Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Emmersyn
“You left a lot of money with my brother,” Clarissa says the moment I pick up the phone.
“It wasn’t enough,” I protest.
While Caleb went to check on his dad, I tried to pay for the medical bills. The billing person laughed at my attempt, telling me it only covered a day—and he had been there for a week already, with more charges on the way. Thankfully, she handed me an envelope, and I left it with Caleb, claiming it was something important for his sister.
That money has to help with something, right? Like a month of groceries or the mortgage or . . . It’s been a long time—four years—since I’ve had to sit down and pay the bills for the house, but I have an idea of how much things cost. Mom was very adamant that I learn to be independent and knew not only to balance a checkbook but have a budget.
We were very strict with our budget and always saved money to have one vacation somewhere sunny and tropical for her birthday. She liked to go to bright sunny places, have fruity drinks, and swim. Maybe when I start working, I’ll save so I can do one of those things again.
“We agreed you wouldn’t give me money,” Clarissa insists, sticking to her wild idea. “Just marry my brother, and then you can use the trust to help my parents.”
I roll my eyes. She’s relentless. Now that I’ve met Caleb, I admit he’s definitely better than several guys from Grandma’s list. Like Preston Bancroft III, who’s a C student at Yale and will be taking over his father’s dermatology practice. I wouldn’t want him to touch me with a ten-foot pole, let alone a scalpel.
Then there’s Frédéric Scott Wallace, who, at twenty-four, still lives in his parents’ guesthouse and collects rare action figures—he once told me they were “an excellent investment.” Someone should probably break it to him that Beanie Babies aren’t action figures, they’ll never be valuable collectibles, and they’ve been out of style since dial-up internet.
And let’s not forget Sebastian Wainwright, who brags about his tennis skills but can’t even hold a racket properly—despite being a “professional” tennis coach who’s been kicked out of every country club on the East Coast. All of them just care about their investments, trust funds, and how much more they could be worth if they became Emmersyn Langley’s husband.
I wish my grandmother hadn’t announced to the world that I was planning to marry after graduating from high school. Honestly, all I want right now is for one of the schools I applied to offer me a scholarship, not just say you’ve been accepted. But that’s unlikely since I’m a Langley, and Langleys don’t need financial assistance or scholarships.
Why give me anything when they’re probably waiting to take something from me?
“You met him, right? Caleb? Isn’t he nice and sweet?” Clarissa pulls me out of my thoughts.
“What?” I snap back to the conversation.
“Are you even paying attention to me?” she demands.
“Of course I am,” I lie, trying to refocus. “It’s just . . . I don’t want to get married.”
“Which I totally get. That list your grandmother gave you is full of losers who would just mooch off you,” she says.
At least one person in my life understands.
“So, marry Caleb,” she suggests.
“Even if your brother seems . . .” I trail off, unsure how to finish that thought.
He’s sweet and probably caring. Funny and smart. Also, pretty hot. I wouldn’t mind him kissing me with that mouth. “I can’t marry a stranger. I’ll probably just move to the apartment in Brooklyn and work until I can save enough money to pay my tuition—or until my trust becomes available.”
Mom was a wise woman. There has to be a good reason why she decided to leave me all her money and property in a trust, to be used only after my twenty-fifth birthday. She probably didn’t know that one morning, she would cross the road, and some drunk asshole would crush her skull because he didn’t see the red light.
He’s in jail paying for what he did. And I’m in hell living without the only person who ever loved me unconditionally. How fair is that? Probably not much, but Mom always said things happened for a reason. I have to find the silver lining, and maybe soon, I’ll find one for this dilemma. Just not now, of course.
“It’s up to you, but I really think you should consider my brother. You can’t become the CEO of your company if you don’t have a degree,” Clarissa insists. “Also, my parents are desperate.”
“Ugh, stop using logic on me,” I complain. “By the way, I’ll try to send you more money in a week or so.”
“You don’t have to. What you left is plenty to cover the bills for a couple of months, according to Mom. I just didn’t tell her where I got it from,” she replies.
“Which is totally fine,” I say, relieved.
Not having to figure out how to come up with more money is a small victory. Duncan, the family butler, wasn’t too happy when he found out I took the money without permission. He accused me of stealing it to buy drugs and dragged me to the doctor to prove I’m an addict—I’m not. The only time I almost tried pot was with Clarissa, and that was a total fail. Duncan’s never going to know what I did with that money. I told him it might be hidden in the house or burned in the fireplace .
Poor Duncan, he really hates dealing with what he calls my smart mouth, but at least I keep his life interesting. He’ll be bored without me.
“Em, you really should think about my plan,” Clarissa insists. “I think he liked you, you know.”
“What?”
“Cal,” she responds. “He seemed fond of you. You could propose this to him and everyone will be happy.”
I can’t focus on whatever she’s saying because all I can think about is Caleb, his mouth, and the things I doubt we’ll ever get to do, like kiss. Which, of course, is absolutely off-limits because of the bestie code.
Rule number one: Thou shalt not kiss thy best friend’s brother. Even if he has lips that look like they were handcrafted by the romance gods.