EMMA
“Is there a problem, Ms. Carson?”
The vibrations of an incoming call have my phone tap-dancing on the top of his desk loudly enough to put my teeth on edge. “Sorry.” I snatch it up and decline the call. I don’t have to look to know who it is—because it’s been ringing off the hook all weekend, as if my parents and Scummy Jefferson coordinated schedules to make sure that one of them was bothering me at all hours of the day and night.
Ruslan arches one dark eyebrow, his lips pursed. “You’ve been flustered all morning.”
Ah, yes, just what every woman wants to hear. And I thought I’d done such a great job of hiding it.
“Oh. Have I?”
“Yes.” His voice cuts like broken glass. “It’s Monday, Ms. Carson. Most people come back from the weekend with a little gas in their tanks.”
“Clearly, t
