Chapter 15

Take the business car. Windows are tinted. I know you're not insured if you use it, but if you really crash it, I can always buy a new one.

Luke

Emma stared at the words and slowly shook her head.

He could always buy a new one?

And now he wasn't even here so she could complain about it. The apartment was deserted, and she vaguely recalled that Luke had told her he would be out of town for a few days. She was sure that he hadn't mentioned he would be out before eight in the morning.

Emma had woken in the guest room bed, fully clothed and rather surprised. It felt weird to be in a strange apartment all by herself, and to find a fridge stocked with nothing but milk, yogurt, eggs, bananas, and more eggs.

Apart from the fruit in the fridge, Emma was bewildered that there was nothing sensible for breakfast, not in the pantry, nor in the kitchen cabinets. He had no cereal, no bagels, no cocoa – nothing at all!

She would change that later today. She had planned a council of war with her sister, so she could drive by one of the gigantic grocery stores on the way back.

She looked at the car keys on the counter and shook her head again. It wasn't healthy, having that much money. No wonder so many stars crashed their cars all the time. They knew they could always buy a new one.

Emma took her time getting ready, and left the house at nine, so she could pick up some breakfast on the way. She reached her workplace without further incident, and thanks to the protected underground parking garage of the office building, not a single journalist had been able to approach her at all.

As usual, Linda was already at her desk out front, but she held up her hand when Emma entered, since she was talking on the phone, and taking some hasty notes.

Emma went into her office, sat down at her desk, and started the computer. Just when she was about to open up the spreadsheet with the figures for the Carter/Alberto wedding, there was a knock on her office door.

"It's me, Linda," her assistant called, though the door was made of glass, and Emma was capable of recognizing her through it.

"Come in."

The young brunette entered the room and cleared her throat.

"I know it's none of my business at all, but … are you really going out with Luke Carter?"

The disbelief in her voice was exactly what Emma needed right now.

She sighed. "Have you come in just to ask me that?"

Her assistant quickly shook her head. "No, but I have a problem. All of a sudden this morning, we're being drowned in new jobs, appointments, and requests. We cannot accept them all, but I don't know which ones to confirm and which ones to refuse. What are the criteria?"

Emma raised her eyebrows in confusion. "How many requests are we talking about?"

Her assistant swallowed. "About two hundred within the last two hours."

Holy shit. Stupid press.

"Okay." Emma ran a shaky hand through her hair, before waving Linda over and rising from her chair. The brunette was holding dozens of Post-Its in her hands. "Let me take a look."

Emma took the first batch from her and went through the first ten pieces of paper, before groaning loudly. "Alright, we're not going to accept requests for children's birthday parties. No bachelorette parties, no guinea pig fairs, and least of all anything where the client offers to pay with some sort of barter goods or services, instead of money!"

Linda nodded eagerly and took the stack of square yellow papers from her. "Okay, that's going to decimate the amount considerably. Give me an hour and I'll tell you what's left."

Emma sank back into her chair with a sigh and nodded. "Great. You do that. And could you get me a coffee before you get started on them?"

It would be a long day. But at least it meant that Luke was easily capable of fulfilling his part of the deal.

"And you're really living with him now?"

It was already ten p.m., but since in the States nobody cared whether you went grocery shopping at one in the afternoon or three in the morning, Emma and her sister weren't stressed at all. They strolled up and down the aisles, throwing into the cart whatever struck their fancy, as if they were kids again on a shopping spree with a generous mom.

"Yep. Really," Emma confirmed and took a box of peanut butter cups from a shelf. "He even made dinner last night."

Milla's eyes widened as she rounded a corner with the shopping cart. "Unbelievable. The world is not fair. A man this handsome should burn a pot of water, you know? Was it any good?"

Emma nodded and debated whether to buy half a chicken or a whole one.

"It's still weird to live together with a man. And the issue with the press isn't so funny either."

"Tell me about it! For the first three months after I'd moved in with Steve, I got up in the morning, brushed my teeth and combed my hair, before going back to bed so he would wake up and think I always looked like that …" She fell silent and blushed a little. "Right. You don't have that problem, since you're not sharing a bed … You don't do you?"

Emma rolled her eyes in Milla's direction. That should be a sufficient answer.

"Okay, change of subject. I have news for you." Milla had stopped in front of the canned goods, and gave Emma an expectant look.

"Let's hear them."

Milla smiled sheepishly. "I'll give you a hint."

She reached up and pulled a glass of gherkins from the shelf.

Emma furrowed her brow. "You're making hot dogs tonight?"

Her sister laughed. "No, but I'm going to eat them with chocolate."

It took Emma several more seconds before the information clicked in her head, but once it did, she began jumping up and down excitedly, and then hugged her sister.

"Oh my God, you are pregnant again! Again, wow! Are you going to name this one after me?"

Milla laughed and continued to push the cart along, after Emma had finally let go of her again. "We'll see about that. I'm only a few weeks in, so we can't tell yet whether it'll be a boy or a girl. Shall we pay?"

Emma glanced into the cart. Apart from lots of food, she had bought some decoration items, place mats, and plants, which she planned on scattering through Luke's bachelor's den. The cart was piled so high that there was really no room for more things.

"Sure, let's pay."

***

Luke was tired and stressed out. Not just because of the exhausting games, two of which they had lost, but mostly because of his teammates. They had taken to calling him Lucky, and they had used this name so frequently that even the coach had picked it up. Jake had kept making fun of the fact that, in his words, ‘the wild mustang had finally been tamed,' while Dexter had irritated him with his recurring talk of how it was ‘your plan, hence your problem.' Not helpful at all.

All Luke wanted now was to lie on his couch and do nothing. Maybe drink one bottle of beer.

It was eight in the evening, thus he was rather sure Emma would be home. What he wasn't prepared for was the scene that greeted him as he stepped into his apartment.

He had left it in black and white, with a rather sterile look, and now he had returned into Barbie's dream house. His mouth fell open and he dropped his bag, letting his gaze travel over the living room area in stunned amazement.

His pool table was covered with a lacy white tablecloth, topped by a vase with flowers.

On the fridge door, magnets held a few colorful postcards, and he was pretty sure three days ago, his couch hadn't stood where it was now.

Maybe he would need two bottles of beer.

Swearing softly under his breath, he went to the fridge and opened the door, only to wish he hadn't. The tiers were filled with junk food, chocolate, and diet sodas he didn't even know the names of.

"Oh, you're back!" a cheerful voice assaulted him from the side. He slowly turned towards Emma, whose pink-and-white-patterned dress matched the new place mats to a tee.

"There is a cake in the fridge," he said slowly, reminding himself that he didn't hit women.

"I know, it was on sale."

"And who is supposed to eat this cake?" he demanded, narrowing his eyes at her.

"The two of us, of course."

"We're in mid-season. I'm training or playing every single day. I can't eat cake."

"Oh, that's sad."

"And what's with these place mats?" he asked gruffly, holding up one of the offensive items, which sported a pattern of hot pink flowers.

"You told me I should make myself at home …"

"And home is where the pink place mats are?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "At least it's cozy now."

"And the plants?" He forced himself not to raise his voice too much.

"They're pretty."

"Have you considered that there might be an actual reason for the fact that I don't have any plants? I don't have the time to take care of them!"

"But they make everything more vibrant and alive."

"Not when they're dead."

Her eyes were large and innocent, and her lips parted just a tad. Once again Luke debated whether to yell at her or to ravish her right here on the kitchen island.

"Well, then I'm going to take care of them, and when I leave, I'm taking them with me."

Bad excuse.

He kicked the fridge door shut and pointed at his bedroom door. "If I step into my room now and find a plaid with a crochet pattern, things are going to get really nasty in here."

Emma's face reddened. "Then don't go to your room just yet."

"Emma! If I had wanted to change something about my apartment, I'd have hired an interior designer!"

The right corner of her mouth twitched. "But it's a lot cheaper this way!"

"Oh God!" He leaned against the stove and ran both hands through his hair.

"Hey," his migraine trigger on two legs piped up again, "you could also say thank you."

He gave her an angry look, but she didn't take back her words. "Say thank you?" he growled.

She slowly nodded her head. "I've paid for all of this with my own money. Wasn't that cheap."

That was her argument? Why did women get away with bullshit like this all the time? All this talk about the neglected sex, but Luke knew better: Men who were subjected to a woman's logic were the real poor bastards.

"Thank you for buying all the stuff I never wanted to have," he said hollowly.

She grinned. "You're welcome."

Had it really come to this? A woman – one specific, hot, curvaceous woman – made him get to his knees and surrender, allowing her to turn his pool table into a picnic spot?

He pushed himself off the counter and shook his head. "Oh no!" he said darkly and pointed his finger at her. If he couldn't sleep with her, at least he could give her a dressing-down. That wouldn't be as satisfying, but better than nothing. Better than defeat.

"You need to apologize to me. You've gotten way too used to seizing control. This is still my apartment, and even as my real girlfriend, you wouldn't have the right to change everything the way you want. I liked it exactly the way it was." He might be exhausted and annoyed, and maybe a little piqued in his male pride, but that didn't mean he would allow her to treat him like a doormat.

***

Perplexed by his outburst, Emma dropped on the stool behind her. He had just lowered the boom on her, curbed her presumption.

No man had ever told her she had gone too far. Although … of course several men had told her, but none of them had ever been able to convince her that he might actually be right about it!

"Okay," she conceded with a blink, and apart from that single word, she was speechless for the first time in her life.

"Okay what?" he asked, as if expecting her to lure him into a trap.

She suddenly felt a little stupid. Of course he hadn't wanted her to redecorate his entire apartment. What had she been thinking?

"Okay. I'm sorry. Maybe I overindulged just a little."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Fine!" She rolled her eyes. "Maybe a lot. But you have to admit it looks cozy."

"It looks feminine."

She turned her head and had to laugh. "Yes, you're right; it looks as if we're planning to have a Miss America contest in here. A little too much hot pink. I don't even like hot pink that much, but the tablecloth was on sale. And then the rest somehow went along with it."

He continued to look at her with a tense expression, as if he were waiting for something else.

"You are right; maybe I went too far," she said slowly and was surprised how easy it was to say the words. She laughed. "Ha, what do you know. Never before in my life have I conceded that a man was right."

"Never?"

She shook her head. "Never. You're my first."

She raised her eyes and saw that he was still scowling.

"Tell you what, Lucky. If you stop glaring at me, I'll try once more to understand baseball," she promised.

He guffawed. "Is that supposed to convince me? Because you have so much fun arguing about what an out is?"

"Alright, this time I'll also do my best to really learn the rules," she said with a placatory gesture. "And next week, for that gala dinner in honor of the baseball player whose name I forgot, I'm going to wear something really slutty."

At least slutty enough so she could still cover up the fact that she wasn't a size six or eight.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and that stirred something deep in her stomach. "It's in two weeks, and I was counting on that anyway. I'm still not satisfied."

She sighed and rose from the stool. "I'll take the stuff back, and I'll see to it that I eat all the things that don't fit into your nutrition plan myself … or give them away to the homeless." Without noticing it, she pouted a little, and he rubbed his temple with the palm of his hand.

"Fine," he said finally. "You can leave the place mats and the flowers … but I want my pool table back. Grant me at least that small amount of masculinity."

There was a smile on his face again, and Emma felt a soaring relief. It even caused her to hug him in a spontaneous burst of light-heartedness. "I'm glad you're no longer mad with me. And I'm sorry I tried to unman you."

She wanted to pull away again, but his arms stayed where they were.

She held her breath as she felt his hands slide down her back slowly.

"Uh, Luke," she murmured, her lips only an inch away from his throat. "Do you remember that I told you we won't have sex?"

"I can't think of anything else," he murmured back, and she felt his chin against her cheek. She swallowed, reveling in the tingling of her skin, feeling his hands …

She pulled herself together. "Luke, I was serious then and I'm serious now – no sex! That would only complicate matters."

She poked him in the chest with her finger, and he pulled away with a sigh. "Listen, if you don't want to sleep with me, you had better not hug me like that."

She snorted and looked into his eyes. "Anything else?"

He cocked his head and furrowed his brow. "Yeah … how about taking to wear a potato sack around the house?"

She rolled her eyes. "Dear God, aren't you exaggerating?"

He sighed and ran a hand over his face. "You're really not making it easy for me to be a good guy, Emma, you know that?"

"I bought a whole chicken," she announced; a lame attempt at changing the subject. She nodded towards the fridge. "It's gigantic – that's why I bought it. I thought it was a good fit for your apartment."

He snorted, shook his head, and took the bird out of the fridge. "Not exactly what I would like to devour right now, but okay …"