Free Can't Help Falling by Kara Isaac

Elizabeth to walk in and try to fire her. “Try” being an important word because there was no way Emelia was letting this job go without a fight. Not when she’d crossed an ocean for it. She’d left her door open. Figured she might as well see it coming.
    Peter Carlisle. The whole crazy scenario made working with googly eyes or bad teeth or rampant facial hair look like a costarring role with Brad Pitt in comparison.
    Her fingers ached to pull up Google. All she would need to do is type in his name and a few key words, and in seconds she’d at least have a clue what she was dealing with. Some kind of idea as to why, of all the charities in the world, he was on the board of this small, unglamorous, almost bankrupt one that couldn’t even keep its website up to date.
    She’d even typed in his first name before she’d remembered her vow to no longer snoop about people online and closed the browser, pried her fingers off the keyboard.
    She’d almost called Lacey, but then she would’ve had to fill her cousin in on the whole backstory, and that really wasn’t worth it with a girl whose guilty hobby was churning through Fabio-covered romance novels like they were Diet Coke.
    So instead she sat, still as a statue, counting the seconds and waiting for the sound of Elizabeth’s door opening.
    Five hundred and eleven. That was how many she counted before the sound came, accompanied by heavy footsteps in the hall. Peter. She waited for his footsteps to head toward the exit, but instead they came toward her office.
    For some insane reason she held her breath. Like it would—what? Cast some kind of invisible cloak around her?
    The sound of his approach stalled as he got closer to her door. Emelia pictured him standing there, just out of sight. Well, she wasn’t going to sit there like some kind of piece of prey. “So, are you planning to come in or just stay out there all day?”
    Her voice was clipped, no-nonsense, betraying none of the breakdancing her insides were performing.
    After a second or two, Peter’s head came around the corner, followed by the rest of him. Between his impressive height andmuscular build, he took up the entire doorway. She took the opportunity to notice what she hadn’t in her shocked stupor. The ugly sweater was gone, replaced by a dark jacket, V-neck T, and worn jeans. “I was wondering if you were going to throw something at me.”
    Tempting. And not just the throwing part. Emelia gestured around her empty desk and sparse office. “That would have been a distinct possibility, but as you can see, I don’t actually have anything suitable.”
    Peter took a step into her office, his presence dwarfing her. She had to tilt her chin up just to see his face. “I, um, owe you an apology.”
    â€œAre you sorry that you said it or just that I overheard it?”
    His green eyes widened. What? Had he expected her to go easy on him? Brush it under the carpet? Pretend it hadn’t happened? If they were going to have to work together it wasn’t going to start out with her acting like a doormat. Even if it was all very American of her.
    â€œI just—” Peter pulled out the chair opposite her desk and squished his frame into it. Leaning forward, he placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands. He gave her a wry smile. “I’m definitely sorry that you overheard it. Elizabeth has just read me the riot act.”
    Emelia said nothing. Just looked at him. That was his apology? His red hair stuck up at all angles. It hadn’t been like that in Elizabeth’s office. She could almost see him running his hands through it in agitation as if she’d been there.
    â€œLook, I’m sorry. I was rude. I’m sorry for how I said what I did.”
    Yeah, still not a real apology. “But you meant it.”
    Peter looked trapped. She waited. She could already tell he was a terrible liar, so it