Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 216

Emma thought to herself, *What a load of crap!*

But Theodore was probably just saying it for effect—he clearly had no intention of making her actually clean up. After they entered the bedroom, he headed straight for the shower. When he came out, he packed his suitcase by himself, then just stood there, not leaving.

Emma wanted to call her grandmother, but with him hovering around, it was impossible to get a moment’s peace. Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore and snapped, “Are you leaving or what?”

“Could you at least try to be a little nicer?” he said, moving behind her.

Emma was sitting at her vanity, taking out her hairpins.

Suddenly, he reached over, gently loosening the last hairband for her, then leaned down, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

Their faces were nearly touching in the mirror.

Emma genuinely hated how close he was getting. As soon as he invaded her space, all she could think about was the lingering scent of Cecilia’s perfume—and it made her sick.

She had barely started to move away when he tightened his arms, holding her firmly.

“Your husband’s about to leave on a trip, and you’re not even going to wish me a safe journey?” he whispered in her ear.

All Emma could think was that she wasn’t nearly as ruthless as she ought to be. If she were, she’d be thinking about inheritance right now, not feeling guilty.

She glared at his reflection, her voice ice-cold. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll curse you? You’re sitting on a fortune, after all.”

He smiled. “You wouldn’t. You’re too kind for that.”

Emma was taken aback.

“Someone who once joked about wanting to ‘keep me’ for five bucks a day? You’re not the type to curse me,” he murmured softly beside her ear.

Emma felt all wrong—uncomfortable, unsettled. What was Theodore even trying to do? Why was he bringing up things from twelve years ago? Wasn’t he always disgusted by the idea that she used to like him?

“Emma.” He took a deep breath, hugging her even tighter. “I don’t know why, but this time, before I leave, I feel uneasy. Anxious. Like something bad is about to happen.”

Emma froze.

“Hm…” Emma immediately stopped laughing. “Honestly, it’s not about the money. I sincerely hope you come back safe. Safe travels, Mr. Whitman.”

“Not very heartfelt,” he chuckled, standing up and actually transferring the money to her phone.

So it really was true—offering well wishes could earn you gifts.

“I’m leaving now, Emma. Be good while I’m gone,” he said, then quickly kissed her on the cheek.

Emma frowned.

Whatever—fifty grand was fifty grand.

She heard the door close, heard him call his driver, guessed he was already on the elevator by now. Only then did she finally call her grandmother, telling her she wouldn’t be coming over tonight and would pick her up tomorrow morning instead.

By midnight, she’d finished every last little chore, and finally crawled into bed to sleep.