Emmy
I woke in the night, too warm, with a heavy weight pressing against me. Ben’s arm was flung over my middle, locking me in place beside him. I tore the covers off my legs, separating myself from the death grip Ben had me in. I rolled away from him, the cool sheets feeling like heaven against my overheated skin.
Waking slightly, Ben whispered my name and I could tell something was bothering him. The distressed tone of his voice was like a knife to my heart. He bore some great burden and I was the key to freeing him. I moved closer, and forgetting all about how warm I had been, held him tight, running my hands up and down his back to soothe him back to sleep. If he needed me, I was there.
He breathed my name once more before dozing off again. I wanted him to feel safe and comforted. To not have to take those pills again.
His story about his mother ripped at my heart. Ben was like no one I’d ever met. I could feel something pulling us together in my very soul. We were the same: This man who wanted more had desperately tried to win his mother’s love and approval. I wanted more—better—for myself, too. I wanted to make my parents proud. I wasn’t trying to win their approval, but wanted to show them all their hard work was for a reason, that I could make something of myself. We were each driven by that basic need to please our parents. I guess it was true what they said—you never really escaped your childhood. The desire to soothe his fears was an overwhelming urge. I wrapped my arms around him and held on tight.
After last night, I was eager to get to the hotel to see Ben. It felt like we were moving in the right direction. He’d opened up to me and I could see us spending passionate nights together in his bed becoming a regular thing. Something that would be just fine with me.
Once inside my room, I shucked off my shoes and tossed my purse on the chair then retrieved my phone to call Ben. Glancing at the clock, I realized he should be back from his shoot.
He answered on the third ring, sounding breathless. “Hello?”
“Hi sexy. It’s me.”
“Uh . . . hi.” His tone was short and slightly frustrated.
“Is now a bad time?”
“One sec.” I heard him say something to someone in the background and a female voice answered. The voice had a British accent.
My stomach knotted. “Where are you?”
“My room. Can I call you back in a few?”
“Sure.” I put the phone down with shaky hands. He said he’d call me back later, but he was in his room with Fiona and something about that didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t trust Fiona, didn’t know if I trusted the two of them alone together.
I made my way to his room, some unknown force propelling me forward. I knocked on the door, my heart pounding, and my expression determined.
A few moments later, Ben answered, his face flushed, his pulse thrumming in his neck.
“Emmy . . .”
He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt but his hair was damp, like he’d just come from the shower. Had he showered with Fiona? My stomach cramped violently at the thought.
Ben’s hand moved to the doorframe, blocking me from entering. “I’m discussing something with Fiona. Now’s not a good time.” His voice was low and his posture tense. I’d definitely interrupted something.
Glancing behind him, I spotted Fiona sitting on his bed, her heels kicked off and her purse spilled open beside her.
I’d always figured Fiona was emotionally indestructible, yet here she was, eyes red and swollen with tears freely streaming down her cheeks. She hastily wiped her face with the back of her hand. Ben cleared his throat and my eyes swung back to him. The mood was tense and it was clear I was intruding.
“I’ll call you in a bit,” he said, speaking in hushed tones as he watched me with sorrowful eyes.
I nodded and swallowed the lump in my throat. Ben closed the door, leaving me standing alone in the hall.
Ben
Fiona had thrown me for a fucking loop. Showing up to my door, crying like I’d never seen her do. I’d listened and held her while she cried and told me all about her failed attempts to have a baby. I’d never taken Fiona for the motherly type. But at thirty-eight, she was apparently desperate to have a baby, with or without a man in her life. It was admirable of her—her desire to be a parent. Of course there was little I could do to help other than hold her and try to quiet her sobs. But then when she’d dumped the contents of her purse out onto my bed, revealing the syringe filled with fertility drugs she wanted me to inject her with, I quickly learned why she’d come to me.
She said she didn’t want anyone to know in case it didn’t work. And she was too scared to give herself the shot.
Just as she was walking me through the instructions, a knock at the door had startled us both.
I couldn’t tell Emmy about this. I respected Fiona’s desires to keep it private. Hopefully she would get pregnant with her next scheduled artificial insemination, and no one would ever need to know about her struggles.
Fiona’s puckered mouth told me she wasn’t naive—she was all too aware of Emmy’s evening visit to my room.
“You’re getting too close to my assistant,” she said after a full minute of silence.
“Emmy?” I played dumb.
“Yes, Emerson. And don’t act surprised. I can see there’s something between you two.” I stayed quiet, unpacking the syringe and alcohol wipes on the bed beside us.
“Ben, I’m serious. I don’t like it. When I told you not to shag my assistant, I meant it.”
“Relax, Fiona. You can’t be tensed up for what I’m about to do.”
She pulled in a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Okay, but you realize if there’s something going on, I could fire her and send her home.” My jaw tensed, but I didn’t tell her that if she fired Emmy, I’d just move her into my room and have her remain here with me.
“You wouldn’t do that. You want me to continue helping you, don’t you?” I uncapped the syringe and Fiona nodded meekly. We both knew I had the upper hand here.
She walked me through the instructions the nurse had given her, how to swab a spot near her belly button with an alcohol wipe then pinch the skin before swiftly jabbing in the needle.
After I administered Fiona’s shot and sent her on her way, I made myself a stiff drink.
Now with one vodka tonic under my belt, I sent Emmy a text message and waited for her response. I was considering pouring another drink when my phone vibrated against the nightstand.
I could tell she was pissed. She didn’t even want to say Fiona’s name. I guess I couldn’t blame her. I sensed they had some strange female jealousy thing happening and it wasn’t something I wanted to encourage.
It took her several minutes to reply.
Her response was less than enthusiastic but she was coming. A few minutes later, just as I’d returned from filling the ice bucket, she knocked softly at my door. I pulled it open and tugged her inside, kissing her gently on the mouth.
Emmy was tense at first, but as my hands curled around her waist and slid down to cup her ass, I felt her relax against me. God, her ass felt amazing in my hands. I knew I owed her some type of explanation, but damn if my body didn’t jump to attention when she was near. There’d be time for talking later. I wanted her. I deepened the kiss, hauling her even closer, until her chest was pressed flat against me, and her tongue softly flickered
