“We’re in the middle of the fucking FDR!”
“Out!” she screamed, shaking with anger. Her fist was poised in the space between them, ready to punch him again.
He threw open the cab door and stepped out.
“You spoiled little bitch!” he snarled, and then slammed the door shut.
“GO!” she yelled at the cab driver, who did not miss a beat, accelerating and driving off uptown.
Her heart tripped against her rib cage as a wave of nausea came over her. She closed her eyes and forced herself to stay calm. “Thank you,” she said to the cab driver.
He only nodded back.
She stared out the window, willing her hands to stop shaking in her lap as her shock quickly turned into an all-consuming rage.
How could she have misjudged the situation so badly?
She had never given Zane any encouragement. And even if she mistakenly had, his actions were unacceptable! Couldn’t you be kind to someone without them thinking it meant more than that?
“Can’t you?!” she shrieked.
The cab driver looked back at her in the rearview mirror.
Emma ignored him, squeezed her eyes closed. Poor Nadine! She was going to be devastated. And Emma was going to have to be the one to tell her.
When she finally opened her eyes again, she found the cab driver turned around and staring at her. She blinked, only then realizing they had stopped outside her house. With an apologetic smile, she swiped her credit card and got out, walking slowly upthe steps to her front door. The cab drove away, and she paused to watch it disappear down the street.
She took a deep, cleansing breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs. Fuck Zane. She was Emma Woodhouse. No one treated her like that, and both she and Nadine deserved better. As awful as the night had turned out to be, it was better that she learned who he was now rather than later.
It was another moment before she pulled the keys from her bag and unlocked the front door. The house was dark and quiet as she dropped her coat in the foyer and headed downstairs to the kitchen, where she pulled a sparkling water from the refrigerator. She sat down at the island, staring at the French doors while she drank it.
She was fine. It was all going to be fine. Still, her body didn’t feel ready to accept it; her pulse still raced, the adrenaline had yet to ebb.
She wasn’t ready to go to bed just yet.
CHAPTER 10
Knightley woke to the sound of glasses clanging, the shuffling of feet, and the opening of drawers downstairs. The sounds were swimming in his head before he was even aware of them, working into a dream until something in his brain clicked and his eyes shot open.
He listened for a moment until he heard the unmistakable sound of one of his kitchen barstools skidding over the concrete floor, as if someone had walked into it. “Goddamn it!” a familiar voice cursed softly.
Emma had used her key again.
He threw his covers off and grabbed a T-shirt before starting down the stairs, pulling the white fabric over his head just as he entered the kitchen. The freezer door of the refrigerator was open, its light the only source of illumination in the darkened room.
“Hello,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep.
Her head popped out just enough that she could meet his eyes from behind the freezer door. “Did I wake you up?”
He was about to say something sarcastic, like how hearing someone rummaging through his house in the middle of the night mightdo that, but the words tasted sour on his tongue, and he swallowed them back. Because the truth was, he was glad she was there.
They hadn’t seen much of each other this week, not since that awful Sunday dinner. He had tried to move on—spending too much time at the office, adding extra miles onto his runs—but his mind kept returning to what he had said, to her reaction, and to the residual guilt that still plagued him. It was new, something he wasn’t used to feeling, especially not with her. So tonight he had a whiskey. And then another. And then forced himself to bed.
He had expected the guilt to return when he awoke, just as it had done every day this week, but as he stood there, staring at her wide eyes, he realized it was gone.
“It’s not your fault.” He ran a hand down his face. “Sound carries in here since the renovation.”
“I hear taking out a bunch of walls will do that,” she said.
