Research Assignment

Emma stood in front of her bedroom mirror, holding up her third outfit change of the evening. The black dress was too formal, the jeans too casual, and the burgundy wrap dress she was currently wearing seemed to hit some middle ground between "professional dinner" and "I'm open to possibilities."

Maya had texted her every hour since their coffee shop conversation: *Remember, you're researching authentic attraction for your book.* *Trust your instincts.* *Don't let Marcus's call psych you out.*

Emma's phone buzzed with another message, this one from Jake: *Changed the reservation to 8 PM. Something came up at the office. Address attached. Looking forward to our conversation.*

Emma clicked on the address and frowned. Instead of a restaurant, the location showed a residential building in SoHo. She quickly typed back: *This looks like an apartment address?*

Jake's response was immediate: *It is. Change of plans I'm cooking. More private for the kind of discussion we need to have.*

Emma stared at her phone, her heart hammering. Jake's apartment. Private conversation. This was definitely not a professional dinner anymore.

*Emma: Should I be concerned about the change in venue?*

*Jake: Only if you're not ready to be completely honest about what you want.*

Emma's reflection stared back at her, cheeks flushed and eyes bright with a mixture of terror and anticipation. She looked like a woman about to make a decision that would change everything.

Her phone rang, and Maya's name appeared on the screen.

"Tell me you're not chickening out," Maya said without preamble.

"He changed the venue to his apartment. He's cooking." Emma sank onto her bed. "Maya, what if this is a mistake? What if I'm misreading the situation entirely?"

"Are you attracted to him?"

The question caught Emma off guard. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Everything. Em, forget about the professional complications for a minute. Forget about your book. Are you attracted to Jake Morrison?"

Emma closed her eyes, remembering Jake's intense green gaze, the way his presence filled a room, the confident authority in his voice when he challenged her writing. "Yes," she admitted quietly.

"Then go. Not because it might help your book, not because he's your editor, but because you're attracted to him and he's attracted to you. When's the last time you let yourself explore that?"

"Maya"

"When's the last time you took a risk on something that scared you?"

Emma thought about Marcus's phone call, about the way his voice had carried that familiar undertone of manipulation and control. Then she thought about Jake's challenge, about the possibility of writing and feeling something authentic for the first time in years.

"I'm going," Emma said, surprising herself with the certainty in her voice.

"Good. Call me afterward. I want details."

"Maya"

"Not those kinds of details. I want to know if you let yourself feel something real."

An hour later, Emma stood outside Jake's SoHo building, a converted warehouse with industrial windows and the kind of understated elegance that whispered serious money. The doorman recognized her name and directed her to the top floor the penthouse, naturally.

The elevator ride felt endless. Emma checked her reflection one more time in the polished steel doors, then forced herself to stop fidgeting. Whatever was about to happen, she was going to meet it with her eyes wide open.

Jake opened the door before she could knock, and Emma's breath caught. Gone was the polished editor in his expensive suits. This Jake wore dark jeans and a charcoal gray henley that clung to his lean frame, his feet bare and his hair slightly mussed as if he'd been running his fingers through it. He looked relaxed, approachable, and somehow infinitely more dangerous than his professional version.

"Emma." His smile was warm but held an edge of something that made her stomach flip. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." Emma's voice came out breathier than she'd intended. "Your apartment is lovely."

Jake's penthouse was a study in masculine sophistication exposed brick walls, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and furniture that managed to be both comfortable and expensive. But what caught Emma's attention were the books. They were everywhere not just decoratively arranged but clearly read, with bookmarks and sticky notes protruding from dozens of spines.

"You really do read everything," Emma said, gravitating toward a shelf filled with romance novels.

"Occupational hazard." Jake moved to stand beside her, close enough that she caught his scent something warm and masculine that made her want to step closer. "Though I have to admit, your books are some of my favorites in that section."

Emma's cheeks warmed. "Even though they lack authenticity?"

"They lack vulnerability," Jake corrected, his voice gentle but firm. "There's a difference. Your technical skill is flawless, Emma. Your characters are compelling, your dialogue snaps, your plotting is elegant. But you write from here.." He touched his temple lightly. "instead of here." His hand moved to hover over his chest, just above his heart.

The gesture was intimate without being inappropriate, but Emma felt it like a physical touch.

"That's what tonight is about," Jake continued. "Teaching you to write from here."

Emma looked up into his eyes and saw something that made her pulse race not just professional interest, but genuine desire. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

Jake's smile was slow, devastating. "By showing you what it feels like when you stop thinking and start feeling."

Before Emma could ask what that meant, Jake moved to the kitchen, which was separated from the living area by a marble island. Emma watched him move with easy confidence, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator, uncorking a bottle of wine that probably cost more than Emma's rent.

"Can I help?" she offered.

"You can keep me company. And answer some questions."

Emma accepted the glass of wine Jake offered a rich red that tasted like dark fruit and expensive decisions. "What kinds of questions?"

"The kind that might make you uncomfortable." Jake began chopping vegetables with the kind of knife skills that suggested this wasn't his first time cooking for a woman. "When's the last time you felt genuinely attracted to someone?"

Emma nearly choked on her wine. "I'm sorry?"

"Attraction, Emma. Not mild interest, not intellectual compatibility genuine, physical, overwhelming attraction." Jake's knife work never faltered, but his eyes found hers across the kitchen island. "The kind that makes you forget to be careful."

Emma's cheeks burned. "I don't see how that's relevant to my writing."

"Because that's what you're trying to capture in Chapter 4. Charlotte's attraction to her editor isn't just professional interest—it's the kind of desire that scares her because it threatens to change everything." Jake set down his knife and leaned against the counter, studying Emma's face. "So when's the last time you felt that?"

Emma took another sip of wine, buying time. The honest answer was never, but admitting that would prove Jake's point about her lack of experience.

"It's been a while," she said finally.

"How long is a while?"

"Why does it matter?"

Jake moved around the island until he was standing directly in front of her, close enough that Emma had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. "Because you can't write what you've never felt. And if you've never felt overwhelming attraction, then no wonder your love scenes read like technical manuals."

Emma's breath caught. "You think I've never felt attracted to anyone?"

"I think you've felt safe approximations of attraction. Mild interest in appropriate men who would never challenge you or push you beyond your comfort zone." Jake's voice was quiet but relentless. "I think you've been so afraid of being vulnerable that you've never allowed yourself to want someone desperately."

The accusation hit too close to home. Emma set down her wine glass with trembling hands. "You don't know anything about my romantic history."

"Then tell me I'm wrong. Tell me about the last time someone made you forget to breathe, made you willing to risk everything just to be close to them." Jake's eyes were intense, challenging. "Tell me about the last time you wanted someone so badly it scared you."

Emma stared at him, her heart racing. The honest answer was that she was feeling exactly that kind of terrifying want right now, looking into Jake's green eyes and wondering what would happen if she stopped being careful.

"I..." Emma started, then stopped, unable to find words.

"That's what I thought." Jake's expression softened slightly. "Emma, there's nothing wrong with being cautious. But you can't write authentic passion from a place of fear."

"So what are you suggesting?"

Jake moved closer, close enough that Emma could feel the warmth radiating from his body. "I'm suggesting you let yourself feel something real. Just for tonight. Just to see what it's like."

Emma's pulse thundered in her ears. "Feel what, exactly?"

"Whatever happens naturally when you stop overthinking everything." Jake's hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. "Emma, you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met. You're brilliant, talented, and completely fascinating. The only thing standing between you and the kind of writing you're capable of is your own fear."

Emma's eyes fluttered closed at his touch. "Jake..."

"Let me ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly. Right now, in this moment, are you attracted to me?"

Emma's eyes snapped open. Jake was watching her with an intensity that made her stomach flip, his hand still cradling her face.

"Yes," she whispered.

"How attracted?"

Emma's cheeks flamed. "I don't understand..."

"On a scale of mild interest to desperately wanting me to kiss you, where do you fall?"

The question was so direct, so intimate, that Emma felt exposed. But there was something in Jake's eyes not just desire, but genuine curiosity that made her want to be honest.

"Closer to desperate," she admitted, her voice barely audible.

Jake's smile was triumphant. "Now we're getting somewhere. That feeling that honesty about what you want that's what needs to be in your writing."

Before Emma could respond, Jake's phone rang. He ignored it, but it rang again immediately.

"I should get that," Jake said reluctantly, his hand dropping from Emma's face. "It might be about Martha."

Emma watched Jake answer his phone, her skin still tingling where he'd touched her. She felt off-balance, exposed, as if Jake had reached into her chest and rearranged something fundamental.

"What?" Jake's voice was sharp, professional. "When did this happen?"

Emma saw Jake's expression change, saw him run a hand through his hair in what she was beginning to recognize as a nervous gesture.

"Are you sure it was her?" Jake asked. "Did she give a name?"

Emma felt a chill of foreboding. Jake's eyes found hers across the kitchen, and she saw something that looked like concern.

"I'll handle it. Don't let her near Emma's files." Jake hung up and turned to face Emma, his expression grim.

"What's wrong?" Emma asked.

"That was David from the office. Someone came by today asking questions about you. A woman claiming to be your former agent."

Emma's blood turned to ice. "Caroline Winters?"

"You know her?"

Emma felt dizzy. Caroline Winters had been her agent when Marcus stole her manuscript the agent who had dropped Emma after the scandal, claiming she couldn't represent an author with "credibility issues."

"She was my agent three years ago, when... when Marcus published my work under his name." Emma sank onto one of Jake's bar stools. "She dropped me after the scandal. Said I was too much of a liability."

Jake's expression darkened. "What did she want with your current files?"

"I don't know. But Jake..." Emma looked up at him, fear creeping into her voice. "Marcus called me yesterday. He said he wanted to collaborate on a new project. What if they're working together? What if they're planning something?"

Jake moved to stand beside her, his hand coming to rest on her shoulder. "Emma, I need you to tell me everything about what happened with Marcus. Everything."

Emma felt the walls she'd carefully constructed around that painful period of her life begin to crumble. "It's complicated."

"Then uncomplicate it. Because if someone's trying to interfere with your career, I need to know what we're dealing with."

Emma looked into Jake's eyes and saw something that steadied her not just professional concern, but genuine protectiveness. For the first time in three years, she felt like someone was truly on her side.

"Marcus and I were engaged," she began, her voice shaky. "We met in graduate school, both aspiring writers. I thought we were partners, supporting each other's dreams."

"What happened?"

"I finished my first novel a contemporary romance that I'd been working on for two years. I showed it to Marcus because I trusted him, wanted his feedback." Emma's hands clenched in her lap. "Three months later, I found out he'd submitted it to publishers under his own name. By the time I discovered what he'd done, he already had a contract."

Jake's jaw tightened. "You couldn't prove it was your work?"

"Hard to prove when your fiancé has access to all your files, knows every plot point, every character development." Emma's voice was bitter. "Caroline believed his version that I was a scorned ex trying to steal credit for his work. The publishing world is small, Jake. Once that kind of rumor starts..."

"You had to start over."

"Completely. New agent, new publisher, new pen name initially. It took me two years to rebuild any kind of credibility." Emma looked up at Jake. "And now they're both sniffing around again, right when my editor is challenging me to write more authentically. That can't be a coincidence."

Jake's expression was grim. "No, it can't. Emma, I think you need to consider the possibility that they're planning to sabotage your relationship with me, maybe even your career at Meridian."

"But why now? I'm successful, I have bestsellers.."

"Because success makes you a bigger target. And because..." Jake hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "Because I've been talking to other editors about your potential, about the possibility of positioning you for major literary prizes. If Marcus and Caroline know about that..."

Emma stared at him. "Literary prizes? Jake, I write romance novels."

"You write literature that happens to have romantic elements. There's a difference." Jake's voice was intense. "Emma, you have the potential to be one of the most important voices in contemporary fiction. But only if you're willing to dig deeper, to write with the kind of authenticity that terrifies you."

Emma felt overwhelmed. Literary recognition, past betrayals, present attraction it was all swirling together in a way that made her head spin.

"I should go," she said suddenly. "This is all too much, too complicated.."

"Emma, don't." Jake's hand covered hers. "Don't let them win by running away."

"I'm not running away, I'm being practical. Marcus destroyed my career once. I can't let him do it again."

"Then don't let him. Fight back. Write the book that proves you're exactly as talented as I know you are." Jake's eyes were fierce. "Show them that you're not the same woman who can be intimidated and manipulated."

Emma looked at Jake really looked at him. She saw professional ambition, yes, but also something deeper. He genuinely believed in her potential, was willing to fight for her success even when it complicated his own professional life.

"What are you really asking me to do?" she whispered.

Jake's thumb brushed across her knuckles. "I'm asking you to trust me. To trust yourself. To stop being afraid of how much you're capable of feeling and creating."

Emma felt something shift inside her, some long-held fear beginning to loosen its grip. "And if I can't? What if I try to write authentically and there's nothing there?"

Jake's smile was soft, reassuring. "Then at least you'll know. But Emma, I've read your work. I've seen glimpses of what you're capable of when you stop censoring yourself. There's definitely something there."

Emma's phone buzzed with a text message. She glanced at it and felt her blood turn to ice.

*Marcus: Heard you had an interesting dinner tonight. Hope you're getting the inspiration you need. Can't wait to catch up soon.*

Emma showed Jake the message, and his expression darkened.

"How does he know about tonight?" Emma asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Jake was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Emma, I need to ask you something, and I need you to be completely honest. Have you told anyone else about our dinner tonight?"

"Just Maya. My best friend."

"Anyone else? Anyone at all?"

Emma thought back through the day. "No, just... Oh God."

"What?"

"Yesterday at the coffee shop, when Maya and I were talking about you, about our dinner. There was a woman at the table behind us I remember thinking she was listening to our conversation, but I thought I was being paranoid."

Jake's expression was grim. "Describe her."