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EIGHT
XAVIER
I smooth my hands over my trousers, wiping away beads of sweat. Despite the cool air conditioning, my palms are clammy. I glance at my watch again. 2:55 pm. Five minutes to go.
The tinted windows give me privacy as the limo idles outside Emma’s apartment building. I glance up, wondering which window is hers. What’s she doing right now—applying a final coat of lipstick? Slipping on heels? My heart thuds against my ribs. I shouldn’t be this nervous to pick up my own “girlfriend” for a charity event. But Emma has a knack for knocking me off-kilter. Maybe by the end of this, I’ll be able to think of her like just another woman.
A rap on the window makes me jump. It’s just the driver. I lower the partition.
“We’re good to go whenever you’re ready, Mr. Johnson.”
I nod. “Let’s give her a few more minutes.”
He heads back to the front as I smooth my palms down my thighs again. Man up. It’s just Emma. The woman who somehow infuriates and intrigues me all at once. The only one who has ever made me second-guess myself with a single look.
My phone buzzes with a text notification. It’s from her.
On my way down!
I text back a quick thumbs up emoji and sit taller, adjusting my bow tie.
Within minutes, the apartment door swings open, and Emma steps out. I stiffen, momentarily stunned. Her hair is swept into an elegant updo with loose tendrils framing her face. The lavender gown clings to every curve, swishing around her feet. She’s radiant. Regal. I have to pick my jaw up off the floor.
I take a deep breath and step out to open the limo door for her. Our eyes meet, and her lips quirk up in a smile.
“Hey you,” she says breezily. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I grin back, admiring the mischief in her eyes. “Your chariot awaits, m’lady.”
I offer my hand. She takes it, fingers cool against my palm. As I guide her into the limo, the scent of her perfume floods my senses. Something floral mixed with a hint of spice. Intoxicating.
Once she’s settled, I slide in next to her, hyperaware of the inches separating us. The driver pulls away from the curb, and we’re officially off to our first public event as a couple. An anxiety I can’t quite place simmers beneath my skin.
“So,” I begin conversationally. “Think we can convince all of Chicago we’re madly in love?”
Emma arches an eyebrow, lips pursed in amusement. “Please. I can play the doting girlfriend in my sleep.”
A laugh escapes me, surprising us both. More surprising is the warmth coiling in my belly as I study her profile as she gazes out the window. Wisps of hair kiss the slender curve of her neck, and suddenly all I can think about is brushing them away with my lips.
Bad idea, Johnson. This whole “relationship” straddles a delicate line, and one wrong move could ruin everything. But when she turns and gifts me with that crooked smile, something tells me our little scheme will get complicated fast.
When we pull up to the illustrious Drake Hotel, I’m a bundle of nerves. It’s far from the first upscale event I’ve attended, but it’s the first with Emma on my arm and that sets of a whole slew of emotions I’m not ready to handle. A chorus of camera shutters greets us as I step out of the limo and extend a hand to Emma. She slides her fingers against mine, velvet over calloused skin, and joins me in the blinding blaze of flashbulbs. We pause at the edge of the red carpet, both instinctively angling toward each other as photographers jostle for the money shot.
“Xavier! Over here!”
Our smiles become strained. Emma’s grip on my elbow tightens imperceptibly as microphones are shoved toward our faces, and I feel a surge of protectiveness that’s new and startling.
“Xavier, care to introduce us to the lovely lady on your arm tonight?”
I pull her closer against my side, hoping to shield her from the barrage. “This is Emma Thompson, a very special woman in my life.”
“Emma, what’s it like dating Chicago’s most popular athlete?”
Her laugh sounds slightly brittle. “Oh, you know, just another day...”
Before she can continue, I guide us down the gauntlet with polite waves. We pass beneath an archway strung with twinkling lights and emerge into the event space proper. The flashbulbs and shouting fade to a distant buzz.
Emma exhales, shoulders loosening. “Wow. I always thought the red carpet stuff looked glamorous on TV.”
