Chapter 17: Unfinished Business

Emma told herself she wouldn't think about him.

She convinced herself that the moment Alex walked out of her office, the tension would fade, the strange pull between them would disappear, and everything would return to normal.

But as she sat in a dimly lit lounge later that evening, a glass of whiskey untouched in front of her, she realized how wrong she was.

Because she could still hear his words.

I'll see you somewhere else then.

She hated that he got under her skin.

But more than that…

She hated that she was waiting.

For him.

—

The lounge was one of her usual spots—a quiet, upscale bar with dark wood, soft lighting, and no unnecessary noise. It was the kind of place where no one bothered her, where she could sit and think without interruption.

Tonight, though, thinking was the last thing she wanted to do.

She picked up the glass, bringing it to her lips just as the bartender spoke.

"Someone sent this for you."

Emma glanced up, her brows furrowing as a second drink was placed in front of her.

She stared at it for a second before exhaling through her nose.

She didn't need to ask who it was from.

Her fingers tightened around her glass as she scanned the room, searching—

And there he was.

Alex Kingston.

Sitting at a table in the corner, looking entirely too at ease, one hand resting against his jaw as he met her gaze across the room.

A silent challenge.

Emma should have ignored him.

Should have gotten up, walked away, pretended he didn't exist.

Instead, she lifted the second glass—the one he had sent—tilted it slightly in acknowledgment, and took a sip.

Alex smirked.

Then, he stood.

And before she could rethink her actions, he was walking toward her.

—

"Is this how you stalk all your business partners, Kingston?" she asked as he slid into the seat across from her.

Alex chuckled. "You call it stalking. I call it unfinished business."

Emma rolled her eyes. "There's nothing unfinished between us."

Alex leaned forward slightly. "Then why are you still sitting here?"

Her fingers curled around her glass. "Because I was here first."

His smirk didn't fade. "And yet, you drank what I sent you."

Emma didn't respond.

Because the truth was, she didn't know why she had accepted the drink.

Maybe it was curiosity.

Maybe it was stubbornness.

Or maybe—just maybe—she was losing control of a game she never intended to play.

—

The air between them was thick, charged with something neither of them wanted to name.

Emma exhaled slowly, setting her glass down. "You think this is fun, don't you?"

Alex tilted his head. "What?"

"Pushing me."

He smirked. "It's not about pushing, Carter."

"Then what is it?"

He studied her for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, softly, he said, "It's about seeing how long you'll pretend you don't feel it too."

Emma's breath hitched.

She hated how easily he saw through her.

Hated that, for once, she didn't have a quick, sharp reply.

Because the truth was—

She did feel it.

And that?

That terrified her more than anything else.