back and laughed harder than I had in months, maybe longer than that. It felt really good to laugh so genuinely hard, and with Emmy.
“I’m sorry,” I said through some final chuckles as she glared daggers at me. “The things women do to look hot in a pair of heels.”
A blush rose in her cheeks but she didn’t respond.
“Okay, go soak your sore feet. Wear flats tomorrow.”
“I don’t own any flats,” she said with an aggravated sigh.
“Take some time off in the morning to go shoe sho pping,” I said and sat down on the couch.
“There’s too much to do,” she waved the idea off.
“I’m your boss,” I reminded her. “I am commanding you to go shopping for sensible shoes to be worn in the office.”
An eyebrow raised and a hand went to her hip. “You’re not my boss.”
“You work for me. That makes me your boss.”
“I work with you,” she said. “I am doing you an enormous favor by making your pretend office into a real one, and I don’t get paid, Mr. Kessler . Therefore, I do not work for you and you are not my boss.”
She was right. Furthermore, she was my benefactor. So technically it was I who worked for her. She kind of owned me.
But pushing her buttons to make more of that snarky girl I used to know ease out of her dead shell was fun.
“If you don’t do as I tell you, I will fire you.”
“Fire me and your piece of crap office will eventually get flushed,” she challenged.
“Is that the best you got? Crap and flushed? You reason like an eight year old.”
Flustered, she blurted out “Your mom!”
She disappeared into the bedroom while I sat on the couch laughing at her.
About an hour later Emmy sat her ass down on the other end of the couch. She propped her feet up on the coffee table with a small sigh.
“What are you watching?” she asked.
“One of those international real estate shows. This one is in Paris.”
“I didn’t know you cared about these kinds of shows,” she said, looking at me.
“I usually don’t,” I shrugged. “This one is in France though. It made me think of your time there. Where were you in France?”
“Not too far from Burgundy,” she answered casually as if I knew the difference between Burgundy and any other French town.
“I guess that means nothing to me since I’ve never been to France.”
“It’s a little more than three hours outside of Paris,” she explained.
“Did you like it out there?” I tilted my head to look at her.
She looked at me for a moment before answering. “I guess so. The area surrounding the home I was staying in was…pretty.”
“Who were you staying with?” I felt like an ass for not knowing any of this sooner.
“Helene and Marcus – they are friends of Donya’s.” She gave a small smile. “They were very kind.”
“Did you enjoy your time with them?”
Her smile faded to a frown and she looked away from me. Her eyes focused on the flat screen in front of us.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said and gently cleared her throat.
I never asked why she had gone to the French countryside. I never asked because until recently I never cared, and I didn’t think much about it again. But I should have asked. She was pregnant with my son while she was there, and I should have wanted to know everything she did while she was carrying him inside of her.
“Why did you go there?” I asked her.
She didn’t look away from the television, and she was so quiet for so long I wasn’t sure if she actually heard me. Then I saw her chest rising and falling heavier than it should have been, and with her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail I was able to see the pulse racing in the sensitive flesh below her ear.
“I had to get away,” she said just above a whisper. “I needed to be somewhere…unfamiliar.”
I felt an uncomfortable weight in my chest. It was beginning to dawn on me why she sprinted across the sea.
“What did you have to get away from, Emmy?” I asked, though I should have been
“I’m sorry,” I said through some final chuckles as she glared daggers at me. “The things women do to look hot in a pair of heels.”
A blush rose in her cheeks but she didn’t respond.
“Okay, go soak your sore feet. Wear flats tomorrow.”
“I don’t own any flats,” she said with an aggravated sigh.
“Take some time off in the morning to go shoe sho pping,” I said and sat down on the couch.
“There’s too much to do,” she waved the idea off.
“I’m your boss,” I reminded her. “I am commanding you to go shopping for sensible shoes to be worn in the office.”
An eyebrow raised and a hand went to her hip. “You’re not my boss.”
“You work for me. That makes me your boss.”
“I work with you,” she said. “I am doing you an enormous favor by making your pretend office into a real one, and I don’t get paid, Mr. Kessler . Therefore, I do not work for you and you are not my boss.”
She was right. Furthermore, she was my benefactor. So technically it was I who worked for her. She kind of owned me.
But pushing her buttons to make more of that snarky girl I used to know ease out of her dead shell was fun.
“If you don’t do as I tell you, I will fire you.”
“Fire me and your piece of crap office will eventually get flushed,” she challenged.
“Is that the best you got? Crap and flushed? You reason like an eight year old.”
Flustered, she blurted out “Your mom!”
She disappeared into the bedroom while I sat on the couch laughing at her.
About an hour later Emmy sat her ass down on the other end of the couch. She propped her feet up on the coffee table with a small sigh.
“What are you watching?” she asked.
“One of those international real estate shows. This one is in Paris.”
“I didn’t know you cared about these kinds of shows,” she said, looking at me.
“I usually don’t,” I shrugged. “This one is in France though. It made me think of your time there. Where were you in France?”
“Not too far from Burgundy,” she answered casually as if I knew the difference between Burgundy and any other French town.
“I guess that means nothing to me since I’ve never been to France.”
“It’s a little more than three hours outside of Paris,” she explained.
“Did you like it out there?” I tilted my head to look at her.
She looked at me for a moment before answering. “I guess so. The area surrounding the home I was staying in was…pretty.”
“Who were you staying with?” I felt like an ass for not knowing any of this sooner.
“Helene and Marcus – they are friends of Donya’s.” She gave a small smile. “They were very kind.”
“Did you enjoy your time with them?”
Her smile faded to a frown and she looked away from me. Her eyes focused on the flat screen in front of us.
“I wouldn’t say that,” she said and gently cleared her throat.
I never asked why she had gone to the French countryside. I never asked because until recently I never cared, and I didn’t think much about it again. But I should have asked. She was pregnant with my son while she was there, and I should have wanted to know everything she did while she was carrying him inside of her.
“Why did you go there?” I asked her.
She didn’t look away from the television, and she was so quiet for so long I wasn’t sure if she actually heard me. Then I saw her chest rising and falling heavier than it should have been, and with her damp hair pulled back in a ponytail I was able to see the pulse racing in the sensitive flesh below her ear.
“I had to get away,” she said just above a whisper. “I needed to be somewhere…unfamiliar.”
I felt an uncomfortable weight in my chest. It was beginning to dawn on me why she sprinted across the sea.
“What did you have to get away from, Emmy?” I asked, though I should have been
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