Beauty and the Running Back (29 page)

“What?!” my grandparents gasp in unison.

“I’ve just been hired by the creative agency Emerson works
for,” I inform them, “I was going to tell you the good news over dinner, but.
Well.”

“For Christ’s sake,” Grandpa mutters, “What are you giving
him in return for getting you this job? Do I even want to know?”

I stare at my grandfather, gobsmacked. “You think I got the job
by...what? Sleeping with Emerson?” I ask quietly. “You think that little of me?
Of my abilities? I...I don’t even know what to say, Grandpa.”

“Say that you won’t get involved with that man outside of
work,” Grandma pleads, “Especially not here, under our roof.”

“If you’re so concerned with Emerson not being under your
roof, maybe I’d better move,” I say, exasperated.

“If that’s what you want,” Grandpa says coldly, “You can
carry on with that man all you like, but you’d best not expect to have anything
to do with us if you choose to do so. If you keep on with your disgraceful
little relationship with him, I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue being a
part of your life, Abby. You’ll have to leave this apartment, of course. And be
content with never seeing us again. If you can live with all that, go ahead.”

“You’d cut me out of your lives?” I ask quietly, “Just for
being with Emerson?”

“We would,” my grandfather assures me.

“We’d have no other choice,” my grandmother agrees with him.
There’s a hint of sadness in her voice, but she’s always gone along with what
Grandpa decides.

“Well...” I say, my voice hollow, “You certainly have given
me a lot to think about this evening. And would you look at that, my appetite
seems to be gone, too.”

“Why don’t you just call us when you’ve come to your
senses,” Grandpa says, heading for the door, “Or at least call to let us know
if we need to start looking for a new tenant. You have a couple of days to
decide. If we don’t hear from you, we’ll assume you’ve made your decision and
act accordingly.”

“I don’t care what you decide to do about the apartment,” I
tell him, “I’m more than happy to find a new place to live, I can pay rent now
that my job is lined up. But cutting me out of your lives altogether? That’s
what hurts. How can you be so mad at me, just for spending time with someone I
care about?”

“We aren’t mad at you, Abby,” Grandma says, following him
out, “We’re just terribly, terribly disappointed.”

“Yeah. I know the feeling,” I whisper, wrapping my arms
around my waist.

They march off into the elevator, and I slam the door in
their wake. Hot, angry tears course down my cheeks as I press my back to the
door. How dare they say those horrible things about Emerson? They don’t even
know him. And how could they threaten to cut me out of their lives, just for
being with him? I can’t believe they’d disown their only granddaughter over
something so petty as a grudge. Especially when that grudge is built on nothing
but bullshit!

The injustice of it all has me reeling. I feel the room
spinning around me, and I know it’s not just the booze that’s knocking me off
kilter. If my grandparents turn their backs on me, I’ll be officially without
any family in this world. I haven’t really spoken to my dad for years, I have
no aunts and uncles, no cousins. Frank and Jillian are it. And they’re ready to
abandon me if I keep Emerson in my life.

I stagger over to the couch, curling up into a ball and
letting the tears come hard and fast. The very thought of losing what’s left of
my family has me feeling unmoored, alone. It’s not just having to find a new
place to live that scares me, I can take care of that in no time. It’s the idea
of losing my history, my only real links back to my mother, my old life, that
terrifies me the most.

“What...” I mutter, as I feel something dig into my hip. I
reach into my pocket and feel my fingers close around the ring box Emerson
brought over tonight.

I blink away my tears and open the box once more, staring
down at the beautiful pearl ring. With trembling fingers, I carefully pluck the
ring out of its cushioned bed and slip it onto my right hand. It fits
perfectly. After all these years, I still love it. And if I’m being honest, I
still love the person who gave it to me, too. Daringly, I slide the ring off and
slip it, breathlessly, onto the other hand. I look down at the single pearl,
glimmering on my left ring finger. I have to say, I like the look of it there.

In that moment, I know that I can’t cut Emerson out of my
life. Not again, No matter what it costs me in the end, he’s worth whatever
price I have to pay.

Chapter Fifteen

* * *

I spend most of Sunday recovering from my less-than-ideal
birthday. But before I know it, Monday morning has arrived; my first day on the
job at Bastian Creative. My stomach is in knots as I get ready for the day. I
was already nervous to begin my dream job, but this weekend only ramped up the
pressure. With my cushy free housing likely to be yanked away, I need this
first week at Bastian to go incredibly well. There’s sure to be a bit of a
probation period where Cooper can let me go if I don’t fit in at Bastian. So I
guess my only choice is to be the model employee, even with my one-day
stepbrother and potential lover training me.

Sure. No problem.

Speaking of Emerson, he didn’t even try to get in touch with
me after our roller coaster of a Saturday night. Between our steamy make out
session, our tussle over money issues, and my grandparents’ atrocious behavior,
I’m not really sure where we stand. And now, we’re going to spend this entire
week in each others’ company as I learn the ropes of my new job. This should be
interesting, that’s for sure.

I arrive at the Bastian offices right on time, dressed in my
best “professional hipster” office attire. But as I step out of the elevator,
ready to dive into my training, I’m surprised to find myself alone in the communal
workroom. Of the dozen or so other employees, no one else seems to be around.

“Hello?” I call, glancing around in search of my coworkers.
I check my phone and see that it is, indeed, 10 a.m. The start of the workday.
What gives? For something to do, I head on over to the well-stocked bar and
snack cart, where a fancy, gleaming espresso machine stands at the ready. As I
set to work crafting myself an excellent cup of coffee, I hear footsteps behind
me. Spinning around, I find myself face-to-face with the man I’ve been thinking
of incessantly for the past two days.

“Oh Abby, you shouldn’t have!” Emerson teases, eyeing my
espresso, “It’s not your job to make me coffee in the morning.”

“How convenient!” I chirp, playing along with his bit as I
grab my mug, “Because this sucker is all mine.”

“I’ll just have to join you, then,” Emerson smiles, stepping
around me to get at the espresso machine. “Unless we’re still doing that
not-talking thing that I hate so much.”

“Not at all,” I reply, my heart thumping wildly in my chest.
And not from the caffeine, either. “Provided that you don’t hate me after
Saturday night.”

“Please,” Emerson laughs, “I’ve long since stopped caring
about what people think of me, Abby. And I certainly don’t make a habit of
holding peoples’ families against them. I’m sorry that I said those shitty
things about your grandparents. It’s not my place to judge them, even if they
have no problem at all judging me.”

“Man. How’s the weather up there on the high road?” I laugh,
sipping my coffee.

“What can I say? That charming temper of mine isn’t quite as
hot as it was eight years ago,” he replies, picking up his own mug of joe.
“Turns out that punching people is frowned upon in the tech industry. Who knew?
So, what do you say? Are we all right?”

“We’re all right,” I smile back.

“I see you like your present,” he observes, looking down at
my right hand.

“Oh yeah,” I reply, admiring the silver ring once again.
Thank god I remembered to put it back on the right hand, rather than the left.
“It’s beautiful, Emerson.”

“I’m glad you still think so, after all this time,” he says,
“Still the same old Abby, huh?”

“More or less,” I shrug, “Though I seem to be more
obnoxiously punctual these days. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, Cooper doesn’t usually roll in until noon or so, and
the rest of the office has taken to his schedule,” Emerson tells me.

“Jeez,” I say, “Just when I was thinking this job couldn’t
get any better...”

“It’s a pretty sweet gig,” Emerson agrees, “We work hard,
but on our own terms. I’ve never been happier with any other company I’ve
worked for. I figured I’d get here early to meet you today, show you the ropes
before everyone gets here. Ready to start, protégé?”

“All set,” I say, draining the rest of my coffee, “Teach me
your ways, O’ Wise One.”

The rest of the day unfolds before us as Emerson walks me
through all the ins and outs of the agency. My job will mostly consist of
brainstorming new ideas for marketing and branding before passing them along to
different clients. I’ll get to execute my ideas using Bastian’s top-of-the-line
design suite, too. I never thought that I’d get to have a job that I actually
like, especially not this early on in my career. Between the new gig at Bastian
and Emerson happening back into my life, 26 is shaping up to be a fine year,
indeed...

That is, as long as I don’t think of the whole
grandparents-disowning-me-thing.

Emerson and I are sitting together at one end of the
communal desk as our coworkers begin to arrive a couple hours later. Everyone
greets me in a cordial, if not chipper, way. But hey, we’re all millennials,
that’s how we roll. I’d rather they be real with me than overly enthusiastic. I
recognize a few people—Bradley, Tyler, and Emily—from the other night at the
bar. They all smile politely at me as they settle down to work, but I can feel
their eyes darting back and forth between Emerson and me.

I’m sure they’re wondering what we were doing at the bar
together, what the nature of our relationship is, all that. I almost laugh,
thinking about how I’d explain our relationship these days: “Oh, you know, we
were step-siblings for a day, slept together once, haven’t seen each other in
ten years, but yeah—it’s totally chill!” I decide not to worry about what
anyone else might be thinking and focus on learning the ropes. By the end of my
first day, I feel like I’m starting to have an idea of all that the job will
entail, and I’m more excited than ever to keep learning more. It turns out,
Emerson is a great teacher.

Cooper doesn’t roll into until after noon, just like Emerson
said. He smiles around at his worker bees, and comes over to say hello to me
and Emerson.

“How’s your first day so far, Abby?” he asks jovially.

“I haven’t broken anything yet,” I reply, “So I guess it’s
all good!”

“She’s a natural at this,” Emerson tells Cooper.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tyler nudge Bradley and
shoot him a knowing look. I should remind Emerson not to praise me too vocally
around the others. It might get people talking about us. Maybe even feeling a
little jealous of my friendly relationship with one of the agency’s higher-ups.
My grandfather’s quip about what I might have done with Emerson to get this job
still stings. I don’t want anyone here getting the same idea. Though glancing
around the communal workstation, it looks like it might be too late for that.

I feel myself growing quiet as the day wears on,
self-conscious of what my coworkers might be saying about my rather cozy
relationship with the head of the company’s European branch. By the time we all
start to clock out and head home once more, my jaw may as well be wired shut.
My growing silence isn’t lost on Emerson, either.

“I know it’s a lot to take in all at once,” he says, as we
step into the elevator together with a few other coworkers, “But you really are
doing a great job. You’re going to do so well here, Abby. I’m proud of you.”

I bite my tongue until we reach the ground floor. As the
other Bastian employees head off in their own directions, Emerson and I fall
into step with each other out on the sidewalk. I feel like I can breathe again
for the first time in hours. Never underestimate the stifling nature of
coworkers’ judgey passive aggression.

“How does it not bother you that people are clearly
gossiping about us in there?” I ask Emerson, as we head for the subway.

“What are you talking about?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at
me.

“Our coworkers,” I spell it out, “They obviously know that
something’s up between us.”

“Well, something
is
up, isn’t it?” he asks, slipping an arm around my waist in his mischievous
fashion.

“Seriously Emerson,” I say, drawing to a stop beside the
subway entrance, “Aren’t you worried that this could mess things up for us at
work?”

“No,” he says shortly, looking a bit irked. “I’m not worried
about being fodder for the rumor mill for a week or two. This isn’t high
school, Ab. Gossip can’t hurt you.”

“It could be a bigger deal than that,” I reply anxiously, “I
mean, what if Cooper doesn’t approve of us...being whatever we are?”

“How can he disapprove of ‘whatever we are’ if we haven’t
even decided what we are yet?” Emerson counters.

“Oof. This is making my head hurt,” I laugh, the tension of
the day dispelling now that we’re out of the office.

“Bet I have the cure for what ails you,” he replies, taking
my hand in his and tugging me down the block.

“That’s my train,” I inform him, glancing back at the
subway.

“I know,” he says, “But my apartment is this way.”

“Are you inviting me over?” I ask, trailing along behind
him.

“Obviously,” he laughs.

“What...for?” I ask, digging my heels in ever-so-slightly.

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a pretty decent cook,” he
replies, “Let me make you dinner. We can call it a belated double-birthday
celebration, since our other attempts at celebrating got...
derailed
this weekend.”

Dinner at Emerson’s apartment? That sounds an awful lot like
a romantic evening to me. And though I know it would be wise to take this whole
thing slow, I just can’t resist him tonight. Who am I kidding—when have I
ever
been able to resist
Emerson Sawyer?

“OK,” I smile, “Lead on, Iron Chef.”

* * *

We swing by a fancy high-end grocery store on the way to
Emerson’s apartment so he can gather his ingredients. I can’t help but smile
wistfully as I think of the last time he cooked for me. There was so much
sweetness and sorrow wrapped up in those few fleeting weeks of our younger
years that any thought of them is bursting with remembered sensation. Of
course, it’s not like this reunion of ours has been without its emotional
moments.

“Here we are,” Emerson says, drawing to a stop on a gorgeous
block lined with cozy cafes and classy boutiques. He leads me up a set of stone
steps and unlocks a door there.

“This is where you live?” I breathe, glancing over my
shoulder at the cosmopolitan block.

“Sure is,” he says, holding the door for me.

I expect to walk into the lobby of an apartment building, a
ground floor leading off to a bunch of different units. But as Emerson nudges
open a second door and steps through, I feel my jaw drop. The entire space
inside is an open, spacious loft. This entire building is his. I’ve watched
enough house-hunting reality TV to know that this is easily a multi-million
dollar property—and this isn’t even his only place!

The impossibly high ceilings vault above a
perfectly-arranged interior. There’s a huge, sparkling kitchen, a sunken living
room, and an enclosed bedroom off the main space. Huge, towering windows take
up the entire wall opposite us, and lead off onto a private terrace. The design
is mostly minimal—white walls and hardwood floors—with purposeful touches of
natural materials like wood and stone. The appliances and decor are an artful
mix of new and vintage. Emerson’s home is utterly perfect. It could have been
ripped right off my “dream home” Pinterest page. Amazing how our tastes are so
aligned, even though we come from totally different backgrounds and have led
completely different lives.

I’d call that a good sign.

I gasp as a throw pillow comes barreling my way, only to
realize in the next moment that the galloping bundle of white fluff is actually
an adorable little West Highland Terrier. The tiny dog collides with my legs,
tail wagging a million miles an hour.

“You must be Roxie,” I laugh, reaching down to scratch her
ears.

“Yep. That’s the lady of the house,” Emerson smiles.

“House?” I shoot back, kneeling down to get a better look at
the friendly Westie. “More like palace.”

“Pick your jaw up off the floor and tell me what kind of
wine you like,” he laughs, setting the groceries down on the kitchen island.

“Something red,” I say, staring in wonder at the impeccable
space.

“Coming right up,” he replies, opening a concealed miniature
wine cellar nestled into the island. “How does a nice Rioja sound?”

“It sounds...nice,” I tell him, settling down at one of the
wooden stools before the counter. Roxie follows me over into the kitchen and
sits at my feet, staring up at me with amiable, adorable curiosity.

“She likes you,” Emerson observes, pausing to give Roxie a
good nuzzling.

“Well. She has wonderful taste,” I kid, flipping my blonde
hair theatrically.

He produces a couple of wine glasses and pours generously.
“To our 26th years,” he smiles, clinking my glass.

“To you not doing too shabbily for yourself,” I reply,
taking a sip of the delicious wine. “I mean, you told me how well you’ve made out
with this app development gig, but holy crap. This loft, Emerson...”

“I’m glad you like it,” he says, gathering and prepping his
ingredients. “I actually prefer it to my place in London, to tell you the
truth. But that’s where Cooper decided he needs me most, so.”

It takes a second for Emerson’s words to click. Of course.
He’s not even based here at the New York offices of Bastian. He runs the show
in Europe. That means, of course, that he’s probably due back there soon. Like,
the end of the week soon. Why didn’t I think of that before?

“You OK?” he asks, heating up some olive oil in a cast iron
skillet.

“Oh. Yeah,” I say, snapping back to attention. “I
just...Kind of forgot that this is a temporary situation. You being in New
York.”