Working Girl (33 page)

A few months later…

THE FALLOUT FROM BIG EARL’S
death has been crazy. With him gone, the brothel and the strip club collapsed rather quickly. He had never trusted anyone enough to let them on the inside and so, with no right hand man, there was no one to take care of business and the girls started panicking and packing up their stuff to find work elsewhere; Chrissy being one of them.

She had suffered at the hands of Big Earl that night too. After he’d grabbed me in the alleyway, he’d gone back to get her. He took out his anger on her, beating her until she blacked out. She woke up bruised, battered, and bleeding. She’d been trying to do what was best, but I knew there was a reason she hadn’t done anything about the pregnancy. None of that mattered after that night, because Big Earl had made her decision for her. And even though she had said she never wanted that baby to begin with, I think a part of her did. I tried to get her to talk to someone, but she refused; saying she just wanted to move on from it.

When it was all said and done, Chrissy made her decision and stuck to it. She knew everything was going to be okay.

And it was. Being so young and beautiful, she found work easily enough—this time at someplace more respectable. You can see her dancing most nights at the
Pussy Cat Dolls Lounge
. The time she spent at the strip club showed her that she was good at something else, and she found a new passion because of it. Dancing was in her blood and she knew now that she didn’t have to take her clothes off to make a buck. I couldn’t be more proud.

We live together in an actual apartment, which we pay for with our own money. Chrissy was able to secure me a part-time job at a studio where she trains; I keep the books and get to take some dancing lessons for free. It’s fun, and I’m proud of myself for being able to do something for myself. On my own.

Immediately after the incident, after I almost lost my life, Emerson wouldn’t let me out of his sight. While he kept me close, he never touched me. Our kisses were placid, always on the cheek, and every time he touched my skin he flinched. In the comfort of his dorm, I spent every waking hour and night with him. It didn’t take long for me to figure out why. He needed me just as much as I needed him. But things were different. He was guarded.

And as the days and weeks passed on, I never could get used to hearing Emerson cry. Sometimes, it was when he thought I was sleeping at night; other times it was when he was in the shower. His sadness tormented me, but what hurt even more is how he spent weeks thinking that he couldn’t let me see him mourn his father.

Eventually, I grew tired of him attempting to shut me out and I barged into the bathroom and jumped into the shower, my clothes still on. Wrapped my arms tightly around his waist, I held him as his sobs shook his whole body. We stayed like that until the water ran cold. After that, Emerson didn’t shut me out anymore.

Once Emerson opened his heart back up to me, so did his Mom. Our first meeting after the shooting was strained, and I couldn’t help but think that they were all blaming me for what happened; no matter how many times they hugged me, or had Emerson tell me that I did nothing wrong.

So here we sit, out the back of his house, on the most adorable bench I’ve ever seen. Emerson’s mom has the best taste and it’s nice to have an actual mother around. The heat is oppressive, and a bead of sweat trickles down my neck. “It’s hot,” I say mindlessly before wiping off my forehead with the back of my hand.

Emerson sits in stoic silence, minutes passing by before he speaks. “Presley, I want you to start back at school for Spring Semester.”

I sigh. “We’ve talked about this, Emerson. I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can . . . and you will.”

Shaking my head I continue to argue. “I have no money, a measly part-time job, and nothing on the horizon. What makes you think I can start taking classes again?”

It was more of a statement than a question. He was being foolish for even bringing it up, and I was ready to stop talking about it.

“Mom and I are going to help. We just got a huge settlement from Dad’s death, plus his assets from liquidating his businesses—”

“I can’t let you do that,” I say, cutting him off.

He turns his body towards me. “Some good should come out of his death. His whole life was a sham, Presley. He was a fake, and it kills me that he had such a hand in making your life shit while mine was easy. I need to make things right.” He pauses and runs his hand along the back of his neck. “This is my way of making it happen.”

“But that’s
your
money—”

He gently covers my mouth with his hand, preventing me from arguing with him any further. “And you’re my girl. I want you to be able to do whatever you want to. If it’ll make you feel better you can pay me back, okay?” He doesn’t remove his hand, choosing instead to give me a pointed look, letting me know he’s waiting for me to surrender. Even though I don’t really want to, I give up and nod. He smiles and immediately drops his hand.

“Deal,” I say, leaning over and planting a kiss on his cheek. “I still don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“Me either,” he jokes, tangling his fingers with mine. His thumb rubs lazy circles on the back of my hand as he directs his attention to the sun that is slowly falling behind the horizon.

“It’s gorgeous.”

“It’s you.”

Perplexed, I look over at him. He’s smiling, reveling in his cryptic code. “What do you mean?”

“The sun. It’s you.” He laughs, loving every minute of my confusion. I slap his shoulder playfully before he continues, “You were an Alaskan winter when I met you. It was cold and dark, and you were begging to have warmth in your life. Now . . . well, now, you rise and fall everyday, but the brightness and the life is always there. So you, my dear, are the sun.” He smiles at me and I can feel my stomach take flight.

“So what does that make you?” I ask breathlessly.

With a grin, he rebuts my question with another. “What needs the sun?”

“Everything.”

“Bingo.” He winks. “I want to be your everything, Presley. Every minute, of every day, of every remaining year of my life. I will be it for you.”

“Things are going to be okay, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.” He sighs, looking out at the horizon again. “They are.”

“So, where are we going?” I ask. Emerson has been acting like he’s up to no good since we woke up earlier that morning; obviously he has something up his sleeve. This excites me because Emerson plans the best dates.

His face is adorned with a wide grin as he looks over at me before reaching into the backseat and grabbing a bag, tossing it into my lap. “I’m taking you swimming.” Intrigued, I open the bag and start to rifle through the contents: two towels, and a bikini for me.

“Swimming?” I question, my eyebrows lifting in curiosity. “I hate to break it to you, but I actually
have
managed to go swimming in my sheltered life.”

With his hands gripping the steering wheel, he lightly laughs. “Maybe so, but I bet you’ve never been swimming like this.” Obviously not wanting to talk any further, he uses his right hand to turn the volume up on the stereo.
Me First and the Gimme Gimme’s
flood the car and I drop the subject; not really caring where we’re going, I just don’t enjoy surprises. Unfortunately for me, Emerson seems to really like planning them.

We drive for what seems like hours. I definitely nod off at one point. Swimming is starting to sound like a great idea, especially considering the sweat that is beginning to collect at the small of my back. I throw a silent celebration as the car pulls down a dirt road and eventually slows. Looking out the car window I see rocks; jagged rocks, surrounding a hole.

“This doesn’t look like a place to swim,” I huff, slightly annoyed. The heat is stifling and I’m feeling hot, and definitely let down. It’s like taking a drink of cool water when you’re expecting it to be soda.

Placing the car into park, Emerson looks over at me. “Looks can be deceiving, Presley. Remember that.” He winks, pushing the pre-packed bag toward me. “Get your suit on and meet me out in front of the car.”

“What?” I grin. “You’re not going to stay and help tie me up?” My suggestive comment is met with laughter.

Despite my advance, Emerson opens the driver’s door. “If I stay in this car with you while you put that thing on”—he points at the itty bitty string bikini in my hands—“we definitely won’t be doing any swimming today.” Before I have the chance to plead my case, he exits, slamming the door shut behind him.

I sigh and start changing. It only takes me a few minutes and I’m thankful to stretch my legs as I get out of the car. With a few short strides, I’m next to Emerson, pressing up against his side as he wraps his arm around my neck. “So are you ready to feel the most amazing feeling known to mankind?”

Looking up at him, my eyelashes flutter with complete adoration. “I thought I’d already felt that,” I joke half-heartedly. It had taken us awhile to be intimate again after everything that happened. There had been a few failed attempts; the reality of knowing that his father had raped me proving to be a big obstacle for Emerson. It messed with my head but he was so loving about it, assuring me that it had nothing to with me and everything to do with where his head was at. But we took it slow, and once we got there it was like nothing ever changed.

Emerson shakes his head, a smile on his face the entire time. “Since when did you get so frisky?” he asks, grabbing my hand and walking toward the rocks surrounding the abyss before us.

“Since my boyfriend started being so damn mysterious.”

“Haven’t I always been mysterious?”

“Touché.”

“Means to touch,” he finishes, laughing before playfully slapping my rear end and causing me to squeal. “Now shut your mouth and hop up on that rock.” He points directly in front of us at the enormous rock that looks out over the hole.

I look at him like he’s crazy. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Just get up there. I’m right behind you.”

I do as I’m told and take the last few steps, lifting myself up onto the rock. Once on top of it, I begin to stand and my knees start to shake. My eyes fan outward and I see the gorgeous blue water filling the ravine, managing to mutter a weak, “Wow,” before Emerson scales the rock to stand next to me.

“Isn’t it awesome?”

“How’d you know about this place?” I ask, still in awe of the natural beauty right before my eyes.

“I came here a lot after Sebastian died. It was a bad time for me. Nothing made me feel nearly as good as taking a leap off this rock.”

My eyes bug, and I look back at him. “You
what?
”

“Jumped off.”

Suddenly aware of where this is going, I look down. It seems too far; like the impact alone would kill me. “It’s so far,” I add.

“Yeah, that’s the fun in it. Trust me, Presley, there is no greater feeling in the world than that of free falling. It’s the best medicine, and it’s exactly why we’re here. We could both use a little pick-me-up.”

He always had a reason for everything. Always delivering a message to me—whether or not I wanted to hear it. “But I don’t need any medicine,” I coo, snaking my arms around his waist. “I have you.”

Leaning down, he kisses my forehead. “I know. But I also know that you keep blaming yourself.”