Chapter 3

　　Emma thought about the apartment, about Ethan, about her new life. Maybe moving wasn't enough. Maybe freedom also had to be practiced.

　　"Okay," he finally said. "I'll try."

　　Madison let out a squeal and hugged her as if they had won a prize.

　　Half an hour later, Emma left her office with a folder full of information and a card in her hand.

　　Nathan Blake.

　　Announcer for WNYC Heartbeat Radio.

　　Program: The Midnight Hour.

　　She had an appointment with him in an hour to finalize the promotion of the contest.

　　Emma looked at her simple clothes and thought about changing, but convinced herself that a radio announcer would probably be an older, relaxed man, perhaps with a beard and a wrinkled shirt.

　　She let her hair down, put on lip gloss, and drove to Manhattan.

　　The radio station building was modern, large, and rather intimidating. At reception, they gave her a pass. She went up to the seventh floor, stepped out of the elevator, and bumped into someone who was walking too fast.

　　Sheets of paper from a bulletin board flew down the hallway.

　　Emma fell to her knees, red with embarrassment, picking up papers as if her life depended on it.

　　"These ads fall down just by looking at them," said a male voice beside her.

　　Emma looked up.

　　And he forgot how to breathe.

　　The man in front of her had black hair, broad shoulders, impossibly clear blue eyes, and a mouth made for smiling sinfully.

　　He watched her for a few seconds.

　　Then he smiled.

　　"What a mess you've made, little one.

　　The charm died suddenly.

　　And, for the first time in her life, Emma did not run away.

　　He answered her.

　　"Excuse me?" Emma clutched a piece of paper to her chest.

　　The man raised both hands, amused.

　　"I'm just saying the hallway looks like it survived a hurricane.

　　"Well, the hurricane didn't ask for your weather report.

　　He let out a low laugh.

　　Serious.

　　Annoying.

　　Dangerously attractive.

　　Emma felt anger at noticing it.

　　"Calm down, little beast. I'm helping.

　　"If you're going to help just to brag about it later, you can keep walking.

　　The man stared at her in surprise. Then his smile widened.

　　-Interesting.

　　-What thing?

　　-You.

　　Emma stood up with the last papers in her hand and nailed them to the board too hard.

　　"I'm not interesting. I'm busy.

　　"Sure. Busy destroying other people's offices.

　　That was the final straw.

　　Emma saw a loose tack among the papers. She didn't think. She didn't calculate. She didn't act like the Emma she usually was.

　　She took it.

　　And when he turned around, she rammed it into his ass.

　　The male scream echoed down the hallway.

　　-Hey!

　　Emma opened her eyes, horrified by herself.

　　Then he ran away.

　　He didn't stop until he found a bathroom. He locked himself in, leaned his back against the door, and put his hands to his mouth.

　　First it shook.

　　Then he laughed.

　　"I stabbed him," he whispered. "In the ass. With a thumbtack."

　　Her laughter came out nervous, almost hysterical. She didn't do those things. She didn't argue with handsome men. She didn't attack strangers. She didn't run through radio station hallways like a fugitive.

　　But there was something about him that had sparked a strange feeling within her. It had irritated her, yes, but it had also awakened her in a way she couldn't explain.

　　She washed her hands, fixed her hair, and left cautiously, looking both ways.

　　He wasn't there.

　　Thank all the saints.

　　She arrived at the floor's reception desk and spoke with an assistant named Grace.

　　"I'm looking for Nathan Blake. I'm from Parker & Grant Publishing. I have an appointment.

　　Grace checked the computer and smiled.

　　"Yes, Miss Harper. You can wait a moment. Mr. Blake has just entered his office.

　　Emma sat down. Her heart was still racing, but she tried to compose herself. She had work to do. She just needed a brief, polite, professional meeting.

　　Grace's phone rang.

　　"You may come in," she said. "Mr. Blake is expecting you."

　　Emma thanked them and pushed the door.

　　The office was spacious and elegant, with shelves full of books and a breathtaking view of Manhattan. Emma took two steps, marveling.

　　Then a familiar voice pierced through her.

　　"You've got to be kidding me.

　　Emma closed her eyes.

　　No.

　　Please, no.

　　He turned slowly.

　　The blue-eyed man was leaning against the desk, with one eyebrow raised and a tack between his fingers.

　　"But just look at that "he said". The little traitor.

　　Emma wanted the ground to swallow her up.

　　He smiled as if he had just won a war.

　　"I suppose you're Emma Harper.

　　She swallowed.

　　Nathan Blake was not an old man with a beard and a wrinkled shirt.

　　It was the man she had just attacked.

　　And now she had to convince him to work with her.

　　Emma decided that dying of embarrassment was not a career option.

　　Still.

　　"I'm Emma Harper," she said, lifting her chin. "And you must be Nathan Blake."

　　"The same one. Recent victim of an attack with a tiny knife.

　　"It was a tack.

　　"Violence is not measured by size, Miss Harper.

　　She pressed her lips together to stifle a laugh. Nathan wasn't far from laughing either. For two seconds they stared at each other in silence, he with the thumbtack between his fingers, she red-faced.

　　Then they both burst out laughing.

　　The tension changed. It didn't disappear, but it became more dangerous.

　　Nathan walked around the desk and indicated a chair.

　　"Please sit down. I promise not to press charges if you tell me why Parker & Grant wants to invade my show.

　　Emma sat down, took out her folder, and forced herself to concentrate. She explained the contest, the dates, the rules, the winner selection process, and the idea of promoting it on The Midnight Hour. Nathan listened with genuine attention. He asked pointed questions. He took notes. He even asked for a flyer for his nephew, who wrote stories and might want to participate.

　　Emma started out nervous, but little by little the words came out better.

　　Nathan wasn't just attractive. He was smart. Quick-witted. He had a way of looking at you that made you feel like every word mattered.

　　That was worse.

　　Much worse.

　　Because every time she spoke, his eyes would go down from hers to her mouth.

　　And every time that happened, Emma forgot the next sentence.

　　"Miss Harper?" he asked, with a half-smile.

　　"Yes. Sorry. I was... mentally checking the calendar.

　　-Clear.

　　He didn't believe him.

　　The phone rang and they both jumped. Nathan answered, looked at his watch, and muttered a curse under his breath.

　　"Yes, Grace. Tell him I'll be in the booth in fifteen minutes.

　　He hung up and looked at Emma.

　　"We lost track of time.

　　Emma looked at her own watch. Not one hour. Almost two.

　　"God, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to delay it.

　　"Don't apologize. There are some companies worth being late for.

　　The phrase hit her right in the chest.

　　Emma clumsily gathered the papers. Nathan helped her, getting closer than necessary. His cologne was clean, dark, expensive. She felt the air thinning, becoming more of a test of endurance.

　　"Then we have another meeting in two days"he said. "After noon.

　　"Yes. To finalize the details of the announcement.

　　"A date, then.

　　Emma looked up abruptly.

　　Nathan smiled.

　　"Work, Miss Harper. Don't panic yet.

　　By morning, nothing would feel safe again.