Emily and I

It’s just after 8 when I roll my beat-up Ford Focus into the garage of my two-tenant studio apartment. The engine ticks as it cools, the garage light flickers overhead. I'm carrying the weight of a six-figure bonus in my jacket pocket, and yet, all I care about is what’s waiting inside.

The moment I open the door, I smell soy sauce, garlic, beef, fried rice...and her. Emily. My beloved. My spark. She’s curled up on the couch in leggings and one of my hoodies, barefoot, hair in a messy bun, watching Guy’s Grocery Games with chopsticks in one hand and a takeout container in the other.

“Burning the candle at both ends again?” she teases, tilting her chin up.

“Guilty,” I say, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her lips. I cup her face as I do, slow and deliberate, letting my thumb trace along her cheekbone before pulling back.

She hums. “I got you wonton soup and Mongolian beef. Extra spicy, just like your temper when you haven’t eaten.”

I chuckle, grabbing the container and another pair of chopsticks from the side table. “You’re an angel.”

“Damn right I am.”

I sit beside her, sinking into the cushion as the steam curls up from the food. I take a bite. Still warm. Savory, peppery, the best it's ever tasted.

“So,” she says, eyes on the screen but voice curious, “what exactly are you working on that has you sprinting through overtime hours?”

I swallow, lick sauce from my lip, and say with a grin, “Kate Upton’s pussy perfume.”

She chokes. Actually chokes on her fried rice.

“Come again?” she sputters, grabbing her water bottle and taking a long swig.

“I mean it,” I say, deadpan, before cracking a smile. “She walked into my office today with a perfume line that’s going to smell like… well…”

“No way...”

“Her pussy... I mean... other things too, but yeah.”

Emily blinks at me. Then blinks again. “You’re not joking.”

“Nope.”

“Okay, you're gonna need to explain that.”

I pull out my phone and open the folder I scanned earlier. Designs. Sketches. The new vial shape. The three shoots I proposed: office nudes, rooftop bikini, sheer lingerie on a beach canopy bed. I hand her the phone.

She scrolls silently at first. But I see the heat creeping into her cheeks. Then her pupils dilate.

“These are…” she breathes. “Jesus. These are incredible.”

“You’ve seen my work before.”

“No, this is different,” she says, holding up the screen to the light. “This is you on another level. Did she pose for these?”

I shake my head. “Freehand.”

Her head tilts as she takes in the curves I've recreated from her body. "Jesus. She looks amazing. You should frame these."

I shrug, feigning modesty. “I was, let’s just say, very inspired.”

There’s a fire in her eyes now, that I recognize. The kind I’ve only seen when she’s writhing underneath me, gasping my name, nails in my back. It makes my chest tighten and my cock twitch in my slacks.

She keeps looking through the images, reverent. Silent. Then, without a word, she leans into me and presses her lips to my neck. Soft, slow. As she snuggles back below me. I reach into my pocket and slide out the check. “I was thinking of framing this instead.”

She pulls back, confused. Then she takes it from my fingers like it’s made of glass.

Her jaw drops. “Two hundred fifty thousand dollars? For a photo shoot?”

I smirk, feigning offense. “Excuse me?”

“No no no, I just, ” she says quickly, eyes flicking between the check and my face. “But… what does this mean?”

“It's more than just a photo shoot. She wants to be partners. 50/50 profit split. Kate signed on. Iris handled the contract. I'm not getting screwed.”

Emily lets out a low whistle, still holding the check like it might combust. Then, gently, she sets it on the table and curls against me, her body sliding beneath my arm, head resting under my chin.

“Iris would make a damn good paralegal for my firm,” she murmurs.

“Over my cold, dead body,” I say, kissing the top of her head.

She snorts. “I’m surprised she didn’t tell me.”

I smile looking down at her as she lies comfortably against me. They’ve grown close over the past year, her and Emily. Ever since Iris’s mom passed, Emily stepped up. We both did. We gave her a place to land. And somewhere in the process, Iris became more than just my assistant. She became my shadow, anticipating every need before I even voiced it. That’s when the professional side of our relationship really clicked. But the bond between her and Emily? It runs deeper. She trusts Emily. And Emily trusts her.

“She’d probably close that stupid licensing deal so I didn’t have to go to Miami tomorrow,” Emily mutters, almost too low for me to catch.

I stiffen.

She feels it. Her breath catches. “Shit. Babe. I was gonna tell you after dinner.”

I pull back just enough to look at her. “It’s okay.”

“I didn’t want to ruin the night,” she says, voice soft, eyes big and ****.

“You didn’t.” I run my thumb along her jaw. “What time’s your flight?”

“Tomorrow morning.”

I nod, exhaling. “So… we still have tonight.”

She gives me that slow, dangerous smile. The one that always means trouble. “Oh, we most definitely do.”

And just like that, the tension dissolves. We curl tighter into each other, the smell of soy sauce and Mongolian beef still lingering in the air, the TV babbling in the background. But the real warmth isn’t coming from the food or the couch or the ambient heat of the apartment.

It’s her.

Her skin against mine. Her breath syncing with mine. Her hand sliding beneath the waistband of my pants with practiced ease.

And for the first time today, I stop thinking about the check, or the product line I’m building with Kate Upton.

Because the woman I love is here.

And tonight—before morning steals her away again—she’s mine.