My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 811

He was, by all accounts, a remarkably handsome man.

Emily Blair pressed her lips together, unconvinced. Who knew if those photos were just misleading filters?

The man’s name was Albert Rivera. Twenty-nine years old, born and raised in the capital, with wealthy parents who had built a billion-dollar company from the ground up. He was, in every sense, the quintessential trust fund heir.

Albert himself had a master’s degree from a prestigious overseas university and now worked as the general manager for a Fortune 500 company’s Eldoria branch, specializing in financial investments. He was currently based in the capital city.

His annual salary wasn’t specified, but from what Emily knew, someone in Albert’s position would easily be raking in millions.

The dossier was filled with details about Albert Rivera—healthy, athletic, responsible, and so on. Emily barely skimmed the rest, not bothering to commit any of it to memory.

She gave the requirements for the woman a cursory glance, too. Honestly, they were the same generic demands every other man seemed to have.

Emily tossed the folder aside without a second thought.

Across the table, Emma George watched her like a hawk. “You went through that awfully fast. Did you even read it properly?”

Emily said nothing, but her silence spoke volumes.

She pushed herself up from the table. “I really did look it over. I’ve remembered what I need to. I’m going back to bed, just wake me up for lunch.”

“Hold it right there.”

Emma grabbed her wrist, turning her arm this way and that as if examining a rare artifact. “Aren’t you going to do your hair? Buy something new to wear?”

It was Emily’s day off—no meetings, no office, nothing on her schedule. She’d thrown on whatever was comfortable, her hair barely brushed, and was still in her pajamas.

She held her hands up in mock innocence. “It’s still morning. If I’m changing, shouldn’t I wait until tonight?”

Emily frowned, genuinely surprised. “That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think?”

“Enough,” Emma said, making her verdict final. “Forget about sleeping. You’re going out—get your hair done, shop for new clothes. Now, chop-chop. Don’t waste time.”

Emma hustled Emily toward the door, but Emily threw up her hands in surrender. “Wait, wait—”

“No more waiting. Get moving.”

Emily clung to the back of the sofa with a sigh. “Look, I don’t need to go out. I can just have someone deliver clothes here.”

Emma loosened her grip, eyeing her skeptically. “Really? And you’re sure the clothes they bring will fit? You’ll still need to try them on.”

Emily straightened her sleep-rumpled pajamas, thanks to Emma’s fussing. “Most of my clothes are sent over by brands anyway. The shop staff will drop off the entire new season’s collection, and I can pick out what I like. They’ll take back whatever I don’t want. With so many options, I’m bound to find something that works.”