Chapter 24
Emmett
It’s been a day since the whole shitshow with Robert, and honestly, I can’t tell if we’re doing well or we’re on the brink of an implosion. Personally, I prefer to remain positive, but I can’t speak for the others.
As Miles appears at the stern, where I’m drinking my coffee, it’s clear he’s not feeling as upbeat.
I can tell he hasn’t slept, with dark circles under his eyes and his hair a mess. He’s clutching his phone with both hands, thumbing through emails most likely.
I prop my heels on the bench and lean back. “How ya getting along, Miles?”
Miles barely glances up. “I have six voicemails from my managing partner, Emmett. This is the last thing I needed right now.”
I frown, lifting my mug to take a sip. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
He grunts and swipes to answer a call. “Jameson,” he says, voice stern.
I take a moment check my phone, scanning the overnight onslaught of spam, social media updates, and one urgent email from my agent.
I frown as I read the subject line.
YOU’RE NEEDED IN ICELAND, ASAP.
I thumb it open and read through it quickly. They want me on the next flight to Reykjavik. Some streaming service with more money than sense wants a docuseries about traveling through the country.
And they want me to work on the project with them.
“You’re shitting me right now,” I say to the phone.
Miles glares, waves a hand, as if my mumble just interrupted his phone call.
I watch as he paces the length of the deck, talking fast and looking more and more irritated.
“I’m in Florida right now,” he grits out. “I can’t be in New York right now. You know that, and you should be able to—” He stops, obviously having been cut off. His face turns red. “I understand that you feel like you’re out of your wheelhouse.”
I sip my coffee, my eyes drifting to the pale blue skies, wishing that I could go back in time and erase yesterday. I hate the way Robert just stormed in and tore Georgia apart. She tried to be strong—and she was—but it’s still deeply affecting her.
And as if she knew I was thinking about her, Georgia appears on the deck, barefoot, hair pulled up in a clip. She gives me a tight-lipped smile and throws a curious look at Miles who continues to pace.
“Hey, good morning,” I whisper to avoid another eye scolding from Miles.
She opens her mouth to say something, but Miles voice gets even louder.
“Look, I’ll just fly in tonight. It’ll be fine. Then you don’t have to worry about doing it alone. Problem fucking solved!” He’s not paying attention—his world has shrunk to the phone and whatever crises awaits him in Manhattan.
But I don’t miss Georgia’s entire demeanor shift. Nor the way she spins around and heads right back inside.
Oh shit.
I jump up from the lounger and follow. When I find Georgia she’s already at the stove, beating eggs with a violent intensity. She doesn’t look up when I come in. She just continues to beat the eggs like they personally did her wrong.
“Morning, peach,” I say, coming up behind her.
She tenses, just a little, then shakes her head. “Morning.”
I take a seat at the counter. The scent of burnt toast hangs in the air, and when I look closer, I see she the toaster is on the max setting.
“You okay, babe?” I try to keep my tone light.
She shrugs, pushing the eggs around in the frying pan now. “Fine. Just tired.”
“Listen,” I give her a soft look, “I know yesterday was rough. No one’s expecting you to bounce right back. Hell, I still want to punch your old man, and I’m not even the one he threatened to disown.”
She snorts, and a wisp of her old smile ghosts her lips. “You? Violent?”
I hold up my fists. “I’m scrappy. I’ll take him in down.”
She laughs, and for a second, I think she’s okay, but then from outside, Miles’s voice rises—sharp, urgent, snapping out names and times and dollar amounts like he’s barking commands on a battlefield.
Georgia’s eyes go hard as she dumps the eggs onto four plates and drops the frying pan into the sink with a clang. “He’s leaving,” she spits out, setting my plate in front of me. “I know he is.”
I stare down at the eggs and hesitate before looking up at her. “It’s probably urgent. I’m sure he’ll talk to us…”
She shakes her head. “Why would he?” She picks up a glass, fills it with water, then slams it down on the counter so hard it I’m shocked it doesn’t shatter. “Why would he even want to stay here? Maybe my father is right.” Her expression contorts into something I can’t read.
“Hey,” I say, softening my voice. “He’s not running. He just—”
“Everyone always does,” she snaps at me, and then shifts her eyes to Miles, now entering the kitchen. He’s finally off his phone.
I brace for impact.
“I have to go,” he says, voice low. “Now. There’s a client in crisis, and the firm needs me in New York before nightfall.”
Georgia’s expression doesn’t change. She wipes her hands on a towel, then folds it with mechanical precision.
“Of course you do,” she says.
Miles hesitates, caught mid-step. “This isn’t about what happened yesterday. I just need to go.”
“And so that’s it?” Her voice quivers. “You just go, and then disappear, avoiding all the drama?”
He looks visibly gutted, but he holds his ground. “You know I don’t want to leave. But I don’t have a choice.”
“Bullshit,” she says, voice rising. “You have a choice. You said you were basically retired.”
I decide to intervene, for all the good it’ll do. “Georgia—”
She glares at me. “Yeah? And what about you, Emmett? Are you going to drop everything and run, too?”
The accusation stings, mostly because she’s not entirely wrong. “Funny you should mention that. Because actually, my agent wants me to fly to Iceland for a documentary gig. I didn’t say yes, but…”
She laughs. “You didn’t say yes, but you didn’t say no, either.”
I want to say something clever, something that will make her smile again. But it all sounds stupid in my head. “I don’t want to leave you,” is all I can manage.
She shakes her head, disappointment pooling in her eyes. “Right. Of course.” Georgia picks up the glass of water, but her grip slips. She drops the glass and it bounces off the edge of the sink, and then explodes on the tile in a spray of shards and ice.
She doesn’t even flinch and just stands there, letting the water soak her bare feet.
Miles moves toward her, but she takes a step back. “Don’t,” she says. “Just don’t. Just leave me alone.”
“I can clean this up,” I say gently, and she glares at me.
And then turns on her heels and storms out, leaving the mess behind.
Miles lets out a sigh as the door slams behind her. “I didn’t mean to cause a problem.”
I slide off the stool and go for the broom. “No, but you did.”
He gives me a look and then slips out of the kitchen, his phone already ringing again. I watch him go, and shake my head.
We’re definitely hanging on by a fucking thread.
Once the kitchen is back to its usual pristine state—including cleaning up the glass, washing dishes, and putting away uneaten food—I head straight for Georgia’s room.
I hover outside of her door for a minute, taking a deep breath, and then knock twice. “Hey, can we talk?”
No answer.
I try again, this time a little more insistent. “Georgie, please. Let’s talk about this. I know you’re feeling a lot right now.”
Still nothing, so I stand there, listening to the faint sniffles and the occasional shuffle of movement inside. I can practically see her, curled up on the bed in an emotional mess. The image makes my chest ache.
Damnit, Georgia, just let me in.
After a minute, I press my forehead to the door and try again, “You don’t have to talk. Just open the door. We don’t even have to make eye contact.”
There’s a silence, and I’m about give in when finally, there’s a click, and the door cracks open just wide enough for her to peer up at me.
She meets my gaze, then looks away, and retreats to the far corner of the bed, knees up, arms locked around them. She’s a full-blown mess, with red, puffy eyes, messy hair, and her oversized sweatshirt hanging off her loosely.
But she’s still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever fucking seen.
I step inside, close the door quietly behind me, and take a seat at the edge of the bed, giving her plenty of space. “Not gonna lie, I thought you were going to lock me out for good.”
Georgia says nothing. She just picks at her thumbnail.
I swallow hard. “So, Miles will be off saving the world, and you’re giving me the silent treatment. This is a bleak new frontier for me, but I’ll just have to persevere. I’m known for my resilience.”
Her lips twitch, but she doesn’t allow herself to smile. Instead, she squeezes her knees tighter to her chest, only eyeing me for a second.
I shift so I’m facing her, one leg up, hands loose and open on my knee. “Look, I know it feels like everyone’s abandoning ship—no pun intended. But it’s not what you think. I know it’s a shitty time for him to leave, but—”
She cuts me off, voice small but sharp. “You’re leaving, too.”
I blink, completely having forgotten about the stupid Iceland thing. “Only if you want me to. I don’t have to jet off for that right now.”
She furrows her brow at me, but her lower lip trembles. “That’s not how it works, Emmett. Just go. Get on your plane and chase the next story. I’ll be fine.”
She says it with the conviction of someone who’s spent her whole life learning how to be left behind.
And fuck, that hurts me for her.
“I’m not leaving without full consent and a happy Georgia,” I say, as gently as I can. “I promise.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t have to say that.”
I lean in, elbows on my knees, voice dropping to a whisper. “I don’t want to leave you, Georgie.”
Her breath shudders out, and she drops her forehead to her knees.
I reach for her hand, but she draws back. “Don’t,” she says, voice wobbly. “If you touch me, I’ll lose it.”
I sit back, hands up. “Okay. No touching.”