Chad and Emma exchange anxious looks.
“I want your team working on-site,” I state calmly, still staring at the pen. On-site means my office. My territory. Where I can see her, provoke her, whenever I choose.
“Ah, I see…” Chad stammers, momentarily at a loss. Emma gives a subtle nod, prompting him to regain composure. “I think we can make that happen. Although, we pride ourselves on our creative offices. We even have a game room?—”
“We can replicate it here. I have the perfect space,” I lie effortlessly.
Why the hell am I doing this?Every rational thought I have disappears when she's involved.
“Oh, in that case—” Chad begins.
I stand abruptly, suffocated by the tension, annoyed at myself for losing the control I always wield effortlessly. Control is everything I have. Theonlything I have. "Please coordinate the final details with Brenda," I state, adjusting my suit jacket and placing my phone in my pocket.
My gaze locks with Emma’s for a split second, enough to catch the confusion swirling in her vivid green eyes.
You and me both, sweetheart.
Pocketing the pen, I stride out of the room. Away from Emma. Away from the emotional chaos she ignites, feelings I've meticulously buried.
Aristotle once said that emotions move within the soul, linked to pleasure and pain. Well, damn, he nailed it.
Because right now, my emotions have me practically running from that room—terrified of what Emma Green still does to me.
Mrs. Hook is the librarian at Willow High. I got to be honest, it's not exactly a huge library. Most of the books are here because my dad donated them. Guess that's why Mrs. Hook always throws a big smile my way when I walk in.
I like her, though. She’s chill and motherly in a way my own mom isn’t. Her hair’s dyed a faded blonde with white roots peeking out. She wears frameless glasses, lenses scratched up, always smudged. Honestly, I don’t know how she sees anything.
As soon as she spots me, she grins and closes the book she’s reading. I shoot her a half-smile back, even though that's not really my thing. But she deserves some effort since I'm here more than at home anyway.
"Luca!" She sounds way too excited. "Just the guy I wanted to see."
I lean on the tall desk, fist under my chin. "What'd I do now? Forget to bring something back again?"
“Oh, honey, that only happened once. And let’s be honest—nobody in their right mind was fighting over Faust.”
Ah, yeah.Faustby Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. Guy sells his soul to the devil for ultimate knowledge. Honestly, it got under my skin for months; that's why I held onto it.
"Okay, then what's up?"
"Your request to get the Greek philosophers got approved!" She’s practically bouncing.
"Took 'em long enough to realize how lame this library is," I reply. Mrs. Hook probably expected some excitement, but she knows me better by now. Smiles aren’t my thing—except that one I gave Emma Green when she showed up with paint smeared all over her face. That was actually funny.
"They’re arriving this afternoon," she says, pulling me back. "Give me a few hours to get them in the system, but tomorrow you can take whatever you want."
"Cool." My eyes wander over the desk, scattered with random books like always. One catches my attention—it's got some weird art on the cover and a sticky note with "Emma" and a doodled heart.
Mrs. Hook notices and smiles softly. "That's taken." But she still picks it up to show me.
Dalí. The Persistence of Memory, melting clocks and all, partially hidden by the note.
"Yeah, I saw it." I flip through briefly. "Not really into Dalí, he's too... random."
"Oh boy, here we go..." someone mutters behind me.
I turn, and there she is—Emma Green, a bandana tied around her head, white with black swirls. She has on an oversized shirt with a famous image of the Buddhist monk from Vietnam. Bold choice.
"Excuse me?"
