Beauty and the Running Back (26 page)

“I, uh, really have to run,” I say, my voice faint. “I have
a...I’ve got to...”

“No worries. We’ll see you soon!” Cooper says. “Emerson here
will teach you everything you need to know next week.”

“Right,” I say, my eyes locking onto Emerson’s once more.
“OK. Well. Bye.”

I skirt around Emerson’s tall, built form, all but dive into
the elevator, and jab the “close door” button with as much ferocity as I can
muster. The second those doors snap shut again, I fall back against the
elevator wall, my chest heaving, trying not to burst into tears. I feel like
I’m going to faint. Or be sick. How could I have possibly not known that
Emerson works for Bastian these days? What are the chances that we’d end up
face-to-face like this, after all these years?

And what the hell am I supposed to do now?

I burst back out of the front doors, gulping down deep
breaths as best I can. All around me, New Yorkers brush past, completely
unaware that I’m having the strangest, most disorienting day of my life. But,
that’s New York City for you—the best and worst place ever to have a panic
attack. Struggling to regain a modicum of composure, I straighten myself up and
make to book it away from the Bastian offices.

I get about three steps, too, before I feel a strong hand
catch mine.

“Abby,” I hear Emerson say, “Abby, wait—”

“What did you do, scurry down the drain pipe?” I breathe,
spinning around to face him.

“I prefer the stairs to the drainpipe, but thanks for the
tip,” he replies, looking at me with dazed wonder. “I can’t believe you’re
here.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stepping out of the busy
sidewalk traffic. “I had no idea you work here, Emerson. If I’d known, I never
would have applied.”

“What?” he says, taking a step toward me. “Why not?”

“I didn’t mean to show up here, unannounced, and...you know.
Crash your party,” I babble, unable to keep my eyes on his face for long. In
the last eight years, his gorgeousness has solidified into sheer perfection. I
can only hope that time has treated me half as well. “I promise, I’ll shoot
Cooper an email this weekend and tell him I can’t accept the job.”

“Abby, I don’t want you to do that,” Emerson says, his brow
furrowing slightly. “If you’d just listen to me for a minute, I could tell you
that I’m not mad about your being here.”

“You’re not?” I ask, surprised, “But...why not?”

“Because we’re not ten years old, and this isn’t a ‘no girls
allowed’ clubhouse, for one,” Emerson laughs. “It’s...wonderful to see you,
Abby. Seriously. I can’t quite believe that it’s happening, but...”

“Yeah,” I laugh nervously, “I certainly wasn’t expecting to
run into you, well...ever.”

“How the hell have you been?” he asks, laying a hand on my
shoulder. My skin sparks at his gentle, familiar touch. “You look amazing.”

“Says you,” I chortle inelegantly.

Nice one,
Abby,
I chide myself.

“Yeah, says me,” Emerson smiles.

We lapse into silence, staring at each other there on the
sidewalk. My heart is still hammering against my ribcage, my knees shake
uncontrollably. Seeing Emerson again is like a dream. A very sexy dream. But
that said, I need to wake up, now. The sooner the better.

“I really should go,” I insist, edging away, “This is wild
and everything, but I don’t think we should draw it out, you know? I’ll just
leave you to your company, and find some other agencies to apply to, and—”

“I just told you I don’t want you to turn down the job,”
Emerson says, with just the slightest note of hardness.

“Yeah, well. I
do
want to turn it down,” I shoot back, a bit annoyed at his tone.

“Why’s that?” he insists, crossing his arms.

“Gee. I wonder,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Working
side-by-side with my estranged ex-stepbrother slash...”

“Slash what?” Emerson asks, his eyes hard on my face.

“I just think it would be a terrible idea,” I say flatly,
“But, hey, maybe I’ll see you at a conference sometime, or—”

“Or over drinks,” he cuts me off, the corner of his mouth
twisting up into his signature, roguish grin.

“Drinks?” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “What drinks are
those?”

“The drinks we’re going to have tomorrow night. I know a
great martini bar around here. It’s not as good as champagne in a motel
room...”

My heart flips over as he immediately brings up our fated
night as lovers. Christ, he knows how to go right for the jugular, doesn’t he?

“Last time I checked, I hadn’t agreed to a drink,” I remind
him.

“True. But you know what tomorrow is, don’t you?” he grins.

Of course. If Saturday is my birthday, then tomorrow is his.

“You want to spend your birthday...with me?” I ask.

“I do,” he replies.

“Don’t you have some leggy, blonde supermodel to entertain?”
I shoot back.

“Several,” he says without missing a beat, “But I’d still
rather hang out with you. Meet me at Clinton and Houston at eight. Wear
something fancy.”

I know that there’s no way he’s going to let me off the
hook, here. The best I can do is say yes now and blow him off tomorrow.

“Fine,” I say crisply, extending my hand for him to shake,
“See you then.”

I swallow a gasp as he scoops up my hand, draws it to his
lips, and plants a kiss there.
Someone
turned into a gentlemen over the past eight years. I wonder how the hell that
happened?

“Looking forward to it,” he smiles, holding onto my hand for
longer than is necessary. “And don’t you dare blow me off, Ab. It is my
birthday, after all.”

I turn on my heel and hurry away, feeling all the blood in
my body rush to my head. It’s a good thing I’m familiar with this city by now,
because I can’t pay a lick of attention to anything all the way home. In the
blink of an eye I’m staggering, dazedly, back into my apartment. I drop my
purse onto the floor and flop onto the couch, staring straight ahead of me,
unseeing. Riley pokes her head out of her bedroom as she hears me enter.

“Hey! How’d it go?” she asks.

“I got the job,” I tell her, my voice flat.

“That’s great, Abby!” she squeals, rushing out to join me on
the couch. She stops short at my glazed expression. “Abby? Isn’t that great?”

“Sure,” I tell her, “The job is great. It’s perfect,
actually. Amazing company, good salary, nice benefits. Oh! And Emerson Sawyer
happens to work there, too. So there’s that.”

Riley stares at me blankly. I haven’t uttered Emerson’s name
for years—well, not while sober, anyway.

“Are you shitting me?” Riley hisses. “You saw Emerson today?
At your new company?”

“Oh yeah. He’s going to be showing me the ropes,” I tell
her. “Or he would be, if I was going to take the job. Which I’m obviously not.”

“Excuse me?” Riley exclaims. “Why the hell would you not
take it?”

“Did you miss the part about Emerson working there?” I shoot
back. “As in my one-time brother, long-lost lover, walked out of my life
forever and broke my heart into a million little pieces
Emerson
?”

“No, I caught that loud and clear,” Riley replies, slinging
an arm over my shoulder. “And there’s no way you’re passing up a dream job
because he happens to be working at the same company. If anything, his working
there should be a perk!”

“What,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“Now you can rekindle your romance at last!” Riley exclaims,
“It’s kismet!”

“It’s a train wreck waiting to happen,” I correct her. “In
case you’re forgetting, we didn’t exactly end on great footing, Emerson and I.”

“So what? It was your parents who fucked everything up back
then,” Riley presses, “You could totally hit it off now that you’re adults.”

“God. Did you give him a pep talk too or something?” I ask,
shaking my head, “He asked me out for a birthday drink about three seconds
after we’d run into each other.”

“What?!” Riley shrieks, pulling me to my feet. “He asked you
out?! For when?!”

“Tomorrow,” I tell her, wiggling out of her excited grasp. “But
don’t get your hopes up, it’s not happening. No way. No how.”

All at once, Riley snaps from giddy girlfriend to drill
sergeant mode. Stepping into my path, she plants her hands on her hips and
levels a glare at me that could cut through diamond.

“Abigail Cecily Rowan,” she begins. “For the past eight
years, I have watched you pine away for this person, miss him beyond all
comprehension, and refuse to get serious with anyone else because no one could
ever take his place in your heart. Now, all of a sudden, fate has deposited him
back into your lap, and you’re seriously thinking of bailing? That, my dear,
just will not do. I am not going to stand by while you flip off destiny and
forever ruin your happily-ever-after chances because you’re afraid of getting
hurt again. You will take this job. You will let Emerson back into your life.
And you will start tomorrow with a drink on his birthday. Do I make myself
clear?”

Looking into Riley’s furious face, I realize two things.
First, I’ve been dying for someone to give me permission to see what happens
from here with Emerson. I don’t know how to give it to myself, of course, so
thank god she’s here. Second, even if I didn’t want to see him ever again, she
would make me anyway. So, this is looking like a win-win.

“Will you at least help me pick out something to wear?” I
ask softly.

“Please,” she scoffs, “As if I’d let you dress yourself for
something this important.”

And just like that, the matter is settled. I let myself
consider the possibility that maybe running into Emerson today wasn’t a cruel
joke from the universe, but a gift. A super sexy, super loaded, super
intelligent gift wrapped up in an incredible person that I’ve loved since I was
a kid, that is.

Chapter Thirteen

* * *

After trying on twenty outfits, getting in at least three
fights with Riley, and nearly booking a plane ticket to Canada rather than
going through with this evening, I make it out the door to meet Emerson. He’s
asked me to meet him back on the Lower East Side, just a stone’s throw from the
Bastian offices. I arrive a few minutes after eight and linger on the corner.
The birthday boy is nowhere in sight.

Riley dressed me up in a deep red dress with a low-cut back
and tasteful scoop neckline. My blonde hair is arranged in a loose chignon, and
the warm spring night doesn’t even require me to wear a jacket. My stomach is a
little fluttery, and I’m still halfway convinced that I dreamed up seeing
Emerson the other day, but I’m willing to stand here for another five seconds
or so before I flee.

Five...
I
count down in my head.
Four...Three...

I feel a hand on the small of my back and spin around
sharply to find Emerson standing before me. And of course, he looks utterly
fantastic. A gray blazer, light slacks, and trendy suede loafers have him
looking right at home in this neighborhood. And he’s lost the glasses, too—the
better for me to ogle his twenty-five-year-old—or rather, twenty-six-year-old
face.

“You showed up,” he grins, his eyes gleaming as he gives me
a subtle once over.

“Yeah, well,” I shrug, burning up under his gaze. “I can’t
resist a martini, so.”

“Hey, I’ll take it,” he replies. “Come on. The bar’s right
over here.”

I clutch onto my tiny black purse as Emerson leads us over
to an unremarkable doorway embedded in the busy line of shops. He raps the door
three times quickly, then twice at a slower pace. I cock an eyebrow at his
antics, but before I can say anything, the door swings open for us.

“It’s sort of a speakeasy type place,” he explains, nodding
for me to follow him. “Just a little bit exclusive.”

And he’s not kidding, either. As I step into the dimly lit
bar after him, I feel my jaw drop. The place is elegant, impeccable, and super
swanky. I almost laugh, remembering the little seafood shack we went to on his
eighteenth birthday. How far we’ve come! There are only a dozen or so people in
here, all of them looking perfect. This must be some elite, secret spot, known
only to the rich and famous. Wait a minute...is Emerson rich and famous now
himself?

“This is my favorite table,” he tells me, sinking into a
plush corner booth.

“You have a favorite table here?” I breathe, sinking down
beside him.

“Sure,” he grins, “And a favorite drink too.”

I gape as a martini appears on the table before Emerson. He
winks at the server, who clearly knows Emerson’s usual order. The server,
dressed in a finer suit than any of the men I’ve dated, asks me for my order.

“I’ll...have what he’s having,” I say faintly.

The man nods and hurries off to fix a drink for me. I look
around at the exquisite room, the beautiful patrons, and the specter from my
past sitting across the table from me.

“OK,” I say at last, “This, my friend, is officially
bizarre.”

“I guess it sort of is,” Emerson laughs, more than happy to
acknowledge the strangeness of our reunion. “But, what good thing in life isn’t
a little surreal? I say we run with it.”

A perfect martini materializes before me. I thank the
server, pluck up the cocktail, and hold up my glass in a toast.

“Well, happy birthday, Emerson,” I say, “I hope you enjoy
your one night of being older than me as much as you did when we were kids.”

“Oh, I think I will,” he smiles, clinking his glass to mine.

I take a sip of my drink and freeze, savoring the
mind-blowing deliciousness of it. This is top-shelf vodka. The kind that ought
to be kept in a safe. A drink like this must cost a fortune. And
this
is Emerson’s usual?

“So, I guess the past eight years have treated you well?” I
ask, stunned by the fineness of the liquor.

“I’ve done OK for myself,” Emerson nods.

“Well, since there’s no elegant segue to be found here,
start from the beginning,” I tell him, “How’s your life been,
Tank
?”

“Oof,” he cringes, “Using my old lacrosse nickname? Harsh.”

“Yeah, well. Old age has hardened me,” I say, trying to keep
a straight face. “Now spill!”

“OK, OK,” Emerson says, taking a sip of his drink. “Well,
when we last saw each other, shit was going down in flames. Mom had just
relapsed, obviously, and I had just...well...”

“Kicked the shit out of grade-A douchebag and gotten
expelled,” I finish his thought.

“That would be correct,” Emerson nods. “Mom and I picked up
and left. We landed at her sister’s place in Pennsylvania for a minute. We got
Mom into rehab, and I found a little apartment outside of Philly. Nice town,
you know. I didn’t do much for the next year except visit my mom, take odd jobs
to pay rent, and tool around on the computer. I don’t think you knew this about
me in high school, but I’ve always been kind of a tech nerd. I became
fascinated with programming, data, building things that other people could use.

I got my GED, and told myself I’d take a year to learn some
more about programming before applying to college. I took some courses in the
city, and found out that I was pretty damn good at the whole thing. The app
craze was only just about to take off as I put together my first real project.
With a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of venture capital backing, the
thing took off. I sold my app, made a ton. Overnight, everything was different.
So instead of going to college, I just kept building, and thinking, and meeting
new people. Eventually, I ran into Cooper, and he all but handed the European
offices of Bastian to me on a silver platter. I’ve been there for a couple of
years, and it’s been amazing.”

“So you’re telling me that you went from bad boy jock to
tech millionaire?” I ask, staring at him across the table.

“Close,” he says, unable to contain his proud but modest
smile. “I went from bad boy jock to tech
billionaire
.”

My eyes go wide as I try to comprehend the thing he’s just
told me. Emerson’s smile fades as I sit silently beside him.

“Sorry, was that a total asshole move?” he asks, frowning,
“I don’t know what I was thinking, just bringing that up—”

“No, Emerson,” I say quickly, reaching for his hand before I
can stop myself. “It’s amazing. I’m just so, so proud of you.”

In unison, we glance down at our now-clasped hands on the
table. Bashful as ever, I lift my fingers away. My skin tingles where it
glanced against his. As if I didn’t have enough reason to be nervous around him
before, now it turns out that he’s not only my long-lost first love, but also a
goddamn billionaire?

This is shaping up to be quite a week, I’ll tell you.

“But...what about you?” Emerson says, breaking the pointed
silence, “How did things play out for you?”

“Well,” I begin, taking a nice big sip of my drink. “From
the point of our parents’ disastrous one-day marriage, my dad totally wiped
out. Relapsed harder than ever. Really just never recovered. My grandparents
took me in until high school was over, and then I moved to the city to study at
The New School with Riley. We’ve been living together ever since, in this great
place my grandparents own...Ugh. Sorry. I sound like such a mooch.”

“No, not at all,” Emerson assures me, “You’ve got to use the
resources you have, right?”

“I’ll take that,” I smile. “What else...I studied graphic
design and digital media, got my masters, and voila! Here I am.”

“Design, huh? So you still get to be an artist,” he says,
his eyes resting warmly on my face. I smile, touched that he’s remembered my
childhood passion.

“In a way, yes,” I reply. “And I guess you’ll be seeing a
lot more of my work soon, what with your kind of being my boss and all.”

“I’m your colleague, not your boss,” Emerson insists.

“Uh-huh. Sure,” I tease, “Whatever you say,
boss
.”

“Careful, lackey,” he shoots back, jumping on my joke, “Or
I’ll have to dock your pay.”

“Ooh, I’m shaking in my panties,” I snicker. My cheeks flame
red as I realize that it’s taken me all of five minutes to bring my panties
into the conversation.

“Relax,” Emerson chuckles, seeing my face. “This isn’t
Courtney Haines’ house party. I’m not gonna make you hand them over or
anything. Unless you really want to.”

“Duly noted,” I tell him, all but swigging my martini.

“I hear she’s on Broadway now,” Emerson goes on, glancing
down at his drink.

“Really,” I say, feeling an old trill of jealousy run
through me as I remember the redheaded beauty who snagged Emerson’s attention
all those years ago.

“Yeah. Almost won a Tony and everything,” Emerson says,
plucking up his olive and popping it into his mouth. “Maybe I should call her
up and see how she’s doing?”

I’m about to say something polite and change the subject,
until I see the look in Emerson’s gorgeous blue eyes.

“Are you baiting me, Sawyer?” I ask.

“Is it working, Rowan?” he winks.

“You’re terrible,” I inform him, relieved that he wasn’t
serious about Courtney.

“It’s true,” he sighs dramatically, “Some things never
change.”

“Besides, there surely isn’t room for Courtney in your
harem,” I go on, “With your whole gorgeous bad boy billionaire thing, you’ve
probably got a girlfriend for every day of the week.”

“Nope,” Emerson replies, “But thanks for calling me
gorgeous.”

“Like you don’t know,” I shoot back, “So then, just the one
girlfriend for you?”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Fiancée?” I ask, with mounting dread, “Wife?”

“Well, there is Roxie...” he says, “She’s very important to
me.”

“Roxie?” I ask, “You’re with a woman named Roxie? Who the
hell—?”

“She’s my west highland terrier,” he cuts me off with a
smirk. “But good to see you’re still protective of me, Ab.”

“I’m not—I just—” I sputter, “I’m just curious, is all.”

“That makes two of us,” he replies, “I’m expecting a report
on your love life, too.”

“Or lack thereof, you mean?” I ask drily. “I just finished
grad school. That means my most significant romantic relationship at the moment
is with my pizza delivery man.”

“Who is he? I’ll throttle him,” Emerson says, raising his
fists like a cartoon leprechaun. But the memory of the beat down he gave Tucker
all those years ago is too fresh for that particular joke to be funny.

For the first time this evening, the silence between us
grows tense. Despite our relatively breezy reunion so far, there’s a lot of
ugly, buried emotions hanging between us. I’ve spent a good part of the last
eight years being furious with Emerson for disappearing on me when I needed
him. I’ve been hurt, angry, and more than anything, just terribly sad to have
lost him. All that feeling can’t just evaporate because he’s resurfaced with a
shit ton of money and nicer biceps than ever before.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says with quiet firmness,
leaning toward me.

“Honestly?” I reply, “I’m thinking about all the imaginary
fights I’ve had with you these past few years. All the things I’d dream of
saying to you, if we ever ran into each other again.”

“Like what?” he asks intently.

“You don’t want me to tell you,” I mutter, “Your eyebrows
might get singed off.”

“That bad, huh?” he asks.

“That bad,” I assure him.

“Well, I had plenty of imaginary conversations with you,
too,” he tells me, moving closer by just an inch. “Want to know how most of
them went?”

“I’m not sure—”

“Usually, they revolved around me apologizing for vanishing
into thin air on you,” he cuts me off, “And for leaving you to deal with the
fallout on your own. And hey, now that you’re actually sitting here with me, I
can tell you—I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think sorry can begin to fix it,” I whisper,
staring down at my drink. “You left, Emerson. Left me alone in that house, with
my dad, after the way he treated us. He could have hurt me, if Riley hadn’t
shown up to get me. Did you even care?”

“Of course I cared,” he said fiercely, “But try to imagine
being me in that moment. Having my mother bring the whole family crashing down
all on her own...it was humiliating. I felt like absolute scum for being my
parents’ kid. I couldn’t even look at you, I was so ashamed of who I was. And
so furious that I couldn’t do anything to help or protect you.”

“Is that why you nearly killed Tucker?” I ask softly.

“I guess it is,” Emerson allows, shaking his head, “I wasn’t
really thinking about it much at the time. To be honest, Abby, I don’t lose
much sleep over what I did to him. In my mind, that’s what he had coming from
the moment he...Anyway. I had to disappear, Ab. I couldn’t stand the idea of
you being as ashamed of me as I was.”

“I was never ashamed of you,” I burst out, “Never once,
Emerson. That was just some crazy idea you cooked up in your own damn mind. I
never gave a shit about our families’ money and standing. You know that. Or at
least you
should
have
known.”

“You’re right,” Emerson murmurs, reaching for my hand, “I
should have. And for that, again, I am truly sorry. But don’t you think for a
second that I wouldn’t have come running back if you’d ever needed me.”

“How would you have known if I did?” I ask, exasperated.

“I followed you,” he says, “Online, I mean. Your social
media presence was pretty remarkably unprotected when you were younger. For a
while, I scoped you out on Facebook, Myspace, checked in to see how you were
doing. But once you got to college, and it seemed like your whole life was just
opening up in front of you...I knew you’d be OK. I knew you didn’t need me
anymore.”