“Is it about forgetting this whole plan of not telling anyone?”
“The exact opposite of that, actually.”
She couldn’t hear his chuckle, but she felt it roll through his body. “So you never want to tell anyone?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” She opened her eyes and leaned back, meeting his gaze. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Who is going to get hurt?”
Me.
But she didn’t say it. Instead she sighed. “My dad, Margo, Ben, Mrs. Pawloski. They’re all going to getinvested.”
He gently pushed her hair behind her ear, his eyes doing a slow survey of her face. “Okay. Let’s talk about it tonight, then.”
“Tonight.”
“We should eat dinner first.”
“Right.” She stepped away from the sink and caught her reflection: flushed cheeks, wild hair, her lips slightly swollen.
Shit.
Her hands brushed through her chestnut hair and she took a deep, calming breath.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asked, smiling.
She nodded. “Fine. Totally fine.”
As much as she had feared otherwise, they somehow managed to get through dinner without anyone mentioning that Emma looked like she had been thoroughly manhandled in the half bath. In fact, the conversation seemed to focus on everyone but her.
Margo complained about her swollen feet, her father insisted on sharing every detail of his new rowing machine, Ben wanted to know who could make it to the soft opening of the restaurant next month—at least, that’s what she thought they talked about. Emma’s attention was focused on maintaining a placid facade even as her heart raced. Knightley sat beside her at the head of the table, but she hadn’t looked at him since their encounter in the bathroom. She couldn’t.
He hadn’t said anything during the meal either. Of course, he rarely did, but this time it was different. She could feel his amused look whenever his gaze shifted to her, even if she refused to face it. He was enjoying this. What a dick.
As he served himself a second helping of roasted chicken, Ben turned to his brother.
“So, how was LA?” he asked.
Knightley shrugged. “It was LA. Lots of traffic. Lots of work. The deal is on track, though. We’re not anticipating any issues.”
“That’s lucky,” Ben replied. “I would think trying to bring two companies together like that would have been a headache.”
“Well, when you bring two things together, sometimes people focus on the possibility of problems more than the fact that there might not be any problems at all.”
Emma’s eyes darted from her plate to Knightley. He was still looking at Ben, but there was a sardonic grin on his lips that she knew was meant exclusively for her.
Ben scoffed. “Except if you work in restaurants. Then there’s always a problem.”
“Sweetie, your business partner running off before half of the investors could cut their checks is not a problem for all restaurants. Just your restaurant,” Margo said.
“Hey, they all paid up eventually.”
“Only because your wife is amazing at drafting iron-clad contracts,” she replied with a saccharine smile.
“Oh, I remember when Burt and I almost got into restaurants. It was a disaster!” Mrs. Pawloski lamented. “The permits, the leases, not to mention that no one really wanted a Polish fusion restaurant in 1998.”
Knightley nodded as he stole a glance at Emma. His smile broadened then, as if her look of pure rage was somehow attractive.
