Uncharted Territory

14. Garrett

14

Garrett

“ W e should talk about last night,” I say to Emma as we shuffle into our seats in the second row of the airplane.

I’ve been debating whether to bring it up all morning. I was sort of hoping we could just forget it ever happened. Then again, I was also sort of hoping that Emma would knock on my hotel room in the middle of the night so we could finish what we started. Apparently, neither of those things are going to happen, judging by the steady stream of snide remarks and annoyed looks she’s been doling out ever since we left the hotel.

“No, thank you,” Emma responds curtly.

This woman is going to be the death of me. She’s either going to shove me in front of a moving bus or put me in an early grave from the stress of being near her and knowing that I’ll never touch her again. Not the way I did last night. At this point, a slap in the face is the most I can hope for as far as physical contact goes. The fact that I’d willingly take it is disconcerting.

I am so screwed. I shouldn’t have kissed her in the elevator. I shouldn’t have even gotten into the elevator with her. And I most-fucking-certainly should not have stepped foot in her hotel room last night.

She shouldn’t even be on this plane right now. She should be headed back to Denver. But my judgement is skewed when it comes to Emma, and now we’re stuck with each other for another leg of this trip.

I blow out a breath before I speak again. “I just think we should clear the air.”

Emma slides her bag under the seat in front of her, barely sparing me a glance as she sits back and settles into her seat. Her tone is clipped when she speaks. “If by ‘clear the air’ you mean verbalize my intent not to sue you for sexual harassment, then fine. I, Emma Ruth Carlton, solemnly swear not to sue you, Garrett North, for the events that transpired on the night of June twentieth,” she recites sarcastically.

“That’s not what I meant,” I interject.

She casts a baleful look my way, knowing that whether I meant it that way or not, the thought has crossed my mind.

That’s not my biggest concern right now though. I’m more worried about the fact that I seriously messed up, and I don’t know what that means for our professional relationship. If it was anyone but Emma, I wouldn’t be so worried about the fallout. Everyone else is replaceable.

But if it was anyone but Emma, last night wouldn’t have happened in the first place.

“Garrett, I’m not a litigious person, and I’m willing to accept part of the responsibility for what happened last night. We can blame it on the alcohol or the close proximity of this trip or Mercury being in retrograde, for all I care. The bottom line is that it was a huge mistake, and I never want to talk about it again. With you or with anyone else.”

Emma fixes her gaze out the window beside her, signaling the end of the conversation. All the words I should say are caught in my throat. One by one, I swallow them down. Emma has made it clear she doesn’t want to hear any of them, and I’ve already crossed enough lines.

Eventually, this will all be forgotten…at least by her.

For me, it’s going to be a very long time before I forget the way she felt pressed up against me. The way she tasted, all citrusy and sweet. The way she looked at me, just for a second, like maybe she was wrong about me all along.

Emma ignores me like it’s her job during the flight and the subsequent drive to the coast near Mendocino. By the time we pull up to the campsite overlooking the ocean, I’m tempted to remind her that I actually pay her to do the exact opposite.

I can’t complain about her work ethic though. Her thumbs have been glued to her phone ever since we landed in California, exchanging heated emails with Frank, the head of our marketing department.

My phone chimes with an email that Emma copied me on, which begins, Per my last email, Mr. North will not be approving your proposed renovation budget for the flagship store at this time .

Emma steps out of the car without looking up from her phone. Her lips are drawn into a tight line as her fingers fly across the screen of her phone. I thank the driver and step out of the backseat. The cool, salty ocean air fills my lungs, washing away the stale air of yet another stuffy black sedan.

If I had a choice, I would never travel this way. I know I sound like King of the Rich Assholes for saying so, but private jets and personal drivers have become a necessity more than a luxury for me. They represent the fact that my time is no longer my own. Enjoying the journey is no longer in the cards for me. It’s all about efficiency and staying glued to my phone so this empire I’ve built doesn’t go down in flames. This trip is a minor exception, and it’s probably the only one I’ll ever get.

My ideal vacation would be getting in my Jeep and just driving. No phones, no deadlines, no plans. Just picking a direction and taking every backroad I can to get to nowhere in particular. Setting up camp whenever the mood strikes and staying as long as I want.

I can’t remember the last time I took a trip like that. Maybe five years ago, probably closer to ten.

There’s only one thing on this planet that means more to be than being able to get outside and explore the world, and that’s my family. The success of True North Outfitters has allowed me to provide for them in ways I never would have imagined. My parents will never need to worry about being evicted or living in a shitty motel or splitting an item off the dollar menu for dinner. Neither will my brother Ethan.

Silas…well, that’s a different story, but he’s made his choices.

The car pulls away, leaving Emma and I alone in the small parking lot. She’s so caught up in her email war that she’s barely moved since she stepped out of the car. I let my guard fall for a second, watching her tuck a few strands of wavy brown hair behind her ear. She really is very pretty. I rarely allow myself to acknowledge it, and it’s the very last thing I should be thinking about right now.

With her eyes still fixed on her phone, she lets out a little growl of frustration. “Can you please…,” she starts to say.

When she catches me staring at her, she trips over her words. I clear my throat and squint over at the trees as if I’ve just spotted a very impressive, rare bird.

I motion toward a random tree. “A red-crested garbler…”

There. That sounded like some sort of bird, didn’t it?

Emma eyes me warily and starts over.

“Can you please jump in and tell Frank that your decision not to approve the proposed renovation budget so he can fill the flagship store with animal carcasses is final? Apparently, hearing it from me isn’t good enough.”

“I’m on it,” I say, withdrawing my phone from my pocket.

This is why I can’t enjoy a normal vacation. I’d come back to find all of my stores filled with taxidermy turkeys and grizzly bears. ‘Enhancing the customer’s shopping experience,’ Frank calls it. Ever since one of our competitors loaded their stores up with fake foliage and taxidermy, Frank has been dying to follow suit. What he fails to understand is that I don’t want to enhance the shopping experience by turning our stores into a macabre zoo. That’s not what True North is about. I want our stores clean, well-organized, and full of high-quality items and knowledgeable staff. That’s it. End of discussion.

The last email in the chain is from Frank. Have Garrett call me , is all it says.

I frown down at my phone and type a reply. There’s no need for a phone call. Emma is correct. We will not be retrofitting our stores with dead animals. If you’d like to continue this discussion, please do so at another company. I hit send and slip my phone back into my pocket.

Emma’s phone chimes with another email alert. Her eyes go wide before flicking up to meet mine. She holds my gaze for a second before squinting down at her phone again like she’s making sure she read the words correctly.

“Harsh,” she mutters.

It’s meant as a subtle reprimand, but she’s not fooling me. I see the considerable effort she’s using to tamp down a smile. Emma can’t stand Frank. He’s always going over her head to get to me. I don’t know which he’s fuller of: himself or bad ideas. Firing him has been on my to do list for months now. I just haven’t found the right person to replace him yet.

“He deserved it,” I shrug.

We walk quietly along a narrow trail between the trees. The sound of the waves breaking grows louder as we step out into a clearing and find ourselves overlooking the ocean. Emma pauses, her lips parting as she takes in the view.

“Hi there!” a cheery female voice calls in the distance.

We both drag our gaze away from the coastline and look over at the tall blonde walking toward us. She’s wearing a pair of shorts and a light blue t-shirt with the tour company’s name printed in big yellow letters across the front.

“Are you guys checking in for surf camp?” she asks as she slows to a stop ahead of us.

“Yes,” Emma answers. “The reservation is under the name Emma Carlton.”

The woman glances down at her clipboard, using her pencil to scroll through the list of names. When she finds Emma’s name on the list, her eyebrows pull together.

“Okay, I’ve got you right here,” the woman says, checking off Emma’s name. Then she looks up at me and asks, “So that must make you, um, Hamfast Dinglewood”

“That’s a typo,” I say. “Garrett Smith.”

“Oh, okay, I’ll just fix that here on the roster,” she says with an easy laugh. As if it’s normal for people to accidentally type Hamfast instead of their own names in her line of work.

When I glance over at Emma, the corners of her mouth lift into an amused smirk. For that split second, it almost feels like things might go back to normal between us. Maybe we can forget about last night after all, or at least pretend to for the remainder of this trip. All I need to do is keep a respectable distance from Emma and keep things strictly professional from here on out.

“Alright, let’s get you two settled into your tent,” the woman says. “Once everyone else arrives, we’ll have lunch and go over some basic safety stuff.”

Did I hear her right? Did she just say ‘tent’? As in, singular tent? If so, that’s definitely a typo.

Emma doesn’t seem to share my concern. Maybe I just misheard.

We follow the woman, who introduces herself as Katie, toward a row of tents tucked away just off the beach where the trees begin. The fact that I can easily identify the manufacturer and product line of the tents makes me wonder when I got so boring.

We pass all the tents and keep trekking along the path to seemingly nowhere. Emma seems unaffected by this. She’s up ahead chatting with Katie about something I can’t quite hear.

Then…a thing emerges in a small clearing. I don’t even know what to call it. It’s certainly not a tent.

Well, technically, it is, but no person in their right mind would call this camping.

“Here it is,” Katie declares. “Our one and only luxury glamping site. It’s all yours for the next few days.”