Working Girl (29 page)

He lifts my hand to his mouth and gently places his lips on the back of my damp skin. Even though the kiss is brief, he continues to hold it in place. With my skin still pressed to his lips he lets out a slight chuckle.

“I don’t see what’s so funny about this!” I squeal.

“Your nerves aren’t what I’m finding enjoyment in.”

Puzzled, I turn my face toward him. “Oh yeah? So what’s so
enjoyable
?”

“I love how innocent you are. How every one of your firsts are with me, and at the same time how they’re your last.”

A slow smile creeps across my lips.
There he goes again with the last firsts
. This boy is incorrigible. Shaking my head, I struggle to form a coherent thought. Real boys don’t say things like that. Only boys in books are able to say such things—and even then it’s only because a woman writes them.

Once I stop swooning, I’m able to speak again. “Where have you been all my life?” I finally manage to ask.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” He kisses my hand again before letting it go. The moment he does my skin feels cold and tingly, like it’s craving his touch. He pulls into a long, secluded driveway before coming to a stop. Putting the car in park, he quickly clicks off his seatbelt before leaning over the center console, stopping just short of the contact I’m so longing for. His eyes burn into mine and my heart is banging in my chest. With every second that passes, I can feel myself slowly going insane; my mind racing so fast that I can hardly register the individual thoughts that are flying through it.

Fear.

Lust.

Want.

Longing.

Run.

I block them out and focus on his eyes. His beautiful eyes. Our noses are touching, he’s so close to me. “Kiss me already, please,” I whisper, half begging, half demanding. He immediately obliges, a smile painted on his face. With a gentleness not of this world, he places his lips against mine. Two quick pecks are all I need, but he doesn’t stop there and when I feel his tongue slide along my bottom lip, it takes every ounce of energy I have not to fall into a heap.

“Finally,” he chirps, pulling his lips from mine. “Now I can mark down another first in the books.” Laughing he opens the door and slides out of the car, leaving me in my seat, still attempting to process what just happened. We’ve already kissed . . . what first did he just check off?

I shake my head clear before getting out and looking over the hood at him. He’s standing there with that same smug smile, just looking at me with a warmth that I can’t even begin to describe. “What do you mean, ‘another first’?”

He chuckles and shrugs. “Since the first day I laid eyes on you, all I wanted was for you to ask me to kiss you.”

My breathing hitches uncontrollably, and I swear my heart is going to leap from my chest. There are no words, so instead I just stand there; my eyes never leaving his face. Looking at him looking at me, I realize that Emerson is slowly becoming part of me. Definitely the better half, but half nonetheless. He’s the only light I need to help me navigate my world of darkness. Without a doubt, in this moment before I meet his parents, I know that I love him and the realization paralyzes me. Part of me soars with happiness; the other is numb with fear.

“Presley, c’mon.” He gives me a nod, releasing me from my momentary love-induced coma.

Love.

I. Love. Him.

The corners of my mouth turn upwards and a glimmer of hope slowly creeps into my soul, and I wonder if my life is actually taking a turn for the better. I manage to move again and walking towards him feels so right. So perfect. I’m reveling in my feelings, actually allowing myself to enjoy the happiness. I deserve it.

But the moments of doubt always have a way of creeping back in. I want nothing more than to lose myself in Emerson, yet, I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’ve read enough to know that this is just too good to be true. Stories like this never end well. I’m not naive, and I’m certainly not living in a book where a happily ever after will conveniently fall into the heroine’s lap. This is real life. And real life is shitty.

Reaching the steps he places his hand in mine, pressing our palms together before sliding his finders between mine. “Deep breath, Presley. They’re going to love you.” With a gentle squeeze he opens the door, immediately calling out to his parents, “Mom! Dad! We’re here!”

My eyes drift upward, noting the grand foyer I’ve just stepped into. The only places I’ve seen that look like this are casinos. There’s so much marble, so much gold. I notice Emerson kicking off his shoes and I follow suit. I’m unsure of proper home visiting etiquette—hell, I’m unsure of etiquette at all. A gorgeous woman, who I assume to be his mother, rounds the corner, her jet-black hair pilled on the top of her head like a ballerina. Her petite frame looks flawless, wrapped in a gorgeous, flowing maxi skirt. She looks so put together, so fashionable; like she just stepped out of the pages of Vogue. Now I know where Emerson gets his style from.

I wish I’d dressed better.

She smiles at me. “Presley,” she coos, closing the distance between us, “I’ve heard so much about you.” Her high-pitched voice squeaks as she pulls me in for a hug. I’m taken by surprise and it’s a long moment before I realize I need to reciprocate the hug. Wrapping my arms around her feels good and I imagine it’s what it would feel like to hug Momma again. She smells good; like Macy’s—or at least what I remember Macy’s smells like. I’ve only ever been there a few times and that was when I was really young. Momma would drag me there when she had to go buy some new dresses. Well, she never actually
paid
for them: our trips always ended with her stuffing a new dress into my Hello Kitty backpack. At the time I didn’t know the difference.

After a few happy moments we break our embrace and she immediately goes to Emerson. Standing there watching her kissing and hugging him pulls my heartstrings in so many different directions. Part of me feels sadness for myself, because I never had that with my own mother, and I never would. However at the same time, I feel happy. Happy for Emerson because he is, and always will be loved.

“You didn’t tell me she was so beautiful, baby.” His mom giggles and I shy away, unable to really process or accept the compliment. My cheeks flush and I’m just about to say something equally flattering when I head the booming voice coming from around the corner.

“My pride and joy has arrived!” It bellows and I hold my breath. There’s a familiarity in the pitch and accent that I can’t quite place. Lifting my eyes from the gorgeous floor, I look up just in time to see him come around the corner.

My hand flies to my mouth and the bile churns in my belly, causing my stomach to turn over on itself. I can feel my skin clam up as my heart begins to race. Frozen with fear, his eyes meet mine and for a brief moment I can see my shock mirrored on his face, but he quickly shakes it away.

Fear overtakes me for a moment. I know in an instant that this is all a ruse; a big game. His family has no idea about his real life and he won’t let on that he knows me because I’m part of his dirty little secret.

He’s supposed to be a lawyer: a good man with a wife and a kid. But Emerson’s father isn’t a lawyer at all. No. Instead he runs a shitty brothel. My boyfriend, who I think is the love of my life, and the only person who has been able to make me feel hope, had been born to the only man I hated. This is the other shoe I’d been waiting for and I can’t do anything to keep it from dropping.

Big Earl is Emerson’s father.

ONCE I START BREATHING AGAIN
oxygen floods my body, allowing my brain to start working again. I know I’m safe, for now at least. As long as I’m here in front of his family, he won’t say or do anything rash. I know his secret, and that makes me a threat. Dangerous, even.

We stare at each other awkwardly for a few pensive moments before Emerson clears his throat. “Dad, meet Presley. My girlfriend.”

Flashes of Big Earl grunting over me invade my memories and I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to stifle the vivid visuals, but they continue; causing me to choke on the bile rising in my throat. I can feel beads of sweat forming on my forehead and I want to cry.

“Presley? You okay?” Emerson asks, his voice thick with concern.

Opening my eyes I manage to force a smile and nod. “Yeah. Sorry. I don’t feel well all of the sudden. But I’m okay.” I direct my attention to Big Earl, who is glowering at me from the corner of the foyer. I walk toward him, faking the confidence that I have to exude every day, and I stick my hand out for him. “Nice to meet you.”

His forehead purses together, causing his eyes to get smaller and I can tell that Big Earl is seething, and I can only imagine the things going through his mind. But I can’t let him see that he’s in my head. I have to control this. Making it through the next few hours is the only thing I need to think about right now.

It’s after this that I need to worry about.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he says, his voice seemingly dripping with innuendos. Casting the briefest of looks over my shoulder, I notice Emerson and his mom seem oblivious to the tension that is bursting from us.

“Well,” Emerson’s mom chimes in, “now that we’re all here, let’s go have lunch in the dining room.”

Emerson comes up behind me and grabs my hand, leading the way. I look around as we walk through the house and anger boils up in me. Big Earl has done well for himself . . . while the girls literally bend over backwards for him, living in filth. It’s not fair and it makes me want to scream, but instead I walk through his house quietly, like the good girl I should be.

The dining room matches the rest of the house in its grandness. The room is gorgeous and paintings hang from its walls. I’m sure they’re probably done by some big-time artist as they look familiar to me, but I’m not cultured enough to know who that may be. In the middle of the room is a large mahogany table, adorned with eight chairs and four table settings. Emerson pulls one of the chairs out for me and I take a seat directly across from the man I’ve spent my whole life hating. Once I’m seated, a woman comes in with the food and begins setting it on the table. There’s bread, salad, and a beautiful chicken dish. I focus my attention on the chicken, trying to prevent the panic from overtaking me, but my thoughts run wild regardless.

Emerson and his mom are chatting casually to one another while Emerson grips my hand underneath the table. His thumb rubs lazy circles on my skin, and I’m focusing my attention on it. They’re ignorant to the drama that is unfolding within the same room as them. I shift awkwardly in my seat, lost in my own thoughts. Struggling to think about what my plan is going to be, because this is certainly the end of the road. The game is up.

Eventually his mother turns her attention towards me. “How rude of us. I’m sorry, hun. See what happens when you don’t come to visit enough. You turn me into a crazy hen.” She laughs before stuffing some salad into her mouth. She chews, smiling the whole time. Swallowing, she takes a drink of her ice water garnished with lemon. “So, Presley. Emerson tells us that you work and go to school. How do you find the time to study?”

I’d been so nervous, then caught up in seeing Big Earl, that I hadn’t really had time to think about how I was going to handle all the tough ‘meeting the parents’ questions, but I figured honesty was always the best policy. “Well, actually, since my momma’s death I’ve had to take a break from school.” I can’t help but steal a glance in Big Earl’s direction.

If looks could kill . . .

Emerson’s mom gives me the look of pity that I hate. “Oh dear, that’s too bad. I hope you’ll be going back?”

“That’s definitely my hope.” I sigh, knowing that with the latest development in this little thing called life, I would most likely be taking a break from more than just school.

Indefinitely.

“So, Presley,” Big Earl’s voice booms, “tell us, what
do
you do for work?”

I’m thankful that Emerson is holding my hand. His gentle squeeze gives me the confidence I need to continue on. “I do the bookkeeping at a local establishment.” Keeping as close to the truth as possible is my best bet; it will keep both of us on our toes and, hopefully, Big Earl off my back.

He nods. “A business woman.”

“Someday,” I quip back without missing a beat.

“And your other family?”