9. Roland

Iwanted to despise Emerson. I'd earned it, that hatred. I wanted to scream, pull my hair, throw and smash something into a million pieces. I wanted to rage against the complete betrayal of how he'd used me and then cast me aside, but… the emotions just wouldn't stick.

Because I didn't hate him. Not even a little.

Gods, I was pathetic. I shoved my half-eaten sandwich away and sagged deeper into the breakroom chair, dropping my head onto the table with a thud. I wished I could retreat into my fantasy land where Emerson was mine, but with a single act of real passion, the dream was shattered beyond repair.

It didn't make any sense that he'd use me like that. I knew Emerson Holland, right down to the depths of his soul. We'd been working together for years, and never once had he given in to the temptation. Why now? What had changed? It couldn't have been that I wasn't what he'd expected, that he'd had a taste and decided I wasn't good enough… Right? Was it just about the chase, and once I'd let myself be caught, the game was over?

He didn't love Eva Ward, that was a fact. I wasn't blind, I saw the way he was around her. He didn't want her; he wanted me! He couldn't disguise how much he'd enjoyed my body. Our chemistry was off the charts, always had been, and there was zero interest in his eyes when he glared at that vixen. What could make a person marry someone if not for love?

The question opened up a bottomless pit inside me, and I felt like I was falling, my stomach lurching. Because what problem had plagued Emerson and the hotel as long as I'd known him? Money.

The door opened and Mercy peeked in. "Are you coming back?" she asked softly. "I need to pee."

"Oh." I peeked at my watch and realized it was later than I'd thought. I'd been on break for too long. "Sorry, I lost track of time," I muttered.

I followed her back toward the front desk, but when she turned down the hall toward the bathroom, I went straight, emerging in the lobby. It was a quieter night than usual, with the end of summer looming and the school year about to start up again. Vacations were over, which meant the light, happy feeling was gone. The lobby was empty, the electric glow of the chandeliers above reflecting off the marble floor, and my eyes drifted across the room to Monsieur Holland's closed office door.

There was a tug from somewhere in my chest. Emerson wasn't here since it was well after midnight. He was probably home sleeping—I refused to think about who might be in that bed with him. Even knowing the office was empty, my feet directed me toward it, and I threw a quick glance over my shoulder to make sure Mercy wasn't on her way back. The hotel had security cameras, but the position of night security guard hadn't been filled, and nobody ever watched the camera footage unless there was a reason to. Besides, the door was probably locked.

Except when I twisted the knob, it turned easily in my hand.

I paused, licking my lips, as I debated with myself. Was I really doing this? Damn right I was. Something was going on around here, and I was tired of just being a witness on the sidelines. I needed answers.

With fresh resolve, I pushed the door open, and a waft of air washed over me and nearly brought me to my knees. It was Emerson's scent, all too familiar to me after all these years of pining, but there was no disguising the distinctive tang sex and slick, from what he'd done to me, how he'd splayed me out across his desk.

Forcing the image from my mind, I took one more glance around the lobby then slipped through the door and closed it behind me with the softest click. It wasn't likely that someone would come down to the desk at this time of night. The lounge and restaurant were closed, and if someone called for room service, it would be directed straight to the overnight kitchen staff. I still had to be fast. Any number of things could go wrong here.

The office wasn't in the usual impeccable order Emerson liked to keep it. There were papers stacked in haphazard piles on the desk, likely the same ones he'd swept onto the floor in his desperate need to take me. Normally, he wouldn't go home until every paper was filed in the cabinets properly, not a single speck of dust in sight. It was almost as if he was as distracted as I was. I immediately made my way over to the desk and sat down in his chair with a kind of reverence that I tried not to examine too closely. The leather was molded to the shape of his body, and I wiggled my ass against it subconsciously.

Would he notice if something wasn't in the same place as he'd left it? Did it matter if he did? What would he do if he knew I'd snooped?

With the utmost care, I shuffled through the closest stack and saw it was old invoices. Nothing shocking, though I didn't understand why he would be looking back at financial records. Another stack was staff pay records. I frowned, confused. Some of these records were going back years. Why was he digging into the past? And honestly, why were these printed out at all? Couldn't he just do all this on the computer?

It wasn't until I saw the bank records that a cold, creeping chill began to worm its way through my chest. I pulled the papers closer, no longer caring if I moved everything out of the way. These were the records for the hotel's bank accounts, and even though I had no experience with accounting, it was very clear that something was wrong. The hotel was pulling in a profit, that much was obvious, but there were large sums of money being transferred to another account. Every month, like clockwork. I tried to think about what kind of bill that could be. Water and waste were quarterly payments, and I could see those. Electric was labeled too. Property tax, maybe? But that wouldn't be some unnamed bank account; it would go to the city. Either way, the account balance was dangerously low. There was no way he could possibly keep up with those payments. At this rate, Emerson wouldn't be able to make it another three months without being forced to declare bankruptcy.

Gnawing on my lip, I picked up a notebook where Emerson had been scribbling down some notes.

Sawyer's friend—dead end. Find another way!Is a prenup pointless? She already owns me.Maybe I should just sell. Would it carry over to the new owner?

I stared at that last one. Would what carry over? Debt?

I stood on shaking legs as I numbly tried to put everything back where I'd found it. Looked like I was right, it all came back to money. Was she blackmailing Emerson into marrying her? That didn't make any sense. He couldn't possibly have done anything so wrong that it could be used against him like this.

The east coast had a shadowy history, and you didn't even need to dig very far down to find it. Recently, the FBI took down a mob boss involved in the drug trade and human trafficking, and last I'd heard, they were still trying to carve out the rot branching out into the city's elite. Even our last mayor, Philip Black, had been implicated and fled to avoid prosecution. I'd heard rumors of him hiding out on some island in the Caribbean. So wouldn't it make sense that his deputy mayor could also be guilty?

Just as I was rounding the front desk, the phone rang, startling me out of my daze. I picked up the receiver and answered, "Scarlet Hotel." I couldn't manage more than a whisper, my throat tight, my thoughts swirling, but the person on the other end heard me just fine.

"Roland?" His voice was like melted butter, rich and warm and soothing.

"Emerson?" I choked out before I could stop myself. My heart leaped, skipping a beat—but then I reminded myself that I wasn't joining in whatever game he was playing. I cleared my throat and steeled my resolve. Distance, right. I needed to keep distance between us. I squared off my shoulders, even though he couldn't see me through the phone. "Apologies, sir. What can I do for you this morning?"

"I couldn't sleep," he explained, too softly, though I wasn't sure why he thought it was any of my business. "I just… I needed to hear your voice and make sure you were okay."

"I'm fine," I answered on reflex, though we both knew that was a load of horse shit. I couldn't be much further from fine.

A long pause opened up between us, and I almost wondered if he'd hung up. Then he drew in a deep breath. "Roland, I owe you an apology."

"Not at all," I snapped, keeping my voice chilly. Distance, I repeated in my head. "I can be an adult about this, and considering you're so much older than I am, I'm sure you can too." I couldn't help taking a jab at his age since he seemed to think it was a big deal. "We'll just pretend it never happened. You are my boss, and I am your employee. Nothing more. Was that all you needed? I have work to do."

There was a little sniffle down the line. Was he crying? Shit, I couldn't handle him crying. I sagged against the desk, grateful to be alone. I thought of him being forced into marriage, being manipulated, and I just about broke. He deserved so much more. Against my better judgment, I offered, "Emerson, if you need my help with something…"

"It's nothing I can't handle," he said with so much conviction that I almost believed him. "I don't want you to worry about me, okay? Whatever happens, I need you to know that it was worth it."

"What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Emerson?"

He chuckled, without a trace of humor. "Believe it or not, this one's not on me." I was about to press him to explain, but now that he'd unloaded his burden and apologized, sleep was coming to claim him. I could hear his yawn through the phone. "I hope the rest of your shift is quiet. I have some stuff to take care of tomorrow, so I won't see you in the morning. Take care, Roland."

"Yeah… you too."

We weren't dating, no declarations or promises were made, but I still felt like we'd just broken up. Like this was goodbye, not just see you later. I barely noticed when Mercy came back to the desk. She said something, but I wasn't listening, and she didn't bother repeating herself. We stood there in total silence for the rest of our shift, and when Emily came in to take over in the morning, I tuned out her upbeat gossip and staggered home on autopilot. I avoided stopping by my neighbor's apartment because I wasn't in the mood to field questions about her grandson. By the time I fell into bed, I'd still made no clear decisions about what to do next.

Would I really let Emerson push me away so easily? Was I really ready to let him go?