All the air must have been sucked out of the living room over the past hour, because very little of it had made its way into Josh's lungs.

When he'd suggested Emery's poetry readings might be up to Emma's exacting standards, he'd never pictured his own reaction to them. It hadn't been immediate — Emery had been doing these readings for over three months now — but, somehow, the man got better at it every single day.

His already deep voice became deeper, rich and smooth, like the flavor of thick hot chocolate on a cold winter night, or the feeling of silk sheets on naked skin. It didn't matter what he was reading — and Emma had been right about the quality of the poems; even a heathen like Josh could easily see most of the material was mediocre at best. Emery could mold the words, shape them to do his bidding, and Josh was enthralled.

Emery was used to garnering respect, something that had been obvious to Josh from their very first phone call, but that didn't mean he wasn't a generally unassuming man underneath the trappings of wealth and posturing — underneath the curt tone, the dismissive attitude, the impeccable wardrobe.

Commanding, Josh could deal with — had, in fact, dealt with — perfectly. This was something else.

It was a small mercy Emery didn't talk to people in his everyday life the way he read, or Josh had no idea how their first meeting might have been derailed.

He was on his final piece for the day, a trite sonnet written by either a toddler or a stalker; someone attempting to mimic Sonnet 18 by exalting their target's more mundane actions, and Josh had been left with the uncomfortable feeling they hadn't been granted leave to witness said actions in the first place. The only way Josh knew any of that was because he'd seen it on paper, before Emery had begun his reading. In Emery's voice, it transformed into a wicked account of spiraling obsession in fourteen lines. A hint of maliciousness lifted up a single corner of a smile that Josh was used to seeing as nothing but benign; a devilish glint brought a different light into warm brown eyes.

How Emma could so clinically decide something wasn't worth inclusion when all she had to judge it by was her brother's reading, Josh had no idea. If it'd been up to him and he hadn't seen the so-called poems on the page, he'd have made sure every single one of them made the cut.

It took him a moment to notice the silence in the room. It took him a second moment to realize he still hadn't taken his eyes off of Emery's, and the man was smiling at Josh in a way that was doing very little to help Josh drag said eyes away. It wasn't until he closed his jaw, with a click that he fervently hoped had been audible only to his own ears, that Josh came to the humiliating conclusion it had been hanging open before.

Emery's smile grew wider, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. After an hour reading, it was only natural to assume they'd gone dry, but Josh's brain short-circuited.

"I'm famished, and not particularly captivated by the idea of risotto tonight. Would you like to go out to dinner?"

Dinner? Was Emery inviting him to—

"Yes! Steak," Emma interrupted. "I'll take care of the reservations."

Josh had forgotten she was even in the room until she spoke. It wasn't entirely his fault; Emery's eyes had been on him when he'd issued his invitation.

"Go get primped up, minion. Fancy place. Be ready in an hour."

He was pleased beyond measure to be included in the invitation after all.

#

After showering and getting his hair just right, he was no longer pleased. 'Primped up,' she said, as if Josh had packed up anything formal. There was a turtleneck shirt and a blazer jacket he supposed might do in a pinch, but he'd brought nothing but jeans. He didn't even think he owned footwear outside the scope of high top Converse tennis shoes or CAT boots.

Josh was the king of casual, or rather of making the deliberate look casual — even his form-fitting long-sleeved shirts were solid blocks of color, no print or pattern in sight. He could say, without a hint of smugness, that he was handsome enough that he wanted his clothes to complement him, not compete with him for attention. Looking at himself in the mirror with an objective gaze, he had no doubts he'd turn more than a few heads wherever he went. And yet... Would Emery regret having invited him, when he saw what he was wearing? If he'd known this would happen he'd have bought a freaking suit and a pair of dress shoes.

Enough.

He didn't own a suit or a pair of dress shoes because he'd never needed to. That wasn't likely to change in the next few minutes, and he'd hardly have the time to go shopping before dinner, so there was no point in obsessing over it.

He made his way back to the living room where Emery was already waiting, dressed in an exquisitely cut suit that fit him just right. Josh had expected his newfound awareness of Emery's allure to have faded by now, but the damn thing had staying power. He offered a smile, feeling underdressed and awkward; Emery smiled back, eyes crinkling at the corners.

A wave of annoyance at himself crested over Josh. "It's probably best if I sit this one out. Emma said 'fancy,' but I didn't pack up anything fancier than this."

Emery's appreciative smile faded, unmistakable disappointment coloring his features. "I'm certain that wouldn't be an issue. You're more than adequately dressed." A blatant lie if there ever was one. "And Emma could be persuaded to choose whatever restaurant you preferred," he continued, stilted. "It doesn't have to be this one if you won't feel comfortable there. In fact, I suspect the manager of this particular place would feel grateful if we were to go somewhere else. They're usually booked months in advance — my sister's friendship with the owner will get us a table, but I'm under no illusion it won't be taxing on the staff to accommodate us."

Josh felt terrible for pressing the issue; more than that, he felt ridiculously despondent at the thought of missing out on dinner with Emery. He forged on regardless of the absurdity of the situation. "That's okay. I don't want you to change your dinner plans because of me, and Emma has her heart set on that steak. I'll sit this one out."

A slow intake of breath from Emery. Measured, deliberate, as if he were preparing for something, or deciding something else. Serious brown eyes locked onto Josh's. "While I would certainly not begrudge you a night of freedom, allow me to disabuse you of the notion you seem to be holding: I place a far higher value on the company than on the food or the location as, I'm sure, does Emma. The decision is yours, of course."

A wide grin materialized on Josh's lips so suddenly that he wouldn't have been able to fight it off if he'd tried. "I'm not trying to get away from going — I was looking forward to dinner. I just... Didn't think working here would include dinner invites with a dress code, or I'd have packed for it."

Months ago, when Josh had started working here, he wouldn't have noticed how the minuscule change in Emery's posture was a reflection of a dramatic change in humor. It was only those endearing crinkles and a slight easing of shoulders, but Josh could tell Emery had gone from tense to relaxed in the space of a heartbeat. "It's settled then. Perhaps we might—" Emery frowned at the interruption caused by the doorbell. "I have no idea who could be ringing at this hour."

Emma wheeled herself into the room, wearing the exact same clothes she'd been wearing an hour before. "Jack and Sally. Called while you were in the shower. Haven't talked to them in ages. You two go have dinner. I promised them your risotto."

Josh wracked his brain while Emery went to open the door. Jack and Sally... Her friends from college, if he wasn't mistaken, and they'd kept in touch regularly. In fact, he'd put money on her having talked to them less than a week before.

There was no time to think further on any of that because, by then, Emery had returned with Emma's friends and she was shooing both Josh and her brother from the house, menacingly driving her wheelchair into them when they weren't moving as fast as she'd have preferred. Before Josh knew it they were both outside in the dying light, sharing a befuddled look.

"Don't look now, but I think we just got kicked out of your house," Josh said, trying to process how they'd gotten here.

Emery's attention was drawn to his beeping phone. "In addition to that, she seems to have forgotten to make the reservations, but feels confident we will, as she puts it, 'think of something'." He looked at Josh without really seeing him, staring past him in obvious discomfort. "Josh, I... Well. Like I said earlier, I won't begrudge you a night of freedom. Don't feel compelled to accompany me merely because Emma decided against doing so herself."

There was something in the renewed stiffness of his posture, in the way his words were more formal than usual, that gave Josh pause. He bit back a smile. Emery wanted him to come along, he was certain. That loosened the strange knot Josh had been feeling in his stomach since he'd found himself at odds with his choice of wardrobe.

He chose not to examine the fact that he was even more pleased at the prospect of a night out with Emery than he'd been when he'd thought it'd be the three of them.

"Are you uninviting me, then?" He allowed his lips to curve upwards in a defiant smirk.

"Certainly not," Emery rushed to correct, eyes widening. "I merely assumed... I'm not the best conversationalist, and I didn't want you to feel beholden to your earlier decision. Especially not when the circumstances have changed. Dinner with me is not a part of your contract; most people in your position might find it difficult to voice that."

Josh took an involuntary step closer, then another, stopping just on the right side of respecting the boundaries of personal space. He felt he was replying to more — much, much more — than Emery's actual words when he said, "I'm not most people. There aren't any circumstances I can think of where I'd have a hard time telling you I'd rather not do something. Like right now: I'd rather not get uninvited to dinner, if it's all the same to you."

For the second time in ten minutes, tension bled off Emery's frame, the smile Josh was increasingly fond of reasserting itself. "It's not, in fairness, all the same to me. Having you join me for dinner would be a pleasure." Emery gestured in the general direction of his car and they made their way side by side towards it. The last of the sun's fading rays cast a lovely orange-hued reflection in his expressive brown eyes. "Where would you like to eat?"

Josh grinned. Again. "Surprise me."