The moment I joked with Emma about a nude picture of her, the wonder of what that might look like took over my life.
I left the apartment last night after our brief exchange because I craved fresh air.
I ended up on the sidewalk outside the building talking to my assistant in California. He ran through a litany of issues that he needed my help with, and then I blew him off.
I used the convenient excuse of jet lag to get me out of the conversation.
By the time I went back up to my apartment, Emma was in the guestroom, softly singing. I stood outside the door and listened. Every note was off-key, but I didn’t find it irritating. It was charming in a way that makes no sense to me.
I tilt my head up to let the warm water slide over me. I need to get out of the shower and dry off since I have a meeting in less than an hour.
I bump my fist against the panel in front of me but miss the mark.
The water stops, but a sudden burst of steam envelops me.
This smart shower is another of Drake’s not-so-brilliant ideas. When he had this prototype installed, he boasted that he could turn it on with an app on his phone.
I laughed because I never anticipated that I’d have to experience it in person. Slapping my hand against the panel again, the steam clears.
I’d use the other bathroom and its straightforward shower handle that controls flow and temperature, but that’s reserved for my guest.
I grab a towel and dry myself.
A swipe of my hand across the steam-covered mirror reveals an unshaven face.
I haven’t skipped a morning shave since I moved to California.
It’s just one of the routines that keep my life in order.
I make a mental note to pick up a razor on my way to the office.
As soon as I’ve opened the door and taken a step into my bedroom, the sound of Emma singing hits me again.
It’s the same song she was belting out last night, but this morning it’s muffled by the sound of water running.
If I get my ass in gear, I might catch a glimpse of her crossing the hallway from the bathroom to the guestroom.
One step toward the door of my bedroom is as far as I get.
I look down at my body and the towel around my waist.
There’s no masking the fact that I’m semi-hard.
Dragging a hand through my hair, I scold myself under my breath. “What the fuck are you doing? Get dressed now.”
I drop the towel and head toward my suitcase while Emma eases into the chorus for a third time.
Thirty minutes later,Emma emerges from the guestroom, looking like she took two hours to get ready.
She paired dark jeans with a pink, short-sleeve sweater. The black boots on her feet match the leather bag slung over her shoulder.
As she nears me, she pushes a lock of her dark hair behind her ear, luring my eyes to her beautiful face.
I can’t tell if the attraction I feel to her is based on the fact that she’s off-limits or not. Either way, staring at her isn’t the route I need to take here.
I drop my gaze to the screen of my phone. “Good morning, Emma.”
“Morning,” she chirps. “How are you?”
