Page 31 of Off-Limits Bad Boy
My heart kicks my rib cage, once, twice, three times, then the pain fades once more. And internally, I try to remind myself of all the reasons I should stay away from her. And yet...
“Emma,” I whisper into my bedroom, as if she can hear me, as if saying her name might somehow teleport her to the space beside me.
It doesn't.
My feet hit the cold floor and I stand, pacing the length of my bedroom. I've got a long day ahead. I have meetings stacked like dominoes, waiting to fall. I need to be sharp, focused. But focus is a luxury when your mind is a carousel of what-ifs and almosts, spinning endlessly around one girl.
But Alex and Emma need me to be at my best for the sake of the club.
“Get it together, Kade,” I say, forcing deep breaths.
A glance at the clock tells me dawn is hours away, but I know that there’s no rest to be had for me. I’m wide awake and my body is revved up, thanks to her. “Emma,” I say again quietly, “you're going to be the death of me.”
Chapter Thirteen
Emma
The last thing I'm in the mood to do today is work, but I don't really have a choice.
There are only so many days in a row that I can let Alex run things before I have to worry that he's either going to burn the place to the ground or completely run out of alcohol.
The bass vibrates through the soles of my shoes as I stride into the club, nodding at the bouncer. The flashing blue and green lights leave me feeling like I’m under water and sinking into the depths of the ocean. It's a thought that has terror striking into the heart of me.
I take a deep breath and watch bodies pulse on the dance floor as a kaleidoscope of colors lights up dressed-up patrons. This place is never quiet. Not for a second, and I used to love that, but now I'm not sure I like the noise, the lack of calm, the never-ending party that I’m never part of and don’t wish to be involved in in a non-working capacity.
Maybe I'm growing up.
Even though I'm here to work, I find myself searching for Kade. I find him leaning against the bar as if waiting for me, but his eyes—those deep, penetrating midnight pools—skip right over me as if I'm just another partier.
“Hey,” I call out, as I make my way toward him. But he’s looking the other way, and annoyance fills me. How dare he ignore me? What did I do to deserve him being this rude?
I move right up to him and bump his arm with my shoulder, wishing we were a little closer in height.
“Emma.” His tone is flat, distant, and a pang of something like disappointment tightens in my chest. We might as well be strangers, given the way he is not looking at me and how he said my name.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, frowning. The memory of our last conversation hangs between us, all laughter and fun, him checking up on me and us reminiscing about our magical trip to the botanical gardens.
“Everything’s fine.” He doesn't elaborate, just takes a sip of whatever amber liquid is in his glass, probably scotch. If he keeps treating me like this, I might slip him some tequila later, just to annoy him. I know how much he hates tequila. I notice the set of his jaw, a muscle ticking in his cheek, and the way he scans the place as if ready to pounce on some unseen prey.
Something is wrong. I can feel it in my bones.
“If our talk last night—” I start, but he cuts me off with a sharp look.
“Our conversation last night was fine. Let's leave it there.” His words are a dismissal, and they sting more than I expected.
“Okay, then,” I say in a mocking tone, my eyebrows making their way toward my hairline as I turn away from him. I’m too young to drink, but I’ve never needed alcohol more in my life.
As I turn away, I feel his eyes on me for a split second before he deliberately shifts his gaze.
What would he do if I poured myself a drink? I mean, it risks our liquor license, so I’d never do it, but I wonder how he’d react.
Still, the heat of irritation warms my cheeks. What's gotten into him? And why does it bother me so much?
I get to work, my thoughts muttering from different corners of my brain. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch him move, noting how his body language screams focus, purpose. I can’t help but wonder what - or who - he’s looking for. Kade is on a mission, and somehow, I'm not a part of it, even though this is my club.
When I have a moment, I slip through the door of Kade's office. This is wrong, and I know it is, but the sharp question of his sudden coldness leaves me with no choice but to look for answers.
The room smells like him—spicy cologne and smooth scotch—and I feel a familiar pull in my stomach.