10. Emma
Chapter Ten
EMMA
S he wrapped her jacket a little tighter around herself, but it didn’t do much good. The zipper was broken, and she hadn’t been able to find a tailor who was willing to fix it.
It hadn’t seemed like a very big deal earlier this week when the weather had been in the eighties, but the temperature had dropped precipitously the last couple of nights.
Everyone and everything is disposable these days, she grumbled to herself.
It didn’t help that the wind on the waterfront was always colder than the rest of town. It always managed to blow straight through the narrow window of the coffee kiosk like a knife, chilling her to the bone.
Which was worse? This cold or getting sexually harassed on the regular by a bunch of overstuffed suits? It didn’t matter. She could never go back to the café. Not with that man there.
Which meant she needed to get a new coat. Pedro was sure to have one in those crowded clothing racks. The only trick would be getting him to loan it to her.
Yeah, you’re going to be cold until summer.
The icy chill dissipated in a rush of heat when she stepped out of the De Olla kiosk to lock up for the night. Garrett Chapman was standing a few yards away.
Emma’s lips parted with a gasp.
“Hey,” he said, lifting his hand in an awkward wave.
She froze, despite his nonthreatening posture. Keeping her eyes on the threat, she reached behind her for the handle of the kiosk door, seconds away from diving back inside.
Chapman winced. “Please don’t run,” he said.
He took a step backward, giving her a bit more space. “I’m not here to bother you. I just wanted to apologize for scaring you.”
The man looked out of place in his fancy suit and stylish wool coat. Everyone else on the waterfront was in casual clothing. Even the ones who were wearing coats didn’t have anything as nice as what he had on.
“Okay, fine,” she muttered, a little bit of her panic fading as she realized they weren’t alone.
De Olla closed at five. At this hour there were still a lot of people out here by the water’s edge. It wasn’t like this was a dark parking garage…
That timely reminder straightened her spine. She was allowed to be mad about that. This jerk was lucky she didn’t kick him in the nards. Very lucky.
“Apology accepted,” she added in a clipped voice. “You can go now.”
Mr. Chapman rocked back on his heels, his dark-brown eyes closing for a long uncomfortable moment.
“I know I deserve that,” he began. “I was way out of line, making you bring me coffee and then that, um, that other thing.”
Emma tilted her head to one side. “What thing would that be?”
It was hard to tell in the fading light, but she would bet money that he was blushing. “The, um, the thing. By Fletcher’s Ferrari.”
“Oh…” she began, fluttering her lashes. “You mean when you tackled me in a dark parking garage? Is that the thing you are referring to?”
Emma was aware she was taking no prisoners, but she was on a roll and couldn’t seem to stop herself. “Because that qualifies as a serious incident, not a thing, according to your own HR person.”
“Yeah.” He coughed. “And it was a big deal.”
Emma hadn’t expected that quick capitulation.
“Yeah, it was,” she muttered. “Mrs. Myers also assured me you wouldn’t approach me directly. Any sit-down or apology is supposed to happen in her office, with her in attendance.”
His eyes narrowed on her face. “You wouldn’t agree to see me or accept my apology.”
She threw up her hands. “Because I don’t want it!”
Chapman clapped a hand on his forehead. “Look, I can only imagine how weird it is to be confronted by a total stranger who claims to know you.”
“But you do know me,” she mumbled.
That was no longer in doubt. When Emma had packed up her things and moved in with Pedro, her mother had insisted she bring along her high school yearbook. Emma hadn’t wanted to, but she also hadn’t wanted to argue with her perpetually exhausted mother.
The yearbook confirmed she and Garrett had both graduated from Verdant Falls High the same year. According to the inscriptions of friends she no longer remembered, he’d been class salutatorian to her valedictorian.
He’d come in second to her. Bet he loved that.
Which was in line with that other bombshell his business partner had shared. “Oh, also, you hate me with the intensity of a thousand suns.”
“We didn’t always get along in high school,” he corrected, holding up a finger. “But I never hated you.”
She wrapped her arms around her chest. “Your best friend said you did, Mr. Chapman.”
His shoulders lifted but he jerked suddenly, looking down at his coat with a frown before returning his attention to her.
Emma’s brows rose a fraction. And I thought I was weird.
“First of all, please call me Garrett. And yes, Fletcher is an old friend and my business partner, but he doesn’t know every detail of my life. He wasn’t even in most of our classes. It was my fault he got invested in the whole corporate spy theory.”
“Because that was rational.”
Although she had to admit, Emma Mendez, corporate spy, sounded a whole lot cooler than Emma Mendez, disabled amnesiac.
“Again, I apologize for—” Garrett began before cutting himself off to give the bulge in his coat a glare.
Emma huffed, taking another protective step back. The man was being too weird.
He cleared his rapidly reddening throat. “As for high school, we weren’t mortal enemies. It was more along the lines of a healthy rivalry.”
So, was Fletcher lying in the HR lady’s office, or was Garrett lying now?
Emma sighed, suddenly exhausted. “Then we didn’t hate each other?”
His mouth opened but he caught himself and appeared to flinch. “Well, you did threaten to hit me with a history book once or twice.”
She raised her brows. Did the man have some sort of nervous tic?
“History? Not math?”
“History was our thickest textbook.” He gave her a charming shrug. “But I assure you, I deserved it.”
Emma kicked the sidewalk with the toe of her scuffed boot. “That’s, um, believable.”
She expected a scowl or dirty look, but Garrett Chapman surprised her. He started laughing. It transformed his features from forbidding and intimidating to open. Almost warm.
And stupidly handsome. Very stupid.
Chapman leaned forward, his face sober and serious now. “Our rivalry turned my life around. I want to pay a little of that forward.”
Emma’s brow puckered. Hector had mentioned something to that effect, but she hadn’t expected Mr. Moneybags to follow through.
Except he was here in the flesh, being awkward and promising what exactly? Also, what the hell was he hiding under his coat?
“Let me get this straight,” she said, deciding it was her turn to hold a finger in the air. “Back in high school, I threatened your manhood in science class or whatever. So you started studying so you could prove your masculine superiority. And now you think you owe me because—shocker—you, a well-to-do white male, made even more money?”
His lips flattened but he nodded. “In a nutshell.”
Emma wanted to write him off as a psycho, but the reality was much more depressing.
This was pity. Mr. Moneybags felt sorry for her.
Emmaline Mendez had been valedictorian of her high school class. She had excelled at sports and math, was co-captain of the debate team, and made the Dean’s list the first three years of college. She had applied to business school and secured a competitive summer internship at a major Wall Street firm.
It wasn’t just her memories that were gone. That bright and shining future belonged to a stranger.
Emma had spent years doing intensive physical therapy just to get to a point where she could function. She couldn’t even get a driver’s license because of her frequent headaches. They were chronic and debilitating and the reason she was legally classified as disabled.
Now this handsome wealthy man had dropped out of the sky with his perfectly fitted suit and sculpted cheekbones. But this wasn’t a romance movie. Garrett wasn’t here to sweep her off her feet. He was here to give her a handout to assuage his guilt over living his best life while she had forgotten everything about hers.
This is why she avoided everyone from before the accident. She hadn’t even visited her mom or sister since moving out here from Colorado.
Emma had enough.
With that, she took two steps forward and made the sign of the cross up and down over Mr. Moneybags’ tall frame.
His head drew back. “What was that for?”
It was her turn to shrug. “You appear to need absolution. I just gave it to you. Can we call it a day now?”
He snorted, managing not to sound like a pig. That or he came from an alternate dimension where pigs were suave debonair bachelors who regularly graced the cover of GQ .
“Well, I’m glad to see some things haven’t changed. Someone is still snarky as hell.”
He may as well have hit her. Because everything had changed. Emma recoiled, whirling around, her instinct to leave as fast as possible.
She didn’t get far.
Mr. Moneybags stopped her with one hand, wrapping his big paw around her upper arm. “ Emmy, wait . I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m not trying to mess with you. I really do just want to help.”
God save me from good Samaritans.
She pulled out of his grasp. “I’m not a charity case! If you’re looking for one, I suggest the Feeding San Diego food bank or a local women’s shelter. Also, I’m cold and would like to?—”
She stopped, nearly biting her tongue when he whipped off his coat and settled it over her shoulders.
They both froze in place. He was standing close, his hands on her shoulders.
She stared up at him, her mind going blank and very quiet—as if those dark eyes had hypnotic powers.
Emma didn’t know how long they stayed like that. Coughing, he stepped back. “Keep it,” he said hoarsely.
She looked down at the coat draped over her like a blanket. She didn’t know fashion, but she would bet the high-end wool coat dragging on the sidewalk cost more than her monthly paycheck.
He cleared his throat. “Although now that I’ve given you that, I should also give you this.”
Cradled in the man’s big hands was a tiny gray kitten. Garrett had been holding it under his coat this whole time.
The little animal protested being held out in the cold night air with a tiny angry yowl.
Emma’s lips parted. “You found him!”
Garrett stroked the furry head. “I did. He was under a little red Corvette, which I think means he loves Prince,” he added with a grin.
It was gone a moment later. “Prince was a singer by the way. A pretty good one.”
“How dare you ?” Emma swept out a hand. The kitten swiped at it.
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry—” he began, regret stamped on each of his stupidly perfect features.
“Prince was not merely good ,” she interrupted. “He was a damn legend and an American treasure second only to Dolly Parton.”
Garrett’s expression was almost comically relieved. “Oh, thank God. You know who Prince is.”
“Yeah,” she huffed. “Music streaming services exist.”
It was at this point the kitten decided it was done being ignored. He flexed his little claws, making Garrett wince as the surprisingly sharp nails punctured the skin of his hand.
He swore under his breath, trying to dislodge the claws, but the kitten just dug them in harder.
Emma plucked the kitten out of his hands. It must have smelled him on the coat because it burrowed in against her chest and began to audibly purr.
“Oh, so it’s like that,” he said, glaring at the kitten.
The fur tickled her chin as the kitten nosed around her chest, purring like a freight train.
“Aww. You’re a perfect little sweetie, aren’t you?” she cooed, rubbing his soft fur.
“What a little traitor,” Garrett grumbled. “I gave you grade A sushi, you little jerk. And all I got was peed on.”
Emma laughed. “You fed him sushi?”
“What can I say, he’s a discerning little jerk. I take it you’re keeping him?”
She cuddled the animal closer. “If I don’t, are you?”
Garrett put his hands in his pockets. “Not going to lie, giving him up is a sacrifice. Who will claw me to shreds once he’s gone?”
Probably any woman he took to bed. All he had to do was ask, she thought, snuggling the fuzzy tabby under the comfort of the wool coat.
Mr. Moneybags had to be freezing, but he wouldn’t deign to shiver in front of her .
“I’ll take him,” she said, cheered by the thought. “Will you be able to cope without him?”
Garrett put his hand over his heart. “You know what they say. If you love something, set it free.”
“You don’t love cats.”
“I really don’t.” He laughed. “Which is why you are doing me a solid taking him off my hands.”
They kept their attention on the cat for an awkward amount of time. “I have to go catch the bus.”
Emma had missed her regular one, but if she walked two blocks farther, she could catch the seventy-eight.
Except Mr. Moneybags had other plans. He pointed somewhere to the right. “My car’s just over there. Let me drive you home.”
“No, thank you.”
“Emma.” He sighed before changing tactics. “What happens when the bus driver says you can’t bring Prince on board?”
“Prince?” she echoed.
“Prince Rogers Nelson,” he elaborated with a completely straight face. “Our cat.”
“ My cat,” she corrected. “And I’ve seen way weirder things on the bus.”
“Funny how that doesn’t make me feel even a little bit better.”
No, for some reason he looked like she’d just force-fed him a lemon. “C’mon, Emmy, let me drive you and the little beast home.”
Emma bit her lip, mulling it over. The bus driver wouldn’t kick her off for having a kitten, would they?
“I guess a ride this one time wouldn’t hurt,” she mumbled. “This baby needs to get out of the cold.”
“A great point,” Garrett said as a particularly cold blast of air swept over them.
“Speaking of which, is your hate for cats keeping you warm? Is that why you don’t need your coat?”
“That’s it exactly,” he said, taking her elbow to steer her in the right direction. “Also, I have some stuff in the car for him, a cardboard box with holes, and some drops the vet gave me for fleas. I had someone examine him. He’s healthy. Just underweight.”
He proceeded to give her the vet’s summary on Prince, talking nonstop until she forgot that as little as five minutes ago, she’d been against getting inside his fancy Ferrari.
Except the Ferrari was a Range Rover, and before Emma knew it, she was being buckled in like a child into its toasty interior.
“I don’t need help to buckle up,” she protested indignantly after he reached around to secure the fastening.
But he was already pulling away, leaving a hint of expensive cologne in his wake. “I’m giving back this coat the second you stop.”
“Just hold on to that cat,” he ordered. “Don’t let him claw up my interior.”
She wanted to reply with a snappy comeback but the brief surge of energy she’d gotten when he appeared tonight was dwindling.
Emma sank into the warm seat, feeling unaccountably tired. The purring kitten in her arms did nothing to keep her alert.
“This is a nice car,” she observed, wondering where all the potholes downtown had gone. “It must have a great suspension.”
“It does,” Garrett confirmed before turning the conversation to health insurance of all things.
He talked about it the entire ride. Emma was too tired to ask if that was one of his businesses. It was rude not to listen, but the cozy interior and smoothness of the ride were more effective than a glass of warm milk.
She managed to stay awake, refusing his aid when he tried to help her out of the car and again when he offered to carry her up because he was a psycho.
It was only after she was standing alone in front of Pedro’s building with a box full of cat that she realized she hadn’t told Garrett Chapman where she lived.
And she was still wearing his coat.