50. Chapter 48
Darcy
Xav: Someone else needs to do something about this.
At first, I’m confused about what this is, but then a picture comes through, and holy fuck, I don’t think my core body temperature has ever escalated from normal to literally steaming so quickly.
It’s a good thing I’m already sitting down in my office, otherwise I’m pretty sure my blood pressure would have laid me out flat. As it is, the graphite in my fingers trembles as I slowly lower it to the tray.
There is some kid, some fucking male child, swiping icing off Emmy’s nose, and she is smiling up at him, like he has lit up her world.
Big Daddy D: That’s the jock I was telling you about.
Did I change his name in my phone after Emmy called him that before everything went to shit? Yes, yes, I did. Makes me smile every time I see it.
Huddy-Boy: Surely she isn’t interested in him?
Me: Besides being a jock, what do we know about him?
Xav: 18. Family is in the 1%, but the kid doesn’t flaunt it.
Daddy is Barty Alderidge, family had the study hall named after them after they paid to have it built.
Kid should have been drafted straight out of school, but from what I can tell, daddy dearest blocked that.
Lives in the dorm building two down from Emery.
Active on all socials, but it’s superficial.
No fines, no arrests. Drives a Hummer. Older brother is on the team.
Both study business management and are pre-law.
Well, fuck.
Huddy-Boy: Sounds like he would be perfect for Emery.
Hudson clearly had the same thought as me.
Big Daddy D: Maybe, but I don’t believe Emery is interested in him. As much as she allows him to flirt with her, I’ve seen her put distance between them on more than one occasion. Body language doesn’t lie.
Me: So, what do we do? Just let it play out?
Big Daddy D: That would be my suggestion. We stick to what we have planned. Like she told us before, she’s a big girl and can make her own decisions. If she chooses him over us, that is her right. We can’t force her to choose us.
I can practically hear Xavier’s growl through the phone.
When no one responds to that last message, I sigh, lock my phone, and place it on the table next to me before returning my attention to the canvas in front of me. Emmy’s profile stares back at me, her gaze staring off the edge of the canvas.
It’s a replica of one of the photos I took of her on that first day, when she was gazing out the window, sun on her face.
The way the light played in her iris has fascinated me ever since I developed the images.
I’ve replicated this same sketch more than a dozen times as I try to recapture that tiny detail.
I can’t get it quite right.
But that’s okay, that’s what this time is for. To learn, make mistakes, and learn some more.
We’ll get there. Eventually.