Page 14 of Ruthless Edge

Getting up from my seat, I head out of the stands and I'm already going through the list of everything I know about the charity auction structure and what I need to look up before seven, because if Emma Lawson is going to take this seriously then I am going to be the most prepared co-chair she has ever seen in her life.

She's not immune to me.

She's trying very hard to be, which is different.

I know the difference.

Chapter Four

Emma

I arrive twelve minutes early, which is typical for me and also tactical.

Twelve minutes means I get to choose the seat. Choosing the seat means I put my things on the chair next to me so there's no ambiguity about where Knox should sit when he gets here, which will be at seven-oh-three at the earliest based on available evidence. I spread my laptop, my binder, and my color-coded note system across my half of the table and feel reasonably good about the arrangement.

Then I look around and remember why I shouldn't have picked this section.

The English section is on the third floor, back corner, past the periodicals and the reading nook nobody uses. It has big windows on one wall and tall shelving and a table that seats four but always has too many chairs, so you drag one or two away and leave the rest in a pile. I used to sit at the end closest to the windows. Knox always sat to my left.

There's a scuff on the edge of this particular table that I guarantee has been here for three years because I remember Knox making it. I recognize it. I sat next to it twice a week for four months and now I'm looking at it like it personally wronged me.

Opening my laptop, I pull up the auction framework document I started this afternoon. I’m here to work and the scuff on the table is irrelevant and I made a practical choice that has nothing to do with anything else.

Knox arrives at six fifty-eight, which means he was on time, which means the universe is continuing its campaign against me today.

He comes in carrying more energy than anyone should have at seven in the evening when there’s planning and work ahead of them, coat still on, hair slightly wrecked the way it always is after a shower. He sees me and looks genuinely happy, then picks up all the stuff on the seat next to me, places it on the table, and drops into the seat beside me.

Not across from me. Beside me.

"That seat," I say, and point at the one directly across the table, where I have very deliberately placed nothing.

"This one's fine." He's already shrugging off his coat.

"There's more room over there."

"I'm more comfortable here." He settles in like he doesn’t know how to be anything but relaxed, and he's close enough that I can smell whatever he uses in his hair, which is not information I need. I move my notebook three inches to the left. He doesn't notice, or pretends not to notice, which with Knox is sometimes the same thing.

"Okay," I say. "Let's get started. I've drafted an initial⁠—"

"Hold on." He unzips the front pocket of his bag like he’s doing something important. What emerges is a Twix bar.

He holds it out to me.

My stomach flips.

He remembered. He actually remembered I used to eat Twix bars when we studied, I used to have one every session, and he went out of his way to bring one, which means maybe he remembers freshman year too, which is not a thing I'm allowed to let myself feel good about. And then reality hits me, the true meaning. He didn’t get that for me because he just wanted to get me something I liked. He got it because the fat girl is always going to want food.

That thought is in my head before I can stop it and I hate that it got there so fast. I hate that it's still the first place my brain goes when someone offers me something to eat.

"I'm fine," I say, and I keep my voice perfectly even. "You don't have to feed me."

Knox lowers the candy bar slightly. "What?"

"We both know you wouldn’t get another girl a candy bar. You got the fat girl a snack. But I’m not the fat girl any longer."

He looks at me with complete shock. "Emma. I brought you a Twix because you used to eat one every time we studied together. That's the whole reason."

"Knox—"