Hard Sell| ETHMA

25

Ethan
Friday Afternoon, October 6

Well. Shit.

My weekend just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

Wordlessly, I hold out my phone to Emma so she can see the text message that's just come through.

We're standing in The Sams' kitchen at their place in the Hamptons, sipping a glass of champagne to kick off what we'd expected to be a long weekend of make-believe in front of two bosses and a billionaire.
Instead, I'm bracing for Emma's irritation as she silently reads the text.

She hands the phone back to me and takes a sip of champagne. "Well. I guess that means I don't need to freak out about the fact that Juno's already put her muddy paws all over the duvet in the master bedroom."

"I can't believe they canceled," I say, still distracted by the message from Samantha. "Who the hell does that?"

"Maybe they thought they were doing you a favor," she says, going to the fridge for the champagne bottle. "They probably figured that if the prospective client couldn't come, there was no reason for the four of us to suffer through the awkwardness of small talk."

I ignore her placating. "And what kind of bullshit is 'something came up'? It's the oldest, lamest blow off in the books."

"So you'll woo Jarod some other way," she says, reaching across the counter to top off my glass.
I put a hand out to stop her. "I shouldn't. Not if I'm driving back."

"No way," she says, batting my hand away and refilling the glass. "I am not getting back in the car with that dog just yet."

I laugh at the memory of Juno wailing the entire ride from the Upper East Side to Southampton. "You'd think she'd never been in a car before."

"She probably hasn't," Emma pointed out. "I don't own a car. Her vet's within walking distance, so I've never needed to put her in a cab or subway. And I got her from a shelter in Harlem when she was a young puppy."

"Where is the monster, anyway?" I ask, looking around the lavish beach home for the dog.

"Outside. I decided she'd be better off digging a hole in the sand than your bosses' bed."

"She won't run away?" I ask.

Emma shakes her head and walks to the back door that opens onto the beach. "Watch this."

She lets out a short, no-nonsense whistle, and not thirty seconds later, a wet, sandy dog bounds toward her. Emma holds up a hand before the dog can burst inside the house, and Juno plants her butt down on the porch, tail wagging wildly as she waits for praise.

"Good girl," Emma says in a voice I've never heard her use before. It's adoring and a little goofy, and I can't help but smile as she squats down to pet her dog.

Emma's wearing an expensive-looking red sweater and light-gray slacks, but she doesn't so much as flinch when Juno sets her paws on Emma's knee and goes in for a slobbery on-the-cheek kiss.

"Okay, that's plenty of love," Emma says after a moment, laughing as she pushes the dog away. "Go continue your beach exploration."

Juno bounds away again, and I give Emma an admiring look. "Is there anyone you don't have completely wrapped around your finger, ready to do your bidding with a simple whistle?"

She gives a coy smile. "Well. I'm still working on you."

I'm not so sure. Every time I'm with her—hell, every time I look at her—it becomes harder and harder to think about going back to the way we were.