Chapter 13 Time to Call It a Night

Emma was floored, and so was the assistant. All these years shadowing Mr. Brown and not once had a woman been in the picture. Now, Mr. Brown was sending his assistant out for condoms. The message could not be clearer. "Of course, Mr. Brown." Emma's cheeks flamed with embarrassment as she overheard the exchange, but she could not show it in front of Michael. She had to keep it together, so she distracted herself by watching the city pass by through the car window. She had gone over it in her mind a thousand times. She was here of her own free will, so playing shy would only turn Michael off. Besides, she did not have a real boyfriend to consider. With money and power at stake, there was no room for old-fashioned ideals. This was a straightforward deal, no strings attached. Keeping Michael happy was the priority. It meant not having to scramble for her medical bills for a change. Besides, picking up a trick or two about the corporate ladder was not a bad perk either. Yet, despite her rationalization, nervousness crept in as she lay there in her nightgown after her bath. Michael walked in after his conference call, taking in the sight before him. Emma was on the edge of the bed, draped in an oversized robe that was just barely keeping her covered. He could not pretend he wasn’t aroused. Tonight was not the night for giving in to temptation, though. "Emma, here. I’ve gone through the MystiCorp file and flagged the issues. We'll tackle any questions tomorrow. For now, let’s just sleep." Emma’s eyes widened. "You mean, you're not going to..." "Not tonight." He climbed in from his side, spooning her and casually wrapping an arm around her waist. "I'm beat. Lights out." … Emma had braced herself for a sleepless night next to him, but to her surprise, she did not stir until seven in the morning. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, she sat up quickly. The sight of the unfamiliar ceiling jolted her to alertness. A quick look beside her showed only the impression of a head on the pillow. He had truly been sleeping beside her, alright. After freshening up, Emma took a moment to really look at Michael’s place. She had expected the kind of glittering excess she had seen on TV, but his home was an understated elegance. Black, white, and gray tones made up a stark but stylish decor. The sprawling living room felt cool and a little lonely. Come to think of it, it suited Michael perfectly. The man was an iceberg, after all. The aroma of food wafted from the kitchen, leading Emma to assume the housekeeper was at work. However, to her astonishment, it was Michael behind the stove! He was the one cooking?! At the sound of her approach, Michael glanced over. His profile was as striking as ever. "The oatmeal is ready. Could you serve it, please?" She nodded, her mind a whirl from the revelation. Behind her, Michael could easily guess her surprise. "I prefer privacy, hence there's no staff at home," he clarified. Emma chuckled, more to herself than to him. "Who knew Mr. Brown could make oatmeal?" What she did not voice was her newfound insight—Mr. Brown was not the unapproachable figure she had imagined.