“I came to pick up Emma Green. I don’t know whothisis, but it’s not her.”
She laughs, kind of shy. “Too much?”
I nod. She exhales. “I just wanted to impress you.”
And see,thatright there? That’s what kills me. Emma doesn’t do fake. She justownswhatever weird or awkward thing she’s feeling. That honesty hits me harder than the dress. “You don’t need a dress to impress me, Em. Honestly, the way you usually dress? That’s what I love about you.”
I turn the key, and we pull away.
“Wait, let me change—you're right. This isn’t me. My mom said if I was going on a date?—”
“Nah, too late. Now I’m stuck enjoying the dress and all the special access that comes with it.”
She laughs again—full teeth this time—and just like that, she’s glowing again. That light of hers? Yeah, it wrecks me.
We park by the museum, but to get there we’ve gotta cross the biggest avenue in the city. Four lanes. Nonstop chaos. We’re waiting at the crosswalk, and I notice her cracking her knuckles over and over.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, my hands shoved in my pockets. I’m in jeans and one of my favorite nerd shirts:I survived Plato’s Cave.’
“I hate big streets. They make me nervous. Too many cars.”
Without thinking, I pull one hand out and grab hers. Firm. Solid. She looks up at me—yeah, I’m taller—and smiles like I just anchored her. “Come on.”
I lead her across when the light changes, still holding her hand tight. And when we hit the other side... I don’t let go.
We walk the whole museum that way. Her hand in mine. I sneak kisses when she’s distracted by a painting or when I just can’t take it anymore.
And I swear—I’ve never been this happy in my entire damn life.
I’m wearing denim shorts, an oversized white button-up, huge round sunglasses, and a floppy white hat to a party Ireallycouldn’t say no to.
Why couldn’t I?
Well… First, because the second Mr. Eyre left the room, my team screamed like we had just been invited to the Oscars.
Second, because I caught the flicker in Luca’s eyes when he heard the invitation, that dark little twitch of his reminded me just how possessive he used to be in high school.
Which, of course, came with memories. Hot, breathy,nakedmemories.
Nope. Stop. Not the time.
So yeah—maybe spending the day on a yacht with my team is worth it if it means watching Luca stew in his own jealousy, especially after a week of emotional whiplash so intense I started seeing him in mypaintings. Literally.
“Hey! Boss!” I hear behind me.
I turn and see Sam waving as he walks up to the marina gate where Mr. Eyre told us to meet.
“I’m not the boss today,” I say, hugging him.
We chat while everyone else trickles in. The team’s got great chemistry. The only one who feels a little off is Karen. She’s not mean, just… different. A little extra. She always shows up overdressed, heels clicking like she’s on a runway, sunglasses perched on her head even indoors. Her laugh carries across the room, big and unfiltered, and she has this way of turning every conversation back to herself. Even a five-minute meeting feels like a full performance when Karen’s in it.
When we reach the dock, Mr. Eyre greets us with open arms. His daughter’s here too—a jewelry designer I worked with on a campaign last year—and we dive right into catching up about her company’s growth.
Around noon, we set sail. And honestly? Everyone’s having a blast.
There’s something about boats that brings out people’strue selves. The wind slaps my cheeks as I hold my hat down, gazing out at the deep blue water and Miami’s skyline in the distance.
The yacht’s got a big open deck up front with plush seats, trays of food, and endless drinks, mostly alcoholic. The kind of luxe setup that makes people swoon. It’s fun. But would I own a boat? Nah.
