He’d curse Arnold Purefoy to Hell, if he believed in such a place. He had no idea how the man had become the head of a large studio with such fragile nerves. Still, Josh needed to get William Ransler signed, or this whole project, the last two years of his life, would disappear in a puff of smoke.
He spun the watch again, watching the light glint off it, and sighed. Things were coming along well, he assured himself. He’d been in almost constant communication with Emma in the week since she’d brought the decorator by. They’d made progress by leaps. She’d talked him through the design process with Shinae, helping him refine his ideas for decor until they’d come up with a scheme that all three of them thought was best: understated elegance with small touches of what Shinae referred to as ‘feistiness’. He’d finalized the guest list and chosen invitations, signed off on the press release and read through stacks of catering menus. He’d been a bit lost on that last task, overwhelmed by all the delectable sounding food, but thankfully Emma had stepped in and suggested a tasting, which saved him from blindly selecting something at random.
As soft-spoken as she may be—borderline shy at times—Emma was efficient and hardworking as all get-out. Josh thought she could give Martin a run for his money. But the thought of having that slight, waifish woman with her striking green eyes and that mass of dark hair at his beck-and-call floated all kinds of interesting images to the surface of his mind.
Josh wasn’t quite sure when it had happened, but by working so closely with her over the last week, the sympathy he initially felt toward her for her shyness had slowly begun to morph into attraction.
He’d even surprised her into a laugh, once. They’d been doing the second walkthrough of the house, the one with Shinae, when the decorator expressed astonishment at the number of rooms the house possessed. She never would have guessed from the driveway, she told him. He’d been unable to resist such a perfect opportunity and nodded, straight-faced, saying, “It’s bigger on the inside.”
Emma had hiccupped soft laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. Her green eyes twinkled over the curve of her fingers. She looked young in that moment in a way he hadn’t seen before. Her face was youthful, of course, but she acted so mature that it was hard to guess her real age. But in that moment of laughter, Emma reminded him of a mischievous child. It was a good look for her.
“Strange,” she whispered under her breath. “It doesn’t look like the TARDIS.”
He was surprised she was a
Doctor Who
fan, honestly. But then, the show had experienced a resurgence of popularity lately. “The TARDIS can look like whatever it wants,” he replied. She shook her head, but she was smiling.
He’d tried to do it again, several times. But though he’d caught her lips twitching a time or two, she never again uttered that little laugh. As he watched for it, he noticed other things about her. Her hair was dark brown, but there were strands of lighter shades that caught the light when she turned her head. When she wanted to say something controversial but was hesitant, she chewed her lower lip on the left side. She clicked her pen incessantly when she was thinking.
It reached the point that Josh contemplated kissing her. Her mouth looked so soft—completely kissable. And they’d been sitting very close as they perused the invitations. But in the end, he refrained. Technically she was his employee, at least until the ball was over, and he didn’t like to smudge that line. Emma didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d appreciate offers of smudging, either. Now, once the ball was over . . . that was a whole different story.
“What has you smiling?” Ben asked, strolling into the office.
Josh arched a brow at his friend. “Don’t you knock?”
Ben folded himself into the chair opposite Josh. “Nope. Now answer my question. Has this got anything to do with William Ransler?”
Josh perked up at the mention of the star’s name, tucking the watch into his pocket. “No. Why? You have news?”
“Who loves ya baby?” Ben grinned, leaning back in the chair and propping his feet on the edge of the desk.
Josh scowled. “Well, I would have said you, except you’re clearly enjoying torturing me. Spill it.”
“I have it on very good authority that word of your charity project has reached the illustrious Mr. Ransler’s ears. He is paying attention. It’s quite the talk of the town just how ‘hands on’ you’re being.” Ben made air quotes with his fingers.
Josh couldn’t help but momentarily think of being ‘hands on’ with Emma, but he pushed the thought away. He had to focus on Ransler now. “And? Did he agree to a meeting?”
“No,” Ben shrugged in apology. “But I did get him to agree that we could revisit the issue
after
the ball.”
Josh slumped slightly in his chair. “All the ball gets me is a chance at a meeting? Not even a guarantee of one? I was hoping for more.”
“It’s more than you’ve got now,” Ben pointed out. “Oh, I got my invitation in the mail today, by the way. Very swanky. I like it.”
“Already? That was quick. Emma only just said she was sending them out two days ago.” Josh tapped his fingers against the edge of his desk, wishing he could fast-forward time to the night of the ball and be done with it.
“Who’s Emma?” Ben asked, brows rising beneath the fringe of his hair. “I thought you said the Picture Perfect lady’s name was Clarice?”
“It is. Clarice is the owner. Emma is. . . .” Josh trailed off. “Well, I guess I don’t really know her exact job title. Clarice’s assistant or something. But she’s handling the team that’s planning and promoting the ball.”
Ben perked up, swinging his shoes back down to the floor. “Is she cute? How old is she?”
“Whoa, down boy. She’s not your type.” He tried to picture the quiet, methodical Emma dealing with Ben’s boisterous and often scattered personality and couldn’t do it.
Ben quirked a brow. “I’ll be the judge of that. Just because you don’t want to date again in this millennium doesn’t mean the rest of us are content to spend our lives alone.”
“I am not . . . ,” Josh began, but then snapped his mouth shut. Ben loved to poke fun at his love life—whether it was over a lack or an abundance—because he knew it riled Josh quickly. Josh wasn’t going to fall for it this time. “I’m not having this conversation with you. Emma is off limits. That’s all you need to know.”
Ben’s brown eyes widened. “Oh. Like that, is it? All you had to do was say, man. You know I don’t poach.”
“It’s not. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not. You’d just overwhelm the girl, is all. She’s a bit shy. Reminds me of myself in high school, and I’d hate to see her bulldozed. So back off. Got it?” Josh watched his friend, waiting for a response.
Ben studied his face in return before finally nodding. “Sure thing, man. Whatever you say.”
“Good.” Josh stood and headed for the door. “Now, you up for some tennis? I need to work off a little steam or I’m going to fly to Hollywood and strangle Arnold Purefoy with my bare hands.”
Josh could feel Ben’s gaze heavy on his back as his best friend followed him out of the room. He brushed off the look, along with the annoying feeling that he’d made an ass out of himself. He was just protecting a shy young woman, he assured himself. The fact that he found her attractive was neither here nor there.
Sure
, whispered the back of his mind.
You keep pretending to believe that.
Emma jumped as if she’d been stuck with a pin when the door to her office swung open. She hastily minimized the internet browser window for Mysterium-Masks.com as Clarice stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“Tell me everything is going perfectly for the Owens ball.”
Emma swallowed heavily around her heart, which was suddenly in her throat. “Um. . . .” She flushed as if she’d been caught looking at porn. “Everything is going perfectly!”
The silver-haired CEO leaned back against the closed door. “Okay, but don’t
lie
. Are there any problems?”
“I’m not lying. There are no problems. Or none that I can’t handle. You just caught me off guard.”
Clarice’s eyes narrowed. “Have you gotten a good response from attendees?”
Emma nodded emphatically. “Better than good. We haven’t received a single ‘no’ yet, and Padma’s phone has been ringing non-stop from assistants trying to finagle invitations for people who didn’t make the list. But we planned for that. We’ve set aside 10 invitations per week that go on a first-come-first-served basis.”
“And Mr. Owens has some set aside to use at his discretion, I presume?” Clarice asked. Emma knew her brows would be raised if not for her recent Botox injection.
“Of course. Shinae’s on top of the decorations, and Dag and Marla have all the games planned out. I’ve booked the musicians. As soon as we finish the tasting and solidify the menu, we’ll be ready to go.”
Clarice pursed her lips. “No sponsors?”
“Josh, Mr. Owens, said he’d prefer not to have swag bags.” Emma’s lips twitched. What he’d actually said was that the ‘whole damn point of charity is that you’re giving from the goodness of your heart, not because you get
prizes
’. His vehemence had surprised her.
Her boss tapped bony fingers against her lips, staring hard at Emma’s face. Emma shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze. Finally, a smile spread across Clarice’s artificially unwrinkled face. “There’s a man, isn’t there?”
“I— Pardon me? Where?” Emma blinked, completely adrift with the change in topic. The CEO leaned her hip against Emma’s desk. Emma stared, trying to remember if Clarice had ever come this far into her office before. The last time might well have been on her first day at Picture Perfect.
“There’s been something”—Clarice waved a hand vaguely around Emma’s head—“different about you lately. You’re on edge. It’s been driving me batty trying to figure out why. But just now, you had a sparkle in your eye, which I remember well. There’s a
man
in your life. No wonder you’re on edge. Love will do that to you.”
Emma shook her head so emphatically that several strands of hair slid from her chignon. “No. No! There’s no man. I’ve just been . . . .” She snapped her mouth shut, alarmed at the words about to spill out of her mouth. ‘Planning a heist’ was not a good explanation. She cleared her throat and began again, slowly. “I’ve just been fighting with my brother. That’s all. You know how siblings are.”
The corners of Clarice’s mouth twitched downward microscopically in what Emma assumed was a frown.
“No, I don’t. I’m an only child.”
Emma laughed nervously. “Oh, well, lucky you. They’re a pain!”
“You’re sure?” Clarice asked.
“Very. There’s no man.”
Josh is a man
, the snide little voice piped up. Emma snuffed it. Yes, technically, in the anatomical sense, Joshua Owens was a man, (not that she’d ever contemplated his anatomy). And yes, technically, he was in her life. But he wasn’t a man
in
her life. Not like that.
Clarice straightened and moved swiftly to the office door. “That’s a shame. You’re young, Emma, for all you like to act older. And it’s been a while since your last date. Unless you’re having some secret affair?” Clarice’s eyes twinkled. Emma felt heat sting her cheeks.
“No secret affairs either. Sorry to disappoint.”
Her boss made a soft tsk-ing noise. “It’s not me you’re disappointing, sweetie. I just hate to see your youth going to waste. Think about it, hmm?” Clarice’s lips tugged upward a bit, and then she glided out of the office.
Emma stared at the door long after her boss had exited, wondering where that had come from. Clarice was hardly the maternal type, and their relationship had always been strictly professional: cordial, but nothing beyond that. Certainly not anywhere near the level of personal information they’d just shared. They only ever talked about work, and hardly even that, with Clarice being out of the office so often recently.