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Chapter Ten
Monday, I tried to focus on learning about the American legal system, but every time my mate, Alan Fitz, tried to tell me something, I wouldn't hear it. He would wave a hand in my face or speak my name sharply—and once, he whistled with such piercing intensity that my ears rang for several seconds afterward. I couldn't blame Alan, though. I kept falling into an Emery trance.
I need to know her answer, and the suspense is driving me mad.
That explains why, on Tuesday, I fly to Colorado Springs. I have no ruddy idea where exactly she lives, but I do know she works at Travellis Games. A quick search on my mobile garners me the company's address. I hired a car at the airport to spare myself the agony of a taxi ride. Though I also hired a driver, a pane of glass separates us provided I keep the window rolled up. Privacy is paramount in my world, but drivers always want to interrogate me.
I park in the large lot outside the building. It wraps around the entire structure, which has multiple floors and seems to house various kinds of businesses. I know which floor Travellis Games occupies, thanks to my online search, so I won't need to ask for assistance. I dislike doing that almost as much as I dislike taxicabs. A lift ferries me to the correct floor, where I disembark and stride down the hall to the glass double doors marked with the Travellis logo.
Then I hesitate. If Emery says no, I will have come all the way to Colorado for nothing. But, for no sensible reason at all, I need to see her again and hear her answer, even it's a rejection. At least it will be over then, and I can go home. Traveling is not something I enjoy.
I push through the doors, pausing briefly at the front desk to inquire where I might find Emery Granger, then I'm off again. This entire floor seems to be a cubicle farm with each stall identified by a number rather than a person's name. I pass one cubicle after another as I make my way to where Emery works—or worked. She said she was being made redundant, but I hope she's here today. Otherwise, I'll need to find another way to contact her. I forgot to ask for her mobile number.
At last, I reach the collection of cubicles where I should find Emery. I know I'm in the right place when I spot the back of her blonde head. I would recognize that hair and that erse anywhere. I stride across the room toward her, navigating the maze of vacant cubicles, with my head held high and my shoulders square. Emery thinks my posture is amusing. She told me so on Saturday. But as I march toward her, she's not laughing. The lass looks stunned. Will she like my clothes? I dressed the way I usually do, wearing a charcoal suit, but I'd opted to go without a tie and leave the top button of my white dress shirt open. Maybe I had hoped Emery would think I'm less uptight this way.
No, that's not the reason. I felt like being more casual.
Even stunned, Emery is the bonniest woman in the world.
I reach her seconds after I first spotted her. Two other employees loiter nearby. The man sits in a chair that looks like it could double as a torture device but that I'm sure employers think qualifies as an ergonomic office chair. The woman, who has blue-streaked hair, stands in the cubicle behind his, with her arms resting on top of the flimsy wall.
"There you are," I say to Emery, with all my focus trained on her and her alone.
"Here I am," she concurs.
The man glances between me and Emery with an irritable look on his face. "Who's this guy? You know him?"
"I do," Emery says. She lays a hand on my bicep and squeezes it. "This is Rory MacTaggart. My fiancé."
What did she just say? Fiancé? I'm fair certain I'm staring blankly at her, and I can't swear that my chin hasn't dropped to my chest. She wants to marry me? Why?
Because ye asked her to, ye bloody bod ceann.
"Fiancé?" the woman with blue streaks in her hair says, then she breaks into a wide grin. "Congrats, Em. Why didn't you tell us you were seeing somebody? You sly puppy."
"Um, it just happened. We met in New Orleans."
"Love at first sight? That's so romantic."
The bloke who seems to dislike me twists his face into another irritable expression. "I asked you out four times, and you turned me down cold. You meet this guy a few days ago and decide to marry him?"
"Yes." Emery hooks her arm around mine, snuggling up to me. "You know how spontaneous I am. When I met Rory, we clicked, and I ran with it."
She ran with it? Emery is leaning her body into mine, a moment ago she squeezed my bicep, and now she says I'm her fiancé. If I'm still asleep, this is one barmy dream. Somehow, though, I manage to remain calm and unaffected—on the outside.
The bloke who clearly lusts for Emery shakes his head, but a slight smile tugs at his lips. He rises and offers me his hand. "Congratulations, man. Em's an amazing girl."
I shake his hand, strictly to be polite. "I'm well aware of how fortunate I am."
Emery's friends swarm her, tearing the lass away from me so they can suffocate her in a group hug, havering nonsense I can't understand because they're crying and speaking quickly. They act as if I'm spiriting her away to my underground bunker where I'll lock us in until every other human on the planet has died in the nuclear holocaust I initiated.
The blue-streaked woman releases Emery, spins around, and flings herself at me.
I have no choice. I catch the daft woman and give her a light hug. I don't enjoy hugging anyone, but especially not a stranger.
"Take good care of her," the woman says.
"I will." Is that a lie? Cannae say for sure.
