15. Emilia
CHAPTER 15
Emilia
I ’m getting ready to settle into bed for the night when I get a call. I frown, wondering who could be calling me so late. My first guess is Dad or Priya, but I just saw them earlier when I went over for dinner. Anika’s asleep in her room. Maybe it’s Carson? I doubt anyone apart from my family would be calling me in the middle of the night.
When I grab my phone, though, Carson’s name isn’t the one flashing across the screen. My frown deepens when I see that it’s Sterling, instead. I inwardly groan. I briefly consider not answering, but the guilt related to that action would eat at me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I’d wonder if it was an emergency.
Technically, it has to be one. Sterling and I are complicated, but I doubt he’d be calling me so late unless something was wrong. I answer the call right before the ringing stops, feeling my heart rate spike when it connects.
“Hello?” I say, my voice low.
There’s no reply. I wait one second, two. By the time five seconds have passed, I start to grow a little confused.
“Mr. Harrington?” I question, my brows furrowed.
Still nothing but crackles on the other end. I hear something else, though—the sound of jazz music playing quietly in the background.
“Sterling,” I say, softly this time. “Where are you?”
Finally, I hear a muffled groan. “I have no idea. I got into a car and drove for a while, ended up in some dive bar in the middle of nowhere.”
The first question on the tip of my tongue is why he started driving in the first place. Instead, I ask, “How long is a while?”
It takes a couple of minutes before he replies. “An hour or so.”
My mouth drops. “Are you serious right now?” He doesn’t reply. “Then drive back. You can, right?”
“I would. But I’m several glasses into a bottle of whiskey, can’t drive back in my state.” He mumbles the last words a little but I’m able to make it out all the same.
I run my hand through my hair, pushing it back as I stare incredulously at no one.
“Wait, are you saying you’re drunk? Are you fucking kidding me?” I question, uncaring if that’s a rude thing to say to my boss.
“I didn’t say I was drunk, just too inebriated to drive,” he says lowly.
My jaw tightens. “Why did you call me, Sterling?”
“I need your help.”
“There’s literally nothing I can do. Call someone from your house. You have, like, two dozen people working for you. Ask someone to come pick you up or something.”
“Can’t do that,” he murmurs, sounding a little sleepy. “Please, Emilia. I wouldn’t be calling you if I had any other options.”
I want to tell him to fuck off. He made the mess and he can get out of it himself. But then I think about how wildly out of character this is for him. Something must have happened to make him act this way. He’s been off ever since the call with his grandfather earlier this morning.
“Sterling, it’s almost midnight,” I remind him gently.
He makes a small sound that I can’t interpret. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m being way out of line. It’s late and I can’t expect you to come all the way here to get me. I shouldn’t have called you. Goodbye, Emilia,” he hurriedly says.
“Wait,” I blurt out, shutting my eyes as I consider the consequences of my next actions. “Send me your location. I’ll come get you.”
“I can’t ask you to do that,” he says softly.
“You already did, Tin Man,” I reply with a small smile.
Argh. Curse my bleeding heart.
I tell him to ask for the name of the bar and the location, and once I have that information, I hang up. In less than five minutes, I’m dressed and ready to go. I sneak into the living room, careful not to wake Anika up, and grab the car keys on top of the table. Thankfully, my dad insisted I drive his car home earlier because he thought it was too late for me to walk home on my own.
It’ll be fine. The roads are safe and this should honestly be a piece of cake. Especially when I think about the fact that I once ran away from home at 2 a.m. after watching my mother overdose.
My life is nothing if not eventful.
A little over an hour later, I arrive at Sterling’s location. It’s a small, rundown place called Tim’s Bar. It’s the kind of establishment I would have never expected Sterling Harrington to be caught dead in. But there he is, seated on a stool right in front of the bar, a glass in his hand and a far-off expression on his face.
The bar is quiet, a little dirty, with about four patrons. All of them are men, with beer bellies and inebriated expressions. They stare as I walk past them with my head up high, heading straight toward Sterling. I gasp softly when I catch sight of the two whiskey bottles in front of him, one of them empty and the other one halfway there.
“Please don’t tell me you fucking drank all of that!” I state, my voice hard.
He looks up at me, blinks once, twice, before his eyes fill with recognition. Shit, he’s plastered.
“Alright, I won’t,” he mutters, reaching for the half-filled bottle.
I grab it out of his hands immediately. “What is wrong with you, Sterling?”
That seems to draw the attention of the bartender, a middle-aged man with a brown mustache and kind eyes.
“Hey, honey. You here to pick him up?” he questions.
“Yeah,” I say, forcing a small smile. “How long has he been like this?”
“A while now. He walked in here about two hours ago and asked for two bottles. I thought he was joking until he started throwing back glass after glass. Never seen someone consume that much in so little time.”
I glare at the man in question and apart from the look in his eyes, he looks the same. Nothing about him screams drunk person.
“How high is your tolerance, Tin Man?” I can’t help but ask.
“Too fucking high,” he replies lowly.
The bartender watches our exchange with a smile. “You his girlfriend or something?”
“No,” I grit out. “I’m his assistant.”
“He must be a pretty good boss if you came all the way down here to get him.”
“He’s not.” Sterling looks like he’s about to fall asleep so I sigh before reaching for my purse. “Let me pay for the drinks so we can get out of here.”
The kind bartender nods, accepting my card. He’s printing out the receipt when someone stumbles into me from behind. I whirl around to find one of the beer-bellied patrons standing or should I say swaying on his feet behind me.
“Hey, sweetheart. I’m Crane,” he slurs with a wide-toothed grin.
“Can I help you?” I ask carefully.
“Was just wondering if you wanted to ditch the asshat in the suit and come back home with me,” he suggests, blue eyes moving down the length of my body.
My lips curl in distaste. “No.”
He takes a step forward. “Come on, pretty girl. I promise I’ll take care of you.”
I hear the sound of a chair being pushed back right before someone shoves Crane in the chest, causing him to fall to the ground. With wide eyes, I turn to look at Sterling.
“Leave her the fuck alone,” he growls.
Crane’s a coward because he immediately scrambles away, heading back to his seat and his pathetic bottle of beer. Once he’s gone, Sterling looks at me, his expression slightly warmer.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I reply, a little rattled. “Let’s just get out of here.”
He stumbles a little when he tries to take a step and I’m just glad for a sign that all that alcohol he consumed has actually had an effect on him. He doesn’t protest when I slide my hand under his shoulders to help him stand straight, and after thanking the bartender, we leave.
Once we’re in my car, I exhale a soft breath. Sterling’s in the driver’s seat, looking straight ahead and blinking rapidly like he’s trying to stave off sleep. I can tell he’s really close to losing that battle though.
“I don’t think we can drive back to Edenton tonight,” I start, wondering if he can even hear me. “We could drive into the city. Maybe stay over at Carson’s place until morning?”
He sits up at that, eyes suddenly alert. “That can’t happen. Your brother will murder me if he finds out about this.”
I groan. He’s right. “Then what do you want me to do, Sterling?”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I shouldn’t have called you.”
“Why didn’t you call Carson? He’s, like, twenty minutes away.”
“I didn’t want to see or talk to anyone,” he mumbles, resting his head back.
“Where’s your credit card?” I ask after a couple of minutes.
He pulls out a wallet, bleary-eyed, and hands it to me. “Why?”
“I’m going to use it to pay for our hotel rooms,” I explain, turning the key in the ignition and starting the car.
By the time we arrive in front of the first decent hotel I see, Sterling’s already out. It takes a while before I’m able to wake him up and I practically have to carry him to the front desk, where we’re promptly informed by the receptionist that there’s only one room available.
“This cannot be happening to me,” I whisper underneath my breath, glaring at the man leaning on the counter beside me.
He grimaces as he looks at me, an apology in his eyes. Having no other options, I pay for the room and we’re led up to it. It’s a pretty nice room, a suite with lots of space. As soon as we’re inside, I lead Sterling to the bed. I help him out of his suit jacket and shoes, and he passes out the moment he hits the mattress.
“Perfect,” I say on a sigh, looking at the sprawled man on the bed.
Having nothing else to do, I head over to take a seat on the couch in front of the TV. A movie’s my best option to keep my eyes open. I don’t want to fall asleep in an unfamiliar place; I doubt I’d even be able to. But I need to do something to keep myself busy until Sterling wakes up so we can leave.
Soon enough, I have Pride and Prejudice playing to distract me from my thoughts. My eyes are wide open and I’m not even the least bit sleepy. My senses are wired; my brain is trying so hard to overthink everything that’s happened in the last couple of hours. I have no idea how I’m going to handle things when Sterling wakes up.
But that’s a problem I can deal with much later. Right now, I can just try to sit back, relax, and watch one or two of my favorite movies.
Unfortunately, my distractions are short-lived because I hear rustling on the bed behind me exactly two-and-a-half hours after Sterling passed out. I look back in surprise and he’s groaning softly as he slowly rises up on the bed. My jaw drops.
“Fuck,” he breathes, rubbing his forehead.
“Sterling?” I ask dumbly. “How are you awake right now?”
He tries to get out of bed and that spurs me into action, rushing to his side. He looks up at me, green eyes way too alert for a man who passed out drunk a couple of hours ago.
“What time is it?” he grumbles.
“Um, three a.m.,” I reply with wide eyes. “Are you okay? How are you feeling?”
“Like shit.”
“Oh, well, that checks out. You downed two bottles of gasoline a couple hours ago,” I inform him.
His lips twitch. “It was whiskey, not gasoline.”
“Same difference,” I say on an eye roll. “I thought you’d sleep for way longer considering how much you drank.”
“I don’t sleep much,” he mutters. Then he’s looking up at me again, eyes softer, “Why aren’t you asleep? Do you want the bed? You could sleep for a couple of hours and then we can leave.”
I quickly shake my head. “No, it’s fine. I can’t sleep in unfamiliar places.”
He arches an eyebrow in disbelief.
“Seriously. I’m fine. I don’t even feel the least bit sleepy, I promise,” I inform him.
That seems to do it. He breaks eye contact, looking down at the covers with a sigh. “I never should have dragged you into this.”
“Yeah, but you did,” I say on a shrug. “It’s fine, though. We’re friends and you needed my help, so I helped.”
“We’re friends?”
“You think I would drive an hour in the middle of the night for just anybody?”
“And here I thought you were trying to be a good employee,” he says, his voice lightly teasing. “Maybe get a raise while you’re at it.”
“Oh, you’re definitely giving me a raise and paying me overtime for my troubles,” I reply.
He smiles and I feel my heart skip a beat or two. Focus, Emilia. No matter how distracting his smiles are.
My eyes widen when he starts to stand up again. I place a hand on his shoulder to steady him and I’m surprised by the searing heat that rushes from my palm through my entire body at the slight touch. A soft sound echoes under my breath, too low for him to hear.
He rises without me helping him, though, and I automatically take a step backward. Sterling rubs the side of his forehead, looking like he’s in pain, which I guess he would be. Then I remember I requested some water and aspirin from the front desk that he could use when he woke up.
I hurriedly head over to the table in the room and grab the water and the pills, offering them to him.
He blows out a relieved breath. “Thank you. You’re an angel.”
I grin. “Yeah, angel sounds about right.”
“Don’t get cocky,” he states, downing two of the pills before chugging down the entire bottle of water. He looks around the room for a couple of seconds, probably taking it in. The silence feels a bit uncomfortable.
Now what?
I’d been hoping he’d go back to sleep or something but that’s proven incorrect when his gaze latches on to the wooden door in the corner of the room.
“I think I need a shower,” he informs me. “I still feel like shit.”
My eyes widen. “A shower?”
As in he wants to strip down, naked, while I’m right here? That feels rude and inconsiderate. Because the whole time he’s in there, all I’ll be thinking about is his naked body, and that’s the last thing I want to be thinking about.
This entire situation already has me feeling wired. And now I have a feeling things are about to get even worse.
Sterling arches an eyebrow in question and I gulp silently.
“I mean, of course! A shower is exactly what you need,” I say with false enthusiasm. “Go on. I’ll go back to watching the March sisters and their sojourn through life.”
“Who?” he asks, with furrowed brows.
I make a face. “You’ve never watched or read Little Women ?”
“I’ve heard about it,” he grumbles.
“Okay,” I decide with a short clap. “In you go to the shower, buddy. And once you come back, you and I are going to watch one of the best pieces of media ever created. The movie has Emma Watson, Saoirse Ronan, Florence Pugh, and Timothée Chalamet. It’s amazing and we’re watching it,” I say excitedly.
Movies and books have always been my favorite things in the world. Mostly because they served as a distraction from my actual world.
Sterling stares at me for a couple of seconds, giving me a look that causes me to falter. My throat dries and I have a hard time breaking eye contact, but when I manage it, I’m a little breathless.
“Sterling?” I whisper, and that seems to cut through to whatever he was thinking.
“Yeah, right. Shower,” he mumbles, turning around to head for the door.
Once he’s gone, I can finally breathe easier. I settle on the couch, trying my hardest not to think about Sterling or whatever’s going on behind the closed door. I consider texting Anika while I wait for him to return. Although I plan to be back home before she even wakes up in the morning, there’s a possibility she could surprise me and rise earlier than 8 a.m. Although that possibility is incredibly low.
Telling her about this entire situation would only subject me to endless questions I have no answers to. Plus, I’m sure she wouldn’t appreciate the fact that I left the house so late without informing her. It might be a good idea to just keep everything to myself. Anika will be none the wiser and everyone can just go about their lives once I get back home.
The first step to doing that would probably be creating clear boundaries between myself and Sterling. Things can’t go on this way. Whatever this is between us needs to end. I thought I ended it. After that kiss, I was sure I had enough fortitude to resist him. It was hard, telling him to forget it ever happened, but I was doing what was best for the both of us.
One call from him had me dropping everything, though. And that’s dangerous.
I could argue that it was just me being kind, but kindness shouldn’t negate self-preservation. I just need to be strong. So what if he has pretty green eyes and a face that looks like it was specially carved to drive women crazy? I need to focus. He’s my boss. And regardless of that, we’re on completely different paths in life. We would never even work so there’s no point trying to foster any feelings between us.
But then I think about the sadness in his eyes. The one that’s seemingly woven into him, and my heart can’t help but empathize because it’s a sadness I understand all too well.
I’m shaken out of my thoughts when the door to the bathroom open. Sterling steps out and the sight of him has my mouth drying. Because he’s shirtless. He walks into the room, his head wrapped in a towel which he’s currently using to dry his wet dark hair.
My eyes trace the shadows between every defined ab on his olive skin. The dip at the hollow of his throat, the way strands of his hair cling to his forehead. My gaze lowers once again to the perfect v on his hips that goes all the way down to?—
“Are you planning on taking a picture, Miss Cameron?” Sterling asks, sounding so fucking cocky I could punch him in the face.
My gaze snaps to his, narrowing immediately into a glare. “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
He smirks, looking way too amused. “Because I just took a shower? I’d be walking around in my briefs but I figured it wouldn’t be appropriate considering present company.”
“You’re damn right it wouldn’t,” I grit out. “Go put on your shirt.”
“I’m pretty sure I don’t take orders from you, Emilia,” he states, stepping forward.
I feel something in my stomach take a plunge. He cannot come near me looking like that.
“Please, put on a shirt,” I say, uncaring that I have to resort to begging.
“No.”
My fists clench. He is such an asshole.
Sterling’s expression is one of complete nonchalance as he continues walking closer. Finally, he settles on to the couch next to me. I promptly shift back, leaving enough room between us.
“How would you feel if I took off my shirt right now?” I mutter without looking at him.
“It’s a free world, Miss Cameron. Although I can’t take responsibility for my actions if you did that,” he states, his gaze heated.
I swallow, momentarily lost for words.
“Are we going to watch the movie or not?” Sterling questions after a couple of moments.
I shake my head slowly. “Not.”
He’s seated right beside me and he has refused to put on a shirt. There’s no way I’d be able to concentrate on the great love triangle that is Amy, Laurie, and Jo.
“How about we talk instead?” I suggest.
Sterling gives me a look that says he’d rather chew granite. “About?” he grumbles.
“You tell me what happened to you last night. Exactly what made you drive for an hour at night only to get wasted alone in the middle of nowhere?”
I might as well have doused us both in cold water. The temperature in the room goes down and Sterling becomes eerily silent for a bit. When he does speak, his voice is hard, unflinching.
“I thought I’d do something impulsive for once. You’re the one always saying I’m too uptight,” he says drily.
My eyes roll. “Bullshit. You were in pain.”
“Leave it, Emilia,” he orders.
“No. You don’t get to tell me not to pry when you’re the one who brought me into this. You called me, Sterling.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw but he stays silent.
“You can talk to me,” I say softly. “I’ll listen.”
Finally, he sighs, leaning back on the couch. He keeps his eyes straight forward when he speaks.
“My parents are in town. They arrived yesterday,” he starts. Glancing at me, he says, “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors. About my… paternity.”
I nod.
“My legitimacy as a Harrington was called into question when that article came out. It’s a question I didn’t have an answer to. At least not until yesterday, when I finally spoke to my mother.” He smiles suddenly, but it’s a sad smile, laced with pain. “You know I’ve always hated the color of my eyes. Every other Harrington—my grandfather, my father, my brother, hell, even my mother—they’ve all had brown eyes. I was the only exception.”
“Genetics aren’t always black and white,” I venture. “The color of your eyes doesn’t mean you don’t belong.”
Sterling looks at me then, his eyes softer than I’ve ever seen them. It hurts that he hates something so immensely beautiful. If only he could see what I see.
“I wish someone could have told that to a six-year-old boy wondering why he looked different. I wish my family could have acted better. Instead they fostered those doubts, made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t meant to be in my position. It made me work harder to be better. I’ve lived my life with the underlying fear that my family could throw me out for being different. That I didn’t belong.”
My heart aches at his words. Sterling and I, we’re two sides of the same coin. We could even be on the same side, balancing ourselves against the weight of the life and experiences we had no choice but to be a part of.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt like I belonged anywhere, either. Not when I lived with my mother. And especially not now. I found the most wonderful, kind, and supportive family. But the truth is, they had each other before. No matter how hard they try to deny it, they were together for years and I disrupted it. I’ll always feel like an outsider and it’s awful.
No one should have to feel like that.