“Just because you want to assume I’m unqualified doesn’t make that true. I have trained for this position for my entire life. This is not up for discussion, Scott.”
“You’ve trained for this your entire life, yet you’re willing to risk it?”
That finally earns my attention, and my eyes tick up to look at him. “What does that mean?”
His smile slowly stretches his mouth. It has a superiority to it, as if he were seconds away from calling checkmate. “Did you have fun last night, Reese?”
What the hell?
My stomach dips at the mere insinuation.
I keep my eyes glued to him, willing him to explain the rest.
“Not so confident playing the big scary boss now, are you?” He pulls an envelope from behind his back, tossing it on the desk between us. “It looked like you had a great time to me.”
I don’t touch it. I don’t want to play this game.
“Go ahead, Reese. I think you’ll agree. You looked fucking thrilled in those pictures.”
Keeping my eyes locked on him, I hesitantly grab the envelope, opening the flap and finally glancing inside.
The first thing that catches my eye is the bright lilac of the dress I wore last night.
Then Emmett’s dark green suit.
The flashes of bright string lights dotted along the top edges of the photographs matching the same ones that illuminated the dance floor last night.
Anxiety wraps me up, stealing the color from my face as I piece together what exactly I’m looking at.
The first photo is of Emmett and me sitting closely together, my head on his shoulder during the reception.
The next is an image of us dancing together, his hand holding mine to his chest, his smiling lips dangerously close to mine.
In the third you can clearly see his tattooed hand palm the back of my head as he bends to kiss me.
And the last one I’m able to stomach looking at is a photo of me talking to Miller, but that’s not the focus of this image. The reason Scott included this particular photo is because ofEmmett. As I talk to his daughter, his eyes are locked on me. Physically, nothing in this photo is incriminating. But it’s the way he’s looking at me. Adoration lines his features. He’s watching me as if he were in love with me.
My heart hammers in my chest. My skin chills with panic. Dread twists my gut.
There’s plenty more photos, but I don’t flip through them. I don’t need to see any more.
There’s no use in denying anything. It’s clearly us in these photographs, and I hate that images from a night as special as Emmett’s daughter’s wedding are going to be used against us.
I close the envelope, tossing it onto the desk.
Somehow, I manage to push the words past the lump in my throat to ask, “You had us followed?”
“Found a kid on the catering staff who didn’t sign an NDA. Threw him a few hundred bucks to confirm my suspicions.” He admits it so carelessly, as if this isn’t the most intrusive thing he could’ve done. And of all nights, of all places, he had to do it there?
“And you printed them out? First of all, what year is it? And second, there’s nothing that says that Emmett and I can’t have a relationship.”
“Oh, bullshit, Reese! Legally, maybe not. Apparently, you get to do whatever the hell you want being the sole owner of this club. But morally?” His laugh carries an evil edge. “You’re his direct supervisor. He’s up for a new contract. You know how easy this is going to be to spin in the media? Either you’ll be the owner who coerced her employee into a relationship, or he’ll be the field manager who slept his way into a new contract. You’re fucked either way, and so is he. He’ll be lucky if he lands himself another coaching job after this one.”
I push up from my seat, hands on the desk. “Donotthreaten him.”
He stands as well. “Then don’t make me.”
We stand off with one another.
