“As ready as anyone can be at eight a.m. on a Monday.”
That’s neutral enough, right?
Even though I’ve been up since five, already trained with Luis, and had a peaceful breakfast, I’m still completely against this whole thing.
I sit in the chair while the makeup artist explains what she’s about to do. Karen tries to make conversation, but I scroll through emails on my phone, giving vague, dead-end responses.
It’s not working, she keeps trying—until Emma walks into the kitchen and sees her hovering too close, doing that thing with her hair she always does when she’s trying to flirt.
Emma raises one eyebrow andpiercesher with a look. Her disapproval lights something up inside me.Maybe this won’t be so boring after all.
“Karen,” I say, looking her over like she’s some kind of priceless antique, “You’re looking particularly radiant today.”
“Oh!” she squeaks, flustered. “Thank you, Mr. Walker.”
Evenshedoesn’t believe what she just heard.
“Luca,” I correct, eyes still on her. “Call me Luca.”
The makeup artist glances at us, unimpressed. She definitely notices the shift in tone. But Karen? Karen is dazzled. Oblivious. Exactly the reaction I was aiming for.
“That’s fine…Luca,” Karen says with a nervous laugh.
I give her a slow, seductive smile, but I’m not really looking at her—I’m tuned in to Emma and the storm cloud of fury swirling around her.
How do I know she’s mad? Easy. She’s pretending to type something on her phone like it’s the most fascinating novel ever written, stabbing the screen like it personally offended her.
I don’t know why she always turns to technology when she’s trying to act like she’snotwatching me.
Karen, completely unaware, adds, “Would you mind giving me a tour of the house? It’s absolutely stunning.”
Emma lifts her eyes.
And holy hell, I've never seen that much rage in them.
“Karen,” she snaps, all sharp professionalism, “do I need to remind you we’re on work hours? If Mr. Walker wants to show you around, it can happenafterward—with the rest of the team.”
The last part comes out in a hiss. And I can’t help it—I laugh. Jealousy’s supposed to be a toxic emotion, but Emma Green jealous? That’s awhole different drug.
Back in high school, I never got to see this side of her. I used to flirt with half the girls at Willow High, and the second they found out Emma and I were together, they vanished. Just like that.
I look at Karen like I’ve just been scolded, too, and shrug. “Maybe another time.”
Karen shifts tactics, her tone now dipped in venom. “Emma, come on… no need to be so stiff. We can work and still have some fun.” She slides her hand along my shoulder, leaning into me like we’ve been friends for years.
I want to shake her off—but watching Emma unravel is far more entertaining.
Her jaw clenches. Her face turns crimson. Her eyes are laser-focused on Karen’s hand like she’s debating whether or not to bite it off.
When she steps forward, I decide it’s time. “I need to speak with Emma,” I say flatly.
Both Karen and the makeup artist freeze.
“Out.”
No more smiling Luca.
They scramble out, muttering complaints from the living room.
