At least it pays enough for a beach house, a private shore, and total silence.
…And loneliness.
…And superficial flings.
…And existential emptiness.
Fun.
Well, that was the plan, anyway. But Emma Green, as usual, showed up and lit a match in my soul without even meaning to. Not in a good way, either.
Because I’ve learned my lesson. Emma Green has the emotional firepower to shatter me. She did it once, and if I’m not careful, she’ll do it again. I have to remind myself of thatall the damn time. Because my body forgets. It orbits her like nothing ever happened. Like she didn’t walk away and leave me completely wrecked.
My phone rings. I snap out of it and return to my desk. “Brenda,” I answer, scrolling through emails.
“Mr. Walker,” she chirps—way too cheerful, which automatically irritates me. “Mr. Eyre is here, but…”
“But?” I repeat, not hiding my impatience.
“He’s… in theGreat Ideasteam room.”
My head jerks up. And sure enough, there he is—Marco Eyre—with a hand on Emma’s shoulder, smiling like he just discovered the cure for aging. “What the fuck…”
I set the phone down and rise from my chair without another word. Brenda’s voice continues on the other end, but I’m already halfway to the door, walking fast and furious toward the scene.
By the time I step into theGreat Ideasworkspace, I can hear him—talking tomyEmma like they’re old friends.
I mean—Emma. Just Emma.
“Oh! Luca!” Eyre beams, trying to wave me into the conversation. Emma looks tense. The rest of the team is smiling through clear discomfort.
“Mr. Eyre,” I say calmly, approaching. My eyes flick from his hand still resting on her shoulder to her expression.Easy, Luca. She’s not yours anymore.
“I didn’t know you were working with the talented Emma Green.”
“You two know each other?” I ask with a polite, not-at-all-jealous smile.
“Oh, yes! She’s the reason my daughter’s company is raking in millions. So, rest easy—you’re in excellent hands.” He pats her shoulder like she’s a golden retriever and not the woman who’s been living in my head rent-free since I was seventeen.
“I’m sure,” I say, eyes locked on hers. “That’s why she’s here.”
Not because I’m still obsessed with her. No. Definitely not.
“Well,” he says, leaning in to kiss her cheek, “it was lovely seeing you, Emma.” He starts to back away, but not before adding, “Oh! I’m throwing a party on my yacht this weekend. My daughter will be there too. You’re all invited.”
She turns to the team; one brow lifted in a silent question. Their faces light up instantly thrilled grins, barely containing excitement, the kind of buzz that saysdid that really justhappen?A couple of them exchange wide-eyed looks, already imagining themselves on a yacht.
Emma smiles. “Thank you, Mr. Eyre. We’ll be there.”
“I’ll have my assistant send you the details,” he says.
I glance back at Emma once more and notice her cheeks flushed. That same tell when something rattles her.
On the way to my office, practically herding Eyre along, I study him from the side. Fifty-something. Clean-cut. A few silver hairs perfectly styled. Custom-tailored light gray suit. Wealth bled off of him.
Would Emma go for someone like that?Has she?Could I make him disappear without being caught?Stop it. Breathe. You are not Dexter.
We reach my office, and I sit across from him, barely holding it together. “What?” I ask, catching his stupid little smirk.
