Knots Between Us

Chapter Twelve

It had been a week, and Emma was stressed like never before. The main reason? Sebastian.

He hadn’t assigned her any ridiculous tasks, hadn’t spoken more than a few words, and hadn’t even looked at her. Yet she couldn’t focus on anyone else. Her eyes kept drifting toward him, tracing his features, recalling the moment their lips had been just inches apart.

“Wonder if they’re as soft as they look,” a small voice whispered in her head.

“Emma?”

She snapped out of it when someone called her name. A pink blush spread across her cheeks as Sebastian looked at her quizzically, noticing her flustered state.

“Y-yes, I’m ready with my designs,” she stammered, averting her eyes. Could it be that he’d been thinking the same thing all week?

“Alright, that concludes our meeting. Andrea, is everything ready for the afternoon schedule?”

“Yes, Mr. Rask. Hotels and catering are all set.”

“Good. Everyone, no room for errors—bring your A game.” Sebastian looked around, and once everyone nodded, he rose.

“Ms. Rhodes, my office.”

Emma’s heart raced, knees wobbling as she made her way to him. She knocked softly, then entered at his invitation, feeling like a child caught doing something wrong.

“Why does he always have his back to me?” she muttered under her breath. Sebastian turned sharply.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing, sir,” she squeaked.

“I called you in here because during the meeting, your attention seemed elsewhere.”

Emma remained quiet, waiting.

“I suggest focusing on your work, not daydreaming about Mr. Walsh.”

She frowned. “Why would I be daydreaming about Connor?”

Sebastian stepped closer. “Who else could make you blush like a schoolgirl if not your boyfriend?”

Her cheeks burned as guilt and excitement surged through her.

“Who were you thinking about, Emma?” he pressed, advancing like a predator. She gulped. Before he could corner her, the intercom beeped. Sebastian’s expression hardened as he answered it. Emma bolted from the office.

“What?” he snapped.

“I—I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Gabriel Shaw is here to see you,” Andrea’s hesitant voice replied.

“Let him in.” Sebastian took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“Man, you really keep everyone on a short leash,” Sebastian smiled as his best friend entered. The two embraced in a hug, the kind only lifelong friends shared.

“You know it. When did you get in?” Sebastian asked.

“Just a few hours ago.”

“I was your first visit? That’s sad,” Sebastian joked. They laughed and caught up on life.

Meanwhile, Emma returned to her desk, muttering to herself: Get it together. He’s your boss, he has a girlfriend, and he’s an asshole.

Before she could sit, Andrea hurried over.

“Emmy, can you do me a huge favor?” she asked nervously.

Emma stopped her with a hand on Andrea’s shoulder. “Breathe.” Andrea inhaled deeply, calming herself.

“What do you need?”

“Can you pick up lunch from Pompano for Mr. Rask and his guest? I’ve already ordered and paid. Just pick it up,” Andrea explained.

“Got it. Go handle the rest.” Emma hurried off, bag in hand.

At the restaurant, the place was bustling. Emma relayed the order to the hostess and waited. A handsome man at the bar caught her eye and smiled seductively. She looked away, ignoring him. A waiter brought her order and drinks, but as she turned, she bumped into a woman behind her. Drinks spilled everywhere.

“Are you blind?” the woman shouted.

“I’m so sorry! I’ll pay for dry cleaning—here’s my number—but I really have to go,” Emma said, trying to pass her.

“You’re not going anywhere, b***h,” the woman snapped.

“I suggest moving before I have you physically thrown out,” a deep masculine voice said from behind her. Emma turned to see the man from the bar, standing too close for comfort.

“She ruined my dress!” the woman cried.

“Sue, give her the worth of that dress and escort her out,” he ordered. The hostess quickly complied.

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that,” Emma said.

“No problem. I know how to deal with people like her,” he replied, introducing himself as Jason.

“Emma,” she said, shaking his hand.

Her dress was stiff and stuck awkwardly to her front, and by the time she got to the office, Emma felt like crying. She yanked out her phone and texted Andrea, panicked—she couldn’t go into the office, let alone a major meeting, looking like she was wearing a red tie-dye experiment. Andrea quickly replied, telling her to borrow her spare clothes from her locker. Relief washed over Emma… until she saw the sizes.

The blouse was far too small for her chest, the buttons straining and popping slightly whenever she moved. The skirt was tight around her thighs, riding up uncomfortably and shortening her silhouette more than she would have liked. The sleeves were stiff and restrictive, the fabric unfamiliar against her skin. It wasn’t just that the clothes were the wrong size—they were designed for Andrea’s frame, for Andrea’s proportions, and for a woman far more petite. Every movement reminded Emma of that mismatch, making her feel exposed and awkward.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she mumbled, forcing herself to hurry. She stuffed the lunch into her bag, adjusted the tight waistband as best she could, and headed toward Sebastian’s office. Each step made her acutely aware of the snugness of the blouse, the way the skirt clung, the stiffness of the fabric—a constant, uncomfortable reminder that she looked out of place.

When she knocked on the door, Sebastian’s voice called, “Come in.” Emma cracked it open and peeked inside. Both men—Sebastian and his guest—were laughing, paying her no attention. She stepped in hesitantly.

The man with the striking English accent stopped mid-laugh, staring at her. “Wow,” he said. Sebastian’s laughter faded too, replaced by a hard, assessing look. Emma’s stomach twisted. The tight blouse kept pulling at the buttons, her chest felt exposed, and the skirt rode up further with each step.

Sebastian shot out of his seat, yanked her behind him, and into a private conference room. “What the hell are you trying to pull here, huh?” he demanded, pinning her against the wall.

Emma squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t have a choice. My clothes were ruined. Andrea’s were the only option.”

“You borrowed Andrea’s?!” His voice sharpened, a mix of frustration and concern. “Emma, this could have gone horribly wrong—people would have judged you, not me.”

“I know what I look like,” she said firmly, stepping back but keeping her chin high. “I’m not some fragile little thing who can’t handle a wardrobe mishap. I can handle this.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his gray eyes narrowing. He reached for his phone. “Annie, good—listen, I need women’s business attire, sizes two and four. Buy it, deliver it, and make it ready. No excuses!”

Emma crossed her arms, a defiant tilt in her chin. “Sir, you really don’t have to do that. I can manage.”

“No, Emma. You’re staying here until Annie fixes this. Do you understand me?” His tone left no room for argument.

“I understand,” she said slowly, though her eyes flicked to him challengingly. “But I’m not going to stand here and act like some helpless kid while you play dress-code police. I’ll wear the clothes you get me, but I don’t need a babysitter.”

Sebastian paused, studying her. That spark of defiance—sharp, unafraid—made his chest tighten. He wasn’t used to anyone standing up to him like this, especially not her. A faint crease formed between his brows, and yet, the protective edge in his gaze didn’t soften.

“You’re defiant as always,” he muttered, almost to himself, but the words were edged with something like admiration. “Fine. But no one is seeing you like this, Emma. Not in my office, not in front of anyone. Stay.”

Emma huffed softly, rolling her eyes but not stepping away. “Fine, Mr. Rask. I’ll stay. But don’t think this gives you the right to boss me around about my clothes every day.”

He let out a quiet exhale, a flicker of a smirk tugging at his lips.

Emma met his gaze, feeling her own pulse race. She didn’t step closer, she didn’t back down—yet there was something in his expression, something unspoken, that made her feel like being defiant wasn’t entirely futile.