Read By Design for Free Online

at her blankly. “I’m looking for John Wilman,” he reminded her.
    “Right! You said. John. That’s my boss!” she said in a singsong voice that horrified her. Where did that come from? She had lost control of herself completely. “Uh . . .” Emmie rifled through the papers on her desk as if she could find Wilma there, then leaned toward her computer, frantically jiggling the mouse to make the screen saver disappear. Staring at the computer gave her the opportunity to get her head straight. She tucked her hair behind one ear and brought up Wilma’s calendar. “He’s, uh, out right now . . . obviously. He should be back in . . . about an hour.”
    “I see.”
    More silence. Emmie froze, staring at the calendar, even though it wasn’t going to change and wasn’t going to summon Wilma through the door to end this excruciating awkwardness. The density of the silence pressed on her. She forced herself to look at the man again. To her surprise, he was smiling again, but differently this time. He was looking downright amused, in fact, his blue eyes twinkling and a grin playing around the corners of his perfect lips. It was such an intimate look that she felt a blush rising in her cheeks again. What was he grinning at? Did she have more office supplies attached to her face? She imagined herself bristling with thumbtacks and plastic Post-it arrows that read “Sign Here,” and she resisted the urge to run her hands over her face, hair, and neck to brush them off.
    She needed to get a grip. “Would you care to wait?” Emmie gestured toward the ornate furniture by the door—a bit spokesmodel-y, but refined, she hoped. “I can get you some coffee or tea or whatever.” Okay, now a random teenager had taken control of her speech. One step forward, two steps back, apparently.
    “No, thank you,” he demurred, and Emmie felt her stomach drop with a ridiculously overblown feeling of disappointment. “I’ll stop by another time.”
    Was it her imagination, or did Realistic Hottie give her the once-over before his polite, neutral smile took over and he started to walk toward the door?
    Emmie found herself desperately trying to regroup to keep him there. “Uh . . . did you want to make an appointment?” He opened the door. “Leave a message, a business card . . . ?” He shut the door behind him. “Marry me?”
    And he was gone.
     
    “So Cinderella didn’t even leave a glass slipper behind?” Trish asked as she dashed around her kitchen, preparing dinner. Emmie dodged out of her way, protecting the glass of merlot Trish had graced her with as soon as she had stepped through her door.
    “Not a thing. Just a whiff of manly perfection in his wake.”
    “New brand of cologne?”
    “Ha. Funny, you are.”
    “Talking like Yoda, you are. This guy must have done a number on you.”
    Emmie’s eyes glazed over. “He was so hot . . .”
    “Clooney hot?”
    She made a face. “Pfft. Clooney’s overrated.”
    “Shut your mouth.”
    “Well, this guy was hotter.”
    “That’s not possible.”
    “Oh, it is—believe me.” She sighed. “I’m being ridiculous.”
    “Well, I think it’s great,” Trish countered, stirring a big pot of something on the stove with a long-handled wooden spoon.
    Emmie snorted into her wine. “Oh, yeah, I know how your mind’s working, missy. In your head, you’ve already got me broken up with Kyle and married to Mr. Manly Perfection.”
    “Mm, just engaged. So we can have plenty of time to plan the wedding.”
    “Oh, stop.” Emmie laughed.
    “Ooh.” Trish made a face, turning to her mid-stir. “Was he married?”
    Emmie thought about it. “You know, I don’t know. He had his hands in his pockets—”
    “Pervert? Or chronic ‘adjuster’?”
    “Ew! Neither! It was just a casual pose. Looked really good on him,” she murmured, losing focus once more as she pictured Realistic Hottie standing before her again.
    Trish looked amused through the steam rising up from the various