was writing it for a scene. But the right words eluded her. Finally, she settled for just staying in the feeling—warm, soft, surreal.
The hum of the engine soothed her nerves. Emma loved nightly backseat rides. Like little pockets of peace, suspended in the in-between. Coming from something, going somewhere, but in this brief stretch of time, simply being. Outside, the city still pulsed with movement. Countless lives, countless stories. It made her feel small in the best way.
Maybe Leah sensed her mood, because she didn’t speak either. For all her assertiveness, Leah could be strangely perceptive sometimes.
Back in the hotel suite, the atmosphere had that fuzzy, post-night-out feeling that Emma hadn’t felt since her early twenties. She groanedwith relief as she kicked off her shoes, even though they had nothing on Leah’s torture devices.
Leah was already sprawled across the massive bed, arms flung overhead, auburn hair fanning out over the pillow. Her makeup was still perfect, and she looked tired, but in a satisfied way—the PR manager version of a marathon runner at the finish line.
“You’re unusually quiet,” Leah said, removing her earrings without opening her eyes. “So either you’re plotting my death, or still short-circuiting from the Darren thing. Or both.”
Emma muttered under her breath, rummaging through the minibar for mineral water.
“Sorry, what was that?”
She straightened with a bottle, unscrewing the cap. “I said, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will murder you. Slowly. With a Lucen-level monologue beforehand.”
She downed half the bottle in one go, as if it could cancel out that last glass of wine she probably should have skipped.
Leah grinned, eyes still closed. “Totally worth it. So, how did it feel to meet him?”
Emma’s huff was sharp enough that it should have made the curtains stir. “How did itfeel? You threw me at Darren Cole with no warning! I feel like you wrapped me in velvet, set me on fire, and told me to smile through it.”
“I have no idea what that means,” Leah said, unmoved. “Poetic, though. Good to know your writer brain is still mostly intact. Also, you’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome?” Emma slumped into an armchair. “Do you have any idea what that did to my blood pressure?”
“Oh, I have an excellent idea. I watched it happen in real time. Your whole face was likesystem overload, please reboot.”
Emma dragged a hand across her face. “Ugh, kill me now, please.”
“No need. You survived. You spoke in full sentences, as far as I could tell. You even flirted a little.”
“I did not flirt.”
Leah cracked one eye open. “Funny, because I could swear your eyes did that thing where you look up under your lashes like a sexy writer-doe.”
Emma flung a throw pillow at her. Leah caught it one-handed, with surprising ease.
“Also, he touched your face. How is that not flirting?”
“He removed someTwilightglitter, Leah. It was an act of mercy.”
