Chapter 12
twelve
. . .
Emilia
A huge weight lifted off my shoulders.
A simple apology could go a long way.
I never knew why he’d hated me all these years, and I was glad to have it out in the open.
My childhood crush was still an asshole, but he’d shown me a softer side tonight.
Plus, he was wearing these black-rimmed reading glasses, which managed to make the bastard even sexier.
On a night when I couldn’t have taken much more.
My mother had started off my night with a bang, and then I’d literally slammed my car into Bridger’s truck, ended up in a pile of snow with him on top of me, and then seen the inside of his sterile, cold mansion.
But I’d received an apology.
Miracles do happen.
“I’m sure Cami painted a picture that I was a snitch. She was an insecure girl back then, and honestly, from what I’ve seen of her as a grown-up, she hasn’t changed.”
“Yeah, she used to tell me that you’d talk to her about reporting me to Coach because I’d have an occasional beer at a party, and you thought I should be kicked off the football team.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Seems kind of ridiculous now that I held on to that all these years later.”
“I’m just ready to put this behind us. Thank you for the apology. I don’t want there to be tension with you, because I happen to consider Eloise, Lulu, and Henley close friends.”
“You don’t say?” he said with a smirk. “They told me they were still on strike with pickleball, but they would attend Sunday dinner for my parents’ sake.”
“Well, now you can all go back to your regularly scheduled lives, as we’ve cleared all the past issues up.” I fastened the belt on my coat around my waist. “Are you still fine to give me a ride home?”
“You don’t want to die from hypothermia anymore?”
“I mean, after the dinner I just had, and the fact that I just cried in front of my nemesis, the temptation to walk and risk it is still there—but I’d much rather get home and into a hot bath at the moment.” I shrugged, and something in his gray gaze darkened at my words.
“‘Nemesis’ is a strong word.”
“So is ‘asshole,’ but it still fits,” I said, tucking my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing.
He reached for a jacket and grabbed his keys off the entry table. “Let’s go. I’ve got a car that you haven’t damaged in the garage.”
I followed him back through the house, noting that all the walls were bare. “Haven’t you owned this place for a while?”
He didn’t turn around but kept walking toward the garage. He paused when he pulled the door open. “You keeping tabs on me, Emilia?”
He held the door open and motioned me forward, my chest grazing his as I moved past him.
“Hardly. I mean, you bought the biggest house in Rosewood River. It’s common knowledge.”
“Then why did you ask?” he said dryly as he pulled my door open for me, catching me off guard. I slipped inside, and he shut the door before going around to the other side.
He backed out of the driveway, and I glanced over my shoulder as he carefully maneuvered around my car, which was sitting perpendicular in his driveway.
“I’m waiting, Emilia.” His voice was harsh, and I turned around to look at him.
“I asked because your home looks so—sterile. Like you just moved in.”
His brows cinched together as he looked through the windshield at the white snow falling in front of us. “I’m a minimalist. I don’t want a bunch of porcelain trinkets in my home.”
“Well, a photo, a lamp, maybe a plant… any sign of life would go a long way. You have a blank canvas, and you could do a lot to the place,” I said as he turned down my street.
“What are we, girlfriends now? You’re giving me home décor advice?” he asked dryly.
“You’re the one who asked.”
“I have another question,” he said.
“I thought you were a man of few words?”
He completely ignored me and continued to his question. “Why did you say it was the worst dinner tonight?”
He came to a stop in my driveway, and he turned to face me.
“What are we, girlfriends now? You’re asking me personal questions?” I mimicked his words, but he just continued to hold my stare as if he was waiting.
“So, I’ve told you about my silly crush, I’ve cried about my night, yet you want more? Tell me something about your dinner, and then I’ll tell you why mine sucked,” I said.
“My dinner was fine. Good company. Too much chatter. I ate a lot, and I came home.” His lips made a flat line as if he’d done his part, and now it was my turn.
“My mother is not pleased that I’m pursuing a business of my own.” I glanced out the window, suddenly uncomfortable with how small the space was. Bridger Chadwick was all-consuming. His big body. Broody personality. Gray eyes.
All of it.
It was too much.
“You already own your own business, do you not?” he asked.
“No. That’s my family business. I just run the flower shop.”
“You don’t have a piece of the company? You’re just an employee?” he asked, and his words rubbed me wrong.
“I’m not ‘just an employee.’ I run the whole thing. I’ve tripled the annual income, for your information.”
“Then why wouldn’t you be a partial owner?” he asked.
“Well, that is none of your business, actually. It’s a family thing.”
“Fine. So why does your mother care that you want to start your own business?” he pressed.
I sighed as I unbuckled my seat belt. “I don’t know why we’re talking about this. We aren’t friends. Why do you care?”
“I don’t know. I’m a businessman. I’m curious.”
I huffed a few times before realizing I was uncomfortable because the truth was embarrassing. “She doesn’t think I can do it. She thinks I’ll fail.”
“Emilia.” He shook his head, and there was something about the way he said my name. With this deep, husky, commanding voice. “If I quit every time someone thought I would fail, I wouldn’t be where I am now. Prove her wrong.”
“You say it like you care. You’d probably be happy to see me fall on my face.”
“I thought you were the enemy for a multitude of reasons, which you’ve since proven wrong. But I don’t want you to fail. What’s the business? Do not tell me you’re going to start writing your own gossip column?”
I rolled my eyes. “I went to school for interior design. I’ve opened the business officially. It’s called Vintage Interiors,” I said, tipping my chin up, feigning confidence because I had exactly zero clients.
Zilch. Nada.
Not a single one.
So it wasn’t much of a business just yet.
“You studied interior design, yet you decided to run a flower shop?” he asked.
Why the hell did he even care? What was with all the questions?
He was famously known for his aloofness.
“My grandmother got sick. I took over the flower shop. But now I want to pursue my own dreams.”
He nodded as if he was processing my words and agreeing with them. “As you should. Life is short.”
“Yes. Thanks for the ride.”
“I have one more question,” he said as my hand wrapped around the door handle.
The smell of leather, sandalwood, and cinnamon filled the inside of his car. I’d always had a keen sense of smell, and this man was hitting all the manly marks.
I groaned, feigning irritation, when in all actuality, this last hour with Bridger Chadwick had been the highlight of my day.
Of my week.
Fine, maybe even longer, but that was just because I’d been leading a very unexciting life.
“What is it?” I asked, turning to look at him.
“If you’ve opened an interior design business, why in the hell would you insult my home? Seems like the wrong business approach.” His lips twitched the slightest bit, possibly turning up in the corners for a brief flash before straightening.
“I wasn’t thinking of you as a potential client, so I was just being honest. You have a gorgeous home, but it’s lacking any sense of warmth or character.”
Similar to the man who lived inside.
He leaned closer, his face so near to mine I could hardly breathe. “Emilia, that’s where you messed up. Everyone is a potential client.”
“You hate me, or at least you did twenty minutes ago. We’re barely civil to one another. I’m not considering working for you.”
He pulled back, leaning against the seat. “If you want to make it in business, you have to expect the unexpected.”
“Thanks for the advice, oh wise one.” I chuckled. “Are you saying I shouldn’t be honest?”
“I’m saying you should play the game. You want to get this business off the ground and do this full-time eventually, correct?”
“Yes.”
“Then play the goddamn game. Do whatever it takes.” He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before replacing them.
Why was that so sexy?
Why was this broody bastard so sexy?
Maybe it was just the fact that he was my childhood crush.
Or maybe I was just emotionally drained tonight and not thinking clearly.
“I plan to.” I reached in my purse. “Here you go, Bridger Chadwick. This is my business card. I have no clients and no experience, but I know how to transform a space. I saw your home tonight—and I saw what it could be. If you want to hear about my vision, book an appointment with my assistant.”
“Who’s your assistant?” he asked, his gaze searching mine.
“Me. I just thought it sounded more legit.” I pushed the door open as a gust of wind blew by. He moved to step out of his car, and I held my hand up. “Stay put. It’s not a date. I won’t tell your mom.”
He rolled his eyes, and I hopped out of his car and hurried toward the front door.
When I put the key in the doorknob and turned around, he was standing outside his car, watching me.
My stomach flipped, but I pushed the feeling away.
He was being polite.
Nothing more.
This man could never be more than my nemesis.