“Yeah, my dad thinks those are enlightening,” I say, a little embarrassed.
I’m so lame.
I mentally scan every shelf—there are four full ones—hoping she doesn’t find the wrong book. Her finger drifts across the spines.
“Aha!” she exclaims, pulling one out. “I knew it.”
I cover my face.
“The missing Dalí book from the library,” she says, flipping through it. “Tell me something, Luca Walker. Do you always steal from Willow High?”
I walk over to my bed and sit on the edge. “I just wanted to see what you liked about it,” I admit, not meeting her eyes.
She sits next to me, book open to a specific page. “I’m not even sure why,” she murmurs, tracing the painting with her finger. “But this one makes me feel… peaceful.”
She is talking about the paint‘Young Woman at a Window’.
Emma starts laughing.
“What?” I grin.
“I tried to recreate this once. It was awful. Everything was warped, and Lauren told me I should’ve called it ‘Young Woman at a Window While High on Narcotics.’”
We both break into uncontrollable laughter. Maybe it’s the beer. Or maybe it’s her. Either way, it feels damn good.
“Lauren…” she wheezes. “She meant it seriously, like it was helpful feedback.”
She flops back on my bed, still laughing. I follow, shoulder to shoulder, still breathless from it all. Tears roll down her cheeks. I wipe them gently with my thumbs.
Her smile fades, softens.
“Sorry,” I mutter, pulling back.
She catches my hands, presses them to her cheeks. “Don’t be. Leave them there,” she whispers. Her eyes are glassy, lips parted.
My grin disappears too. Before I can stop myself, before I can get scared and mess this up?—
I kiss her.
Iwalk into the Property Group office feeling… guilty.
First of all, my sister just confessed that she’s working for Silas Walker in New York.
Silas Walker was her high school bully. The guy tormented her for years—and now he’s her boss. We fought about it. I judged her.
But I didn’t tell her I’m working for another Walker. Not just any Walker. Luca Walker. Yep. That Luca. The one I never forgot. The one I gave up to protect my family.
Dun. Dun. DUNNNN.
This is a full-on telenovela.
The second reason I feel guilty? Because after everything that happened between us, I said yes to this job. Knowing full well I’d have to work with him. In the same space. Every. Damn. Day.
Third? He looks ridiculously good. Like, take-a-bite-out-of-him good, and I shouldn’t think that!
Brenda struts down the hallway in heels that could kill a man. “Mrs. Green!”
Mrs.? Girl, please. “It’s Emma,” I say, shaking her hand with just enough firmness to not stab her in the eye with a pen.
