Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Emmersyn
Well, that wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. Caleb and I didn’t kill each other. Though let’s be honest—he might’ve been pretty close to eliminating me. Not that I could blame him. The last time we saw each other things ended up pretty bad and, like Grandpa before me, I lashed out at him so bad. I hated myself for it—but it was necessary.
For a moment, I almost wished he was different—less lethal and more . . . caring? Yeah, right. As if Caleb Cunningham would ever be the nurturing type after the way we left things. I quickly erase the ridiculous thought and refocus on getting out of this building.
I hurry down the stairs, my pulse still racing from the encounter, and rush outside, hoping my driver is waiting. As I push through the door, a small part of me worries he might have left; because, honestly, with the way my day is going, that wouldn’t be surprising.
But thankfully, he’s there. Earlier, I had asked him to follow Ethan’s car, knowing I’d need a quick escape once the meeting was over.
As soon as I step outside, Logan is already in position, standing by the car, holding the door open with a polite smile.
“Ms. Langley,” he greets me with his usual warm and professional voice.
I nod, sliding into the back seat, barely acknowledging his greeting. My mind is still spinning from the whirlwind that is Caleb Cunningham—still infuriating, still emotionally unavailable, and still ridiculously hot.
As the car pulls away, I try to shake off the lingering tension. I know I should focus on something else, anything else, but my thoughts keep going back to him. Caleb with those piercing blue eyes and that fucking brooding intensity. The way he looked at me, like he was trying to decide whether to toss me out or drag me to the bedroom—it’s maddening. I can’t help but feel the tug of that old chemistry, the spark that never quite went away, even after all these years.
I try to focus on the passing scenery, anything to distract myself, but it’s futile. His infuriating smirk, the way he always seems to leave me both rattled and intrigued.
As the buildings blur by, I remind myself of where I’m headed—away from him. We’re on our way to the Four Seasons, where I’ve already made a reservation.
The thought of sinking into the comfort of a quiet, luxurious room feels like a much-needed escape. But even as I anticipate the stay, I know deep down that I’m not really avoiding anything. Not Caleb, not the mess my life has become—just delaying the inevitable. Still, a little distance and a lot of room service can’t hurt, right?
When we arrive at the hotel, Logan opens the door with a courteous nod. “Your luggage is already in your room, Ms. Langley. The digital key is activated, and you’re in the penthouse—no need to stop by reception. If you need anything else, just give me a call or contact Jane.”
Jane, my assistant, deserves a raise—or at least a one-month paid vacation—for managing my demanding schedule and the constant family drama. I pause for a moment, offering Logan a genuine smile as I step out of the car. “Thank you, Logan. I really appreciate everything you do for me.”
As I walk, my legs are still a little shaky after that last encounter with Caleb. The Four Seasons looms ahead, its grand entrance gleaming in the afternoon light. The marble steps practically sparkle, clean and polished, as if inviting me to leave my worries behind. But the storm inside me refuses to calm, no matter how opulent the surroundings.
A doorman in a crisp uniform steps forward, his practiced smile welcoming me inside. “Good afternoon, Ms. Langley,” he greets me, his tone respectful and polished. I nod, attempting to return the smile, though I’m not sure I quite pull it off. My thoughts are still too jumbled, too preoccupied with everything that’s been happening.
Inside, the lobby is a world of elegance—soft lighting, plush seating, and the subtle scent of fresh flowers filling the air. It’s like stepping into a sanctuary, far removed from the current mayhem going through my head and my life. This is a good place to rest while I wait for Caleb to . . . Is he really going to take everything I own?
Well, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Less stuff means less to worry about, right? Who needs a sprawling estate when you can live a minimalist life with just a killer wardrobe and a fridge full of wine?
Sounds frivolous, but I’m really not afraid of change. I enjoy working and creating new things and the possibility of discovering something different. I could start my own business doing . . . Well, I have no idea what really. The possibilities are endless.
Okay, focus and be realistic, I tell myself, shaking off the thought. Maybe it’s time I look for a new job, reach out to a few headhunters, and find an apartment while I still have the money to cover the first month’s rent and deposit. I could even move my things into this place and pay for an entire year upfront, giving myself a head start. See, I’m already planning the next step—one that doesn’t involve the crushing responsibility of being a Langley.
I worked hard to earn that name, to serve not just the employees but also the people who relied on us. But maybe I could be just as happy—if not happier—somewhere else. A place where I’m not constantly judged for failing to be as perfect as my mom—but let’s be honest, she wasn’t. As poised as my grandmother—who, frankly, I never wanted to emulate. Or as business-savvy as my grandfather—though I’d like to think I’m still learning and someday I’ll be just as good.
Yet, not being enough and always being compared is soul-crushing in more ways than I care to admit.
I make my way to the elevator, the soft chime announcing its arrival as the polished doors slide open. The reflective gold surface gleams under the elegant chandelier hanging above, casting a warm, inviting glow. I step inside and press the button for the penthouse. As the doors close with a whisper, I lean back against the cool steel wall, the soft hum of the elevator rising as it ascends.
The ride feels both too quick and too long, my thoughts swirling with the past, the present, and what will happen in the next six months. When the doors open with a soft ding, I’m greeted by a hallway lined with rich wood paneling and softly lit sconces. The air here feels different—thicker, quieter, like the world’s affairs and the impending doom in my life can’t quite reach me up here.
As I approach the door to the suite, it swings open automatically, revealing a luxurious space that nearly takes my breath away. The suite is expansive, with high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city skyline. The living area is awash in neutral tones, with plush sofas and armchairs artfully arranged around a sleek, modern fireplace. A grand chandelier dangles from the ceiling, casting a soft, warm glow over the entire space.
I walk farther inside, kicking off my shoes. I sigh as my feet sink into the thick, cream-colored carpet. I take in the details: the elegant art pieces adorning the walls, the perfectly arranged fresh flowers on the glass coffee table, and the subtle scent of lavender lingering in the air. Everything about this place screams luxury, but instead of feeling at home, there’s a strange disconnect, like I’m walking through someone else’s fantasy.
The bedroom is just as breathtaking. A king-sized bed dressed in crisp white linens dominates the room, flanked by nightstands with gold accents and topped with delicate crystal lamps. The drapes are drawn back, revealing another stunning view of the city below.
I wander over to the bed, my fingers trailing across the duvet. The fabric feels cool and smooth beneath my touch, a stark contrast to the chaos within me. Everything here is so cozy, so inviting, yet the weight of it all presses down on me—the uncertainty, the decisions I’ll have to make, and the looming reality that this beautiful place is where I’ll be waiting for Caleb to walk in and make a decision.
Sure, he said he’ll do it at a cost, but will he go through with it? Or was that just his way of getting rid of me? The thought nags at me, and I can’t help but wonder what exactly his lawyer is drafting. Caleb wants to leave me high and dry, and honestly, signing something like that feels utterly ridiculous. But if that’s what will get him to do this one thing, I suppose I’ll have to sign. At this point, I’ll do whatever needs to be done to save Langley Media.
I take a deep breath, allowing myself to savor this small moment of peace, even if it’s just a brief reprieve before the storm hits again. I sink into the comfort of the room, hoping it will be enough to steady me after our encounter. When I finally sit on the bed—it’s like a cloud, one I could lose myself in forever—my phone buzzes, yanking me back to reality.
“Ugh,” I groan, not exactly eager to answer. But, of course, I end up fishing my phone out of my purse anyway.
It’s Clarissa, one of my closest friends and . . . his sister. Of course, she’s calling—probably to get the scoop after he already fed her his side of the story. She’s going to give me grief for not telling her about my grandmother’s will. Honestly, I’m not ready to talk to her. Not until I’ve come to an agreement with her brother and make him promise that he won’t involve her.
Too late, Em. I bet he’s already filled her in, and she’s going to be pissed that I didn’t rush to ask for her help. I swear, the Cunningham siblings are a pain in the ass. At least I adore my bestie—him, not so much.
“Hey,” I answer as casually as I can.
“So, Trudy is once again trying to ruin your life, and this time from beyond the grave, huh?” Clarissa jumps straight to the point, skipping any formalities. She’s going right for the jugular, leaving me no time to think or change the subject.
“Hello to you too,” I say, trying to buy myself a moment. Quick, think of something witty. “Why don’t we talk in a couple of weeks when my life is less . . . on fire?” I say, realizing that if I end up moving in with her brother, life is going to be anything but calm.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t call me. I could’ve?—”
“Told me that he wouldn’t help me; even if the livelihood of thousands of people depended on him,” I cut her off and finish the sentence for her.
“No, talked to him?— ”
“So he can accuse me of manipulating you into doing what I want? That I’m using you and buying you with my dirty money?” I fling back one of the stinging remarks he made the last time we spoke, right before he stormed out, claiming I was impossible and he didn’t want to see me ever again—it was quite dramatic if I recall. Apparently, dealing with me is worse than being stuck in rush-hour traffic during a heatwave or negotiating with someone on the FBI’s Most Wanted list.
“How long have you been dealing with Trudy’s final stipulation?” Clarissa asks, mercifully steering the conversation away from her brother.
“A week or so.” I sigh, throwing myself onto the bed with all the grace of a sack of potatoes. The mattress bounces beneath me, and I fling an arm over my eyes like I’m auditioning for a tragic play. The dramatic flop sends a pillow flying to the floor, but I’m too busy wallowing to care. “I’ve already tried everything to avoid your brother. It’s impossible.”
My legs dangle off the edge of the bed, and I let out another exaggerated sigh, as if the weight of the world—or at least Caleb’s decision—is pressing down on me. But then my mind takes a dangerous detour, lingering on the idea of Caleb pressing down on me in a completely different way.
I imagine his strong, muscular body hovering over mine, his rough hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wide as he leans in close. I can almost feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, the delicious anticipation building as his mouth moves lower.
A shiver runs through me as I imagine the feel of his tongue teasing me, licking me slowly until I’m trembling beneath him. And then, without warning, he’s sucking my clit, the sensation so intense that I arch my back, practically begging for more.
His fingers slide inside me, thrusting deep and hitting that perfect spot that sends waves of pleasure crashing through me. The thought alone has me wet, my body responding to the fantasy even though I know it’s all in my head.
But just as quickly, the heat is doused by the harsh reality of who Caleb is and how much he hates me. I sit up abruptly, as if trying to physically shake off the thought. He despises me, and I should feel the same. There’s no way I can let myself go there—not with him, and definitely not with how much we can’t stand each other.
“I’m surprised you two never divorced,” she says, her voice laced with curiosity. “Or that you never told me we’re still sisters .” She says the last three words like it’s a reason to pop champagne.
I love her dearly, but sometimes I wish she used her heart a little less. I get so caught up in her enthusiasm that I end up going along with her ideas and . . . well, I usually end up paying for it in more ways than one. Like that time at summer camp she bought pot from one of the other campers—with my money. She got caught, and guess who took the blame? Me. I didn’t even get to try it, damn it.
My grandfather dragged me out of camp and grounded me for the rest of the summer. In all fairness, if she’d been the one caught, she would’ve had to face her very strict parents, and who knows what would’ve happened to her. But yeah, I love her dearly, but she’s dragged me into more awkward situations than I can count—including marrying her brother .
Sure, I could’ve said no to all her ideas, but what can I say? I was a people pleaser back then. According to my therapist, it all goes back to losing my mother at fourteen, along with that guy’s rejection who apparently wasn’t my father . . . And yes, my life was complicated even then.
Which is why I finally mumble, “It’s complicated. I didn’t want to discuss it because it’s just too fucking thorny to discuss.”
“Like everything involving you and Cal,” she quips, and I can practically hear the smirk in her voice.
“So, why did he call you?” I dare to ask, bracing myself for the answer.
“He wanted to know if you had already dragged me into your latest scheme like last time,” she laughs, as if she’s just told the funniest joke in the world. “One day, I’m going to tell him the truth.”
“Let’s not stir the pot, okay? So, do you know if he’s really going to help me?” I ask, needing confirmation because if he won’t . . . well, then I’m pretty much fucked. There’s no other word for it.
“He will,” she assures me. “Cal isn’t exactly thrilled about moving to the middle of who-knows-where with you, but . . . ‘I’ll make her pay for everything.’” Her attempt at imitating his voice is laughably bad.
“You know what your brother needs?” I ask, fully expecting her to catch the rhetorical tone.
“To get laid?” she fires back before I can even blink. “You two could do it, you know . . . fuck each other until you fix your issues. Then give my kids some nieces and nephews.”
“Clarissa, they’d be cousins, but focus, please. This isn’t a joke. Your brother is jaded, angrier than when I first met him. I just . . .” I sigh and then decide to redirect the conversation. “How are the kids, by the way?”
“They’re doing great. But they could really use some cousins ,” she teases, clearly not letting it go.
“Ha, you’ve got another sister and two brothers who can help with that,” I counter, trying to keep the mood light. “Besides, your brother and I are never getting back together. This is, as usual, strictly business.”
“Uh-huh, because there’s absolutely no chemistry between you two,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
“None at all.”
“Liar,” she laughs. “Anyway, I just wanted to check on you and give you a heads-up—he’s going to make the next six months a living hell for you. If you need any pointers on how to get back at him, I’m here for you.”
“So he can accuse me of using you and . . .” I trail off, the words deflating me because, despite my best efforts to act tough, his comments back then really did hurt—a lot. “I’m old enough to keep up with him.”
“Even if it’s not to make him pay for being an asshole, know that I’m here for you,” she says, her tone shifting to something more serious, gentler.
“Thank you. I love you, Clarissa. I really don’t know what I’d do without you and all my friends,” I say, meaning every word.
“Love you more, and I’m sorry Gertrude left you in this predicament, but . . . maybe something good will come out of it,” she says, thinking with her heart and optimism.
Listen, I’m all about silver linings and all that, but my optimism doesn’t even come close to Clarissa’s. She’s the kind of person who would find a rainbow in the middle of a hurricane—or convince herself that a coffee spill is just an excuse to buy a new shirt. Meanwhile, I’m over here, fully expecting the shirt to be sold out and the hurricane to come back even stronger. There are places and times to be sunshine and positive shit, but this is not it.
“Doubtful. This is going to be like The Hunger Games or Survivor —only with way less food and way more emotional landmines,” I reply, trying to inject some humor into the impending disaster.
Because this will be like navigating a minefield blindfolded—while juggling chainsaws. And let’s be real, I’m not exactly known for my coordination.
I can’t help but wish things were different, like when I first met Caleb. Back then, he was . . . less Caleb-y and more like a caring protective guy I could fall in love with. The one I could see myself marrying.
The kind of man who made my heart skip a beat with just a smile, who I could imagine building a life with—a life filled with laughter, late-night conversations, and the kind of love that makes everything else seem insignificant. But that version of him seems like a distant memory now, buried under layers of sarcasm and resentment.