Eventually, when the water ran cold, I wrapped myself in a towel and padded into my bedroom. Dressing quickly, I slid between the cool sheets. And I finally accepted the fact that I was sleeping alone tonight.
*
The bouncing sensation that came from someone jumping on my mattress shook me awake the next morning. Shooting straight up in bed, my gaze landed on boobs and then a mane of brown hair whipping into my face and hers when Pen slammed down on the pillow next to me.
“You scared the hell out of me!” I held my hand firmly against my throbbing chest. “Nothing’s wrong, is there?”
She batted her eyelashes. “Happy birthday, Gemma Emerson.”
It was sad—I’d heard the name Lizzie so much lately, being called by my real name was a bit of a shock to my system, but I quickly recovered. “Thanks.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “What time is it?”
“Nine-fifteen.”
Shit. Work. Margaret was going to have my head on a silver platter if I wasn’t in her office with her usual scalding hot cup of bullshit in fifteen minutes, and since I’d be lucky to make it out my apartment by that time, I was screwed.
Scrambling off my bed, I started for my closet.
Pen stopped me by getting up and literally barring me with her curvy body.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, stepping around her.
“The stepmonster called half an hour ago. She woke up this morning and decided she wanted to go to some spa in Ojai, but she said she would send you a to-do list.”
Pausing in the doorway to the walk-in closet, I turned to look at her, tapping my bare toes against the laminate floor. “You answered my phone?”
Throwing herself on the bed, Pen eased back on her elbows and stared across the room at me. “Well, I tried to wake you up first, but when it looked like your loud-ass snores weren’t stopping, I pretended to be you. By the way, she didn’t notice.”
My mouth slack in disbelief, I dropped down in the chair by my bed and buried my face in my hands. “Ugh, I’m probably the most ill-informed personal assistant in history.” I moved my head from either side. “She tells me everything last minute. Not that I’m complaining about that today—I could definitely use a day away from her.”
While I hadn’t consumed enough alcohol to get drunk last night, my head was reeling, and every few seconds my attention snapped to the costume draped on the armrest beside me—a reminder of what hadn’t happened. It was a bittersweet memory that coaxed goose bumps across the surface of my skin.
“Plus it’s your birthday.” The mattress creaked, and then I heard the suggestive smile in her voice as she asked, “So ... how was your night?”
I wasn’t ready to talk about Oliver, not when my body reacted so easily to the mere mention of his name and the sight of the dress he’d pushed around my hips, so I decided to focus on his mother—my stepmother.
I combed my hands through my pale blond hair before pushing the tangled locks behind my ears. “They made a lot of money, and I found out Margaret is matching all donations with a giant charitable endowment to the foster program.” Rolling my eyes, I released a harsh laugh. “As much as I want to hate her, she makes it a little bit difficult when she does things like that.”
At Penelope’s sudden quietness, wariness pulled my features into a tight frown. “Is everything alright?” I questioned.
“Better than alright,” she promised, but her tight smile made my chest constrict. “But I should probably let you get ready to get started on the she-devil’s list.” She hopped off the bed, starting toward my door. “You don’t have any birthday plans for this weekend, do you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I do, because everyone here knows it’s my birthday.”
Pen’s forced smile turned into a very genuine grin. “Just making sure.”
*
An hour later, I walked through the lobby of Emerson & Taylor, feeling my cheery smile at having the day all to myself slowly slip away as I approached Carl at the security desk. The pitying look he gave me was undeniable, and I shifted uncomfortably as I handed him my employee ID.
He scanned it quickly but before he handed it back to me, he moved his shiny head a couple inches closer to mine. “I thought you deserved to know,” he said in a grave voice, “Mrs. Emerson has been upstairs for two hours, and she’s called down here three times already, wanting to know if you were here yet.”
I felt my heart sink as I tossed the badge down in my bag. What the hell happened with Margaret going on a spa retreat?
“Thanks for the heads-up!” Giving Carl a grateful, shaky smile, I turned the corner.
As I waited for the elevator with a woman I recognized as the HR receptionist, I kept my appearance calm as I texted Pen.
I thought you said Margaret wouldn’t be here. Security just let me know she’s been in her office for over an hour waiting for me.
My best friend responded a few seconds after the other woman got off on the second floor. Check your phone log. She definitely called.
Biting the inside of my lip, I went to my call history. Just as Pen had promised, the very first call on the list came from Margaret. She’d contacted me at 8:49 AM from her home phone number, and her call with my best friend had apparently lasted for just one minute, ten seconds.
So what was going on?
Rubbing my palms down the front of my A-line houndstooth dress, I walked tentatively into Margaret’s office, my legs wobbly inside of my black knee-high boots. She was on the phone, but that didn’t stop her from jabbing her red-manicured finger to the seat in front of her desk.
“...Monday morning is not good enough, Mr. Harding, I need it sent now,” she barked. “Then email me the document and I’ll sign and fax it right back over.” Slamming the phone down, she focused her undivided attention on me, her icy features contorted into a harsh expression.
God, this was not going to be good.
“Where the hell were you this morning?” she demanded sharply. “You’re an hour late, and in all honesty, I’ve needed you since I stepped foot into this goddamn building at eight.”
From what both Carl and Margaret had told me, she’d been inside her office for the majority of the morning. There was no way she could have called me at 8:49 from her house like my call log was showing me. Although I hated pointing fingers, it didn’t take many guesses to figure out who might have called me from my father’s old house.
Still, I couldn’t accuse Finley because I had a feeling Margaret would lose her shit. From what I could see, my boss worshiped Oliver’s ex, even if he had moved on.
“Where were you?” she repeated through clenched teeth. Before I could answer, she twisted her laptop around so I had a clear view of the screen. A popular L.A. based lifestyle-and-entertainment website was pulled up, and the headline read Emerson & Taylor Charity Gala Nets Record Contributions. That was a good thing, wasn’t it?
But then my eyes dipped down and I saw the photo that accompanied the article. Even though my face was completely obscured because the picture was captured from Oliver’s side while we waited together for a drink, it was obvious to anyone in attendance that the woman beside him was me. The blond hair and flowing aqua-blue costume made sure of that.
Reading the caption beneath the photo, my heart felt like it had lodged in my throat. The Bad Boy Next Door Meets the Mother of Dragons – Oliver Manning of Manning Hotel Group and guest attends the Emerson & Taylor Costume ball last night.
When I swallowed hard, Margaret smirked and turned her laptop back around to face her. “Let me ask you again, where were you this morning, Ms. Connelly? Because if it was with my son, you can pack your belongings and leave this office now.”