9. Ember

9

EMBER

I t was cold outside the Foster Real Estate building, the kind of bone-deep Manhattan cold that made me question all my life choices—especially the one about standing out here every morning to antagonize New York's most terrifying CEO. I had on my warmest green mittens, two coats, and a cute little hat to keep my head warm. As I read and rehearsed today's hate notes, I swayed and bounced from side to side to keep the chill from settling in, my breath forming little clouds in the frigid air.

Last night's text from Cole still burned in my mind. His first message in days, and it was exactly what I should have expected—cold and transactional, demanding results with no emotion. No emojis to soften the blow, because God forbid Cole Northman show a hint of actual humanity.

Asshole. The worst part wasn't even that he'd probably cheated before we broke up or that he was forcing me out of his company with this ridiculous assignment. What really stung was how the whole thing had left me unable to trust my own judgment. How was I supposed to date when I couldn't even trust myself to recognize when someone was manipulating me?

My fractured ability to trust was on full display last night. Kora set me up with her cousin, who was finally in town and single at the right time for us to meet. He was handsome in that wholesome way that usually spelled trouble, polite enough to make my teeth hurt, and practically waving green flags with both hands. A year ago, I would have been all over that. Instead, I found myself searching his face for signs of the mask I'd missed with Cole.

I told him I was too focused on work for it to be fair to date anyone, apologized, and broke things off before they even began. Sure, the work thing was partially true, but the real truth? I kept imagining how Cole had flipped a switch and changed. One day he was the perfect boyfriend, the next he was this cold stranger wearing Cole's face.

I thought I knew him. I'd have bet money I knew the real Cole. Then he just... transformed.

It was all I could think of on my date with Kora's cousin. Now I worried the brain disease Cole left me with would be terminal. I'd die alone—unless a drawer full of tastefully named vibrators and dildos counted as life partners. Even Catman had given me a judgmental look when I came home early from that date, his one good eye full of feline disappointment.

A stir in the gathered crowd snapped me back to reality. Orion and his sister were approaching, and my heart did that stupid little flutter it had started doing lately. Not that I was bragging, but ever since I took over as his Hate Notes messenger, the morning crowd had been steadily growing. I liked to think it was because of my expert delivery. It might also have been the collective thrill of watching someone torment a man they feared too much to cross themselves.

Orion was, as always, immaculate. His dark gray suit fit him like a glove, and his sharp jawline was a masterpiece carved from marble. I wasn't saying I was impressed or anything, but the man did have a certain aura that made you want to throw pencils at him just to see if he'd flinch. Spoiler: He wouldn't. He'd probably catch them mid-air without looking and use them to sign something important while maintaining eye contact.

I waited while he said something to his sister, Remmy, whose bright smile always made her look more approachable than he'd ever be. Remmy rolled her eyes at him and headed toward me, her artistic soul apparent in her paint-splattered jacket and the way she moved like she was dancing to music only she could hear.

She paused. "Got any good ones today?"

"Very," I said, warming to her presence like I always did. "Oh, did you end up getting enough artists for that showcase tomorrow?" Yeah. That's right. I worked in a little small talk with Orion's sister each morning. We were practically friends by now.

Remmy's face lit up. "Yes! We got the final artist to agree just in time. It's going to be amazing." She took a step as if to leave, then turned back. "Do you want to come?"

Orion was still within earshot, and the look on his face told me all I needed to know. The muscle in his jaw ticked in that way that definitely didn't make my stomach do weird flips.

"Yes," I said immediately, partly because I was genuinely interested and partly because of that delicious flash of annoyance in Orion's eyes. "Absolutely yes. What do I wear?"

"Something a little fancy, but don't stress too much. If you look like a slob, people will just assume you're an artist trying to make a statement."

"You can't invite her," Orion said, his voice clipped. The deep rumble of it did things to me that I refused to acknowledge.

"She just did, Mr. Foster," I said sweetly. "Will you be attending?"

"Yes, however?—"

"Perfect. I'll see you there, then."

"Ry," Remmy said, touching his chest with a knowing smile. "I doubt she's going to read you any hate notes while she's there. In fact, I think you two would get along amazingly if not for this little arrangement."

Orion gave me one of his most withering, admittedly sexy glares. "No. I highly doubt that."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I have a strict policy when it comes to associating with turds." I cupped my hand around my mouth and whispered, "I don't associate with them. Sorry, Orion."

A ripple of laughter moved through the gathered crowd. Orion's jaw ticked, his nostrils flared, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of the storm brewing in his icy blue eyes. If looks could kill, I'd have been vaporized on the spot.

Remmy gave him a pat on the arm. "Good luck with her, Ry. And if you make an excuse to skip the gallery, I'll know you're full of shit—and I will never forgive you." She smiled sweetly, then strolled off toward her building, leaving us to our usual morning routine.

I cleared my throat and raised the first note, suddenly very aware of how close he was standing. The crowd of onlookers raised their phones, eyes lit with excitement.

"Dear Mr. Foster..." I tried to ignore how his cologne seemed to cut through the winter air, making it hard to focus on the words in front of me. “When I was a kid, I watched the Terminator movies and had nightmares for years about robots taking over and killing us all. Ever since I started working for you at Foster Real Estate, those nightmares have ended. So maybe I should thank you. But I still dream about robots taking over. Except now they have impeccably combed hair, calendar-coordinated clothing rotations, and follow everybody around demanding they think about nothing but work. Last night, I dreamed you were standing outside my shower and shouting every time I missed a spot with the soap. Next, you pulled back the curtain, revealing you were completely nak…"

I trailed off, cheeks burning as I skimmed the rest of the note. The winter air suddenly felt a lot warmer. "What the hell is this?" I asked as onlookers chuckled and shared looks.

"Sexual advances are where you draw the line?" Orion asked, voice rough in a way that made my skin tingle. "But you'll happily read the rest of these idiotic notes to me?"

Now it was my turn to glare. He really should know by now that challenging me wasn't a wise move. "I wasn't done," I said, lifting the note higher and projecting my voice as I continued to read, trying to ignore how his eyes darkened.

“You were completely naked. Your body glistened from the steam of the shower, and your well-endowed manhood hung with a weighty girth I only dared imagine until that point. You took it in your hand and began to stroke yourself as you watched me, making sure I applied the soap generously and vigorously to every . Last . crevice.

“ Then, you took me in your arms and dragged me to my bed. You taught me what it meant to be a man—” I paused to let the crowd snicker at that part. “Plot twist, right?” I said, diving back into the note as Orion’s expression darkened.

“You took me in so many positions that I lost count. But before I could finally orgasm, you lowered your lips to my ear and whispered these words.

“I need that TPS report by Thursday, or your ass is fired.

“And then I woke up. So, screw you for being such an asshole that you can’t even get a sexy dream right.”

I lowered the card with a grin as the assembled onlookers laughed, though my heart was racing. Something had shifted in the air between us, making it harder to breathe.

Orion was giving me a look that made heat pool low in my belly. His eyes held mine with an intensity that said he was hoping he had suddenly developed laser vision just so he could incinerate me where I stood.

I straightened and shuffled my little deck of cards, using the motion to hide how my hands shook. "Think we'll have any more pervy ones this morning? Because that was fun."

"Enough," he said, turning and walking toward the building with long strides that made his perfectly tailored pants do interesting things around the shape of his muscular thighs and ass.

"You know I'm going to follow you," I called after him, hurrying to keep up. "When you lead me into the building, it just makes me think you like being alone in the elevator with me. Do I smell good? Is that it?”

Orion cut me a look that should have killed me, but I smiled cheerily back. I was playing with fire and I knew it. The problem was, I'd always liked getting burned

I flipped the stack of cards until I landed on one that had my handwriting. I had scribbled this on my walk here today, and it was my desperate attempt to fast-track this whole scheme of mine.

“Mr. Foster,

“That girl who reads you Hate Notes is really pretty, charming, funny, and such a great dresser. I also think it’s super admirable that she never accepts your bribes, even though she’s probably super poor and could absolutely use the money. Have you ever considered that she might be hoping for an offer other than money? Maybe you should widen your bribery horizons and get creative. Hmm? Just a thought.

“Oh, and while we’re just giving thoughts… Have you ever considered lightening up? I can’t believe you can listen to these notes every morning and still refuse to change. It’s either impressive or the greatest single act of stubbornness in human history.”

I looked up from the card as the elevator doors closed in front of us.

Orion stared at me. “What is it you want, Ember?”

Even hearing my name on his mouth did things to me that weren’t entirely unpleasant. I pushed through the feelings and gave a snarky smile. “Mr. Foster…I’m a proper woman. I don’t just come out and say what I want.”

He clenched his jaw so hard I thought I heard his teeth groaning. “Sex? Is that what you’re after? You’re trying to… seduce me?”

I sputtered with laughter. “No, no. God, no.” My first laughs had been genuine, but the combination of the weird sex dream I just read and the looming, brooding, admittedly sexy presence of the man-made the last laughs come out with a fake tinge.

I swallowed, going suddenly quiet. “No. That’s not what I was trying to get at.”

“Then what?”

“A job,” I said. “A real job. Not this… Hate notes crap. I could work for you. I’m actually qualified. I brought my resume incase—” Orion snatched the resume from my hand as soon as I produced it from my messenger bag.

He folded it carefully down the middle once, twice, then stuffed it in his suit pocket. The elevator dinged.

“I will consider your request,” he said, stepping off the elevator. “And Ember?” he added.

“Yes?”

“I’m asking you not to come to the art gallery tomorrow.”

The doors begun closing, so I cupped a hand to my ear and smiled. “What was that? I couldn’t hear?—”

The doors shut as I smiled wider to myself. If Orion was so worried about me coming to the gallery, then I had to go. That much was a given. Even if a small voice in my head whispered that maybe, just maybe, I wanted to go for reasons that had nothing to do with my original plan.

I silenced that voice and headed home to figure out what the hell I was going to wear tomorrow night. Knowing my luck, Catman would take one look at my outfit choices and give me that judgmental one-eyed stare that said I was fooling absolutely no one - least of all myself.