Chapter Thirteen
Emerson
“W hat do you mean the water’s stopped running?” I echoed, following Atlas around the apartment like a lost puppy. I’d had a shower no more than half an hour ago and it had been running perfectly fine.
Atlas hardly spared me a glance as he started packing his necessities. “I think it’s pretty self-explanatory, Emmy.” His tone was laced with boredom, like he was already over this conversation. Too bad, I’m not.
I frowned. “Well, when does it plan to resume running?”
“Do I look like a plumber?”
I opened my lips to respond when he turned back to look at me and held up his finger.
“Don’t answer that.”
My jaw clicked shut. He asked .
Then he sighed, looking at me with an expression that translated to: I’m about to tell you something you aren’t going to like. “The water company has turned off the supply, there’s an issue with toxins or something. I don’t know. Anyway, we’re staying at Orion’ s for a while until it’s resolved.”
I stared at him blankly, as though he was speaking to me in a language I didn’t understand. Because I don’t understand. “I’m sorry,” I half laughed. “We’re what?”
Absolutely not. I must have been hearing things.
“We’re staying at Orion’s,” he repeated, turning his attention to the duffle bag sprawled out on his bed as if he hadn’t just declared our move-in with the devil.
I gawked at him, blinking rapidly as though it would erase the words already spoken. It doesn’t work .
A few seconds later, I found my voice. “No thanks, I’d rather live without water,” I declared, my tone leaving little room for argument. “You and Aero have fun though.”
Already halfway out his bedroom door, his voice called out behind me. “It wasn’t a request, Emmy. Go pack your things.”
“But—”
“Emmy!”
God, why do you hate me?
It turned out the water really had stopped running.
I switched the kitchen tap on and off at least six times to be sure before trying the rest of the faucets in the apartment .
So now, albeit reluctantly, I was getting ready for my interview at White who would you invite to a dinner, dead or alive?
Reflecting, I realized they were hoping for a more light-hearted, educated response, which was a far cry from what I provided them with.
Ideally, I would have given an answer that demonstrated not only my awareness of the profession’s history but also enlightened them on the lawyer I hoped to grow into .
An answer like Johnnie Cochran .
Instead, I gifted them with a somber encounter about my deceased parents and sat uncomfortably as an awkward silence settled over the interview room like a heavy blanket.
The partner who asked the question was so caught off guard by the unexpected response, he struggled to find the appropriate words to follow.
His composed demeanor melted, replaced by a sense of unease as he attempted to formulate a response that bore the weight of both professionalism and empathy.
He couldn’t.
And it was painful.
To watch and experience.
In the silence that followed, the three partners and I tussled with our thoughts and emotions, unsure of how to break the tension that hung between us, and the sound of ticking seconds only seemed to amplify the awkwardness, prolonging the unbearable discomfort of the moment.
Eventually, one of the partners spoke, redirecting the conversation to a lighter topic. But the damage was done. The awkward tension still lingered in the space around us like a hot air balloon we were each trying to purposefully ignore.
So now, after distressing the partners of my frontrunner firm to such an extent that they’d surely be calling their parents before burying their grave faces into their pillows tonight, I asked the woman above, again , why she made me the way I am.
I wouldn’t have been all that surprised if she suddenly whispered an answer in my ear along the lines of: You were an asshole in your last life. Payback’s a bitch.
My expression was so harrowing that even the usually verbose cab driver decided not to engage with me. Not that I blamed him, he probably thought one wrong word would send me flying over the edge before I tragically drowned in my own desolate tears.
In the back of a cab, no less.
Tasteful.
And to make matters worse, I had to drown my sorrows in his apartment rather than my own. Which seemed rather fitting for the day I was having. One disappointment after the other.
Thankfully, Atlas and Orion were out doing God knows what by the time I’d returned to Orion’s apartment. But the reminder that Orion would be back at some point invited an unwelcome heat between my thighs and a knot to tighten in my stomach.
And that pissed me off .
Which was how I found myself rummaging through his kitchen cabinets looking for a bottle of something dangerously strong before stomping around the space like a baby elephant while his housemaid, Rosa, watched me with a concerned look on her face.
Rosa cautiously stepped towards me, her movements filled with grace and dignity, unlike my own. Her silvery hair was neatly pinned back and though a look of worry contorted the years etched into the lines of her face, there was a twinkle of wisdom in her dark, almond-shaped eyes.
“Are you all right, mia cara ?” Her gentle Italian accent washed over me, settling on my skin like a warm, motherly hug.
Why did everything sound so much better in an Italian accent?
An involuntary sigh left me when I glanced up at her, a weak smile on my lips before I slumped into one of the bar stools. Unsealing the gray cap on the bottle in my hands, I poured a shot into a whiskey glass.
“You know, I hear these bottles can go for up to $40,000,” I muttered, mostly to myself while my eyes surveyed the Macallan 40 bottle.
I would have felt bad about opening Orion’s expensive whiskey if he wasn’t such an ass. Besides, $40,000 was like pennies to him, he probably wouldn’t even notice it missing.
And if he did, well… he could consider it compensation for scaring off Damien and ensuring my continued celibacy.
I inwardly groaned when I noticed Rosa still watching me expectantly. I had to hand it to her, she was persistent.
Fine, I guess we’re talking about feelings and all that crap.
I threw back my head, downing the contents of my glass, and spun to face her. “You know how some days are bad? But then other days are like really bad? I’m having one of the really bad days.”
Rosa hummed, pressing her lips together as she contemplated me for a moment. “You know, my nonna had a saying for days like these,” she started, taking a seat on the stool next to me. “We hate rainy days because they’re cold and miserable, but we tend to forget that when they end, we’re gifted with a magnificent rainbow.”
I let out a pitiful chuckle. “It’s been raining for so long I can’t remember what a rainbow looks like.”
Rosa smiled. “The sun will shine again, mia cara. Sometimes, the bad days are there to remind you that you have good ones to look forward to.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened? Sometimes, sharing your burdens can take a weight off, and who knows? Maybe it is something we can solve together.”
It was unlikely , but it was better than drowning in my sorrows alone .
After I divulged the details of my epic fail of an interview, Rosa then spent the next half an hour offering me motherly advice and comfort while I made my way through the bottle of whiskey.
If she is judging me, she is hiding it well.
It was only when a familiar guttural voice bellowed behind me, I realized Orion had returned home. “Is that my Macallan 40?”
Under usual circumstances, the hostile tone in his voice would have caused my blood to still. But this shit was strong, so strong that I apparently had the confidence to provoke the devil. Plus, it was hard to fear someone when there were three of them and they were spinning like they were on a hamster wheel.
“Yes, and it’s lovely,” I beamed, lifting the bottle and casually waving it in front of him, I think, ignoring the murderous expression on his numerous faces. “Want some?” I asked, pinching my brows as my eyes struggled to focus on him. “Jesus, Orion, stay still!” I ordered.
I almost fell off the stool when his face morphed into something one may accidentally assume was amusement. However, my vision was slightly impaired at the moment, so it couldn’t be trusted to tell the truth.
“I would, but you’ve managed to drink the full bottle, Tesoro,” the humor in his voice made my heart sing, a beautiful sound that should be played endlessly on repeat.
I tutted before searching for Rosa to back me up, only to discover she must have snuck away at some point. Crafty. “Have not,” I argued. “If I had, I’d be drunk, wouldn’t I? Do I seem drunk to you?” I shot him a pointed look to drive home my point.
He towered over me like a stormy gray cloud, looking deliciously handsome in his Tom Ford suit and his hair slightly roughed up like he recently ran his hands through it.
I wanted to run my hands through it.
“You don’t want me to answer that,” his smoky voice swept over me, taking my labored breath along with it. “Being a lightweight runs in the family, I see.”
“At least we’re cheap dates.”
“Cheap?” It was hard to tell with my blood gushing in my ears, but I was positive I had just heard him chuckle. “$40,000 is considered cheap to you?”
I shrugged half-heartedly. “No, but it is to you, Mr. Psycho Millionaire.” Then his veil dropped, for only a moment, but my heart was clawing its way up my throat.
“It’s Mr. Psycho Billionaire. With a ‘B’.”
The corners of his lips tugged upright as he studied my attempt at a scowl, and it was the most devastating sight I’d ever seen. A smile so earth-shattering even angels would weep.
The effect of it was so overwhelming, I could hardly stop the following words from falling out of my mouth .
“Smiling suits you,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “You should do it more.”
I lazily placed my elbow on the kitchen island and bore the weight of my head in my palm, my eyelids starting to droop. Though I hadn’t missed the way his eyes softened, and I could feel my insides liquifying. “I don’t have much to smile about, Tesoro. ”
“That makes me sad.”
“Don’t do that to yourself.”
“Do what?” I frowned, or at least tried to. At this point, I was no more in control of my facial expressions as I was the words flowing out of my mouth.
“Assume I’m a man who deserves your sympathy.” The strain in his voice had my heart constricting and my fingers itching to reach out to comfort him. But even in my drunken state, I knew better. “You wouldn’t feel sorry for the devil, Emmy. He made his own bed.”
If my eyes were open, they’d be trying to decipher whether that was genuine despair in his voice.
Instead, I let out a dreamy sigh as I felt his firm hands wrap around me, before he lifted me off the stool and cradled me against his hard chest, the warmth of his body spilling over me.
His aromatic-woody scent was laced with musky notes. It was intoxicating, welcoming me into the softness of its appealing embrace and suddenly I discovered my new favorite scent. Though, I doubted I would remember the discovery tomorrow.
His aftershave was completely contradictory to him; Orion was anything but welcoming and soft. But even subdued with a foggy haze, my mind could still appreciate how uncharacteristic the act of carrying me to my bed was for Orion.
Maybe he isn’t a total psychopath.
I felt the cool mattress connect with my back and immediately melted into the spongy springs, the sound of Orion’s heartbeat thundering against his chest still ringing in my ears like a soft lullaby inviting sleep to take over.
The second he pulled away, the warmth swaddling my body disappeared, and coldness took its place. “Orion?” I called out, my eyes firmly closed as he set the bed sheets over my clothed body.
“Hmm?”
“The Devil is only God’s favorite angel who lost his wings.”