Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 312

Ellis was an enigma. By reputation, he was the archetype of the aloof, icy designer—the kind who barely spared anyone a word. Yet, in front of Larson, he seemed to come alive, playful and animated, as if he was an entirely different person. Who knew someone could have such contrasting sides?

He and Larson spent the entire morning tucked away in a corner of the café, never once showing themselves. Cecilia, despite lingering until she left, never laid eyes on Larson. Not that it would’ve mattered; even if she had, she wouldn’t have recognized the man she considered more venomous than a viper.

The Rossi Company’s gala was set for the following evening.

That afternoon, Emma was swept up in a flurry of preparations when the matching ruby necklace arrived, accompanied by Ellis’s own hair and makeup team. They “worked their magic” on Emma for hours, fussing over every detail.

Larson, meanwhile, spent the whole afternoon waiting for her at home.

It surprised Emma; she’d assumed her cousin would be busy on such an important night.

“Mr. Fairchild will be there. If I show up early, I’ll just get in their way,” Larson replied, completely at ease.

His comment caught her off guard.

“I mean it!” Larson insisted when he saw her skepticism, adopting an air of mock gravity. “If I’m hovering around, everyone gets nervous and it just slows everything down.”

“Are people really that afraid of you?” Emma asked, not quite convinced. To her, Larson was the very picture of gentleness and patience—nothing like the rumors that painted him as the devil incarnate.

Larson looked genuinely puzzled. “I don’t know. Am I really that intimidating?”

Emma couldn’t help laughing.

“Enough about me. You haven’t done your hair, and you’re still in street clothes. Go on, get ready!” Larson shooed her away with a wave.

She headed off to the dressing room, slipped into her gown, and returned to the vanity to have her hair styled. Then, she carefully picked up the ruby necklace laid out on the table.

Had she done something wrong?

In the end, Larson said nothing. He simply offered his arm and smiled gently. “Ready, my little princess?”

Emma’s nerves melted away as she slipped her arm through his.

Outside, a car was waiting for them—not particularly flashy, just a solid, respectable midsize sedan you’d see in any suburban driveway. Emma didn’t think twice about it, barely even glanced at the logo, and followed Larson into the back seat.

Larson, too, was dressed in one of Ellis’s creations: his usual black suit, but with a deep crimson shirt that subtly echoed the color of Emma’s gown.

A driver took the wheel, and a pair of security cars flanked them front and back as they made their way to the hotel where the gala would be held.

They arrived early, as hosts should. When they entered the ballroom, only a handful of guests had arrived.