Chapter 8
E mma
“So, how’s our mystery redhead?” Gramps says, walking into the kitchen, and I nearly spit out the coffee I was swishing around in my mouth. At the last second, I swallow it instead—and immediately break into a coughing fit because the hot liquid went down the wrong pipe.
“Gramps!” I choke out when I can speak. “Since when do you read The New York Herald ?”
I was sure, dead certain, that my grandparents wouldn’t see that piece of insightful journalism. Because why would they? The Herald is basically a local gossip rag full of clickbait stories that make the whole “getting hitched at Disney World” bit seem like a deeply researched fact.
“Since I learned that the man my favorite granddaughter is dating makes headlines, and I set up Google alerts for his name,” Gramps says, as unflappable as ever. “What, you think the internet is the province of the young?”
“He read it to me first thing this morning,” Grandma chimes in from the kitchen island, where she’s chopping veggies with the precision of a food processor. “I told him not to tease you about it, but he couldn’t resist.”
“Couldn’t resist what?” Marcus asks, entering the kitchen. He had to take a work call a few minutes ago and thus missed all the fun.
“Mentioning the article,” Grandma explains as Marcus walks over to sit on a barstool next to me. “I told Ted to keep his mouth shut and not tease Emma, but he didn’t listen.”
Marcus grins. “I can’t blame him. Look at how prettily she’s blushing. Who could resist?” Leaning over, he wraps his arm around my shoulders and kisses my temple.
My face heats immediately. I was red because of my coughing fit, not Gramps’s teasing, but now that both of my grandparents are beaming at us, I’m blushing for real.
I’m going to kill Marcus before this trip is over. I really am.
“Would you like some coffee?” Grandma asks Marcus, graciously coming to my rescue. “We don’t have anything fancy, but—”
“Whatever you have would be great, thank you,” he says. “I’m in dire need of a caffeine fix, and I’m not picky.”
Grandma wipes her hands on a kitchen towel and walks over to the coffee maker to pour a cup of the same java I’m drinking—which is actually quite fancy.
It’s some kind of special blend that Grandma orders straight from Colombia.
Normally, she’s very proud of it, telling all and sundry about how and where the beans are grown, so why did she just try to—
Oh, of course.
Since my grandparents read the article, they know Marcus is a billionaire. And not just any billionaire, but a Wall Street titan whose fund has almost a hundred billion under management.
Actually, they must’ve known that even before the article, since Gramps set up those Google alerts. He probably looked up Marcus at some point after our Skype session, and this is the result.
My grandparents might not show it, but they’re at least somewhat intimidated by their guest’s wealth. Why else would Grandma downplay the awesomeness of her Colombian elixir?
“Here you go,” she says, handing Marcus a cup, and he thanks her before taking a big sip.
Immediately, his eyes widen, and he looks at the cup, then at my grandmother. “Mary, this is amazing coffee. Where on earth did you get it?”
Grandma lights up like a Christmas tree. “You like it? I order it from this one small farm in Colombia, near the Amazon rainforest…” She launches into her usual spiel about the farm’s fair-trade practices, and I tune her out to study my new boyfriend—or whatever Marcus is to me now.
Needless to say, my plan of pretending to be together for my grandparents’ sake while keeping him at a distance failed miserably. I still have no intention of moving in with him, but I can’t deny that we are, at the very least, dating again.
Or rather, sleeping together and spending Thanksgiving with my family.
Speaking of which, Marcus seems exceedingly comfortable with my grandparents.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised after the way he jumped at a chance to meet them on Skype, but it’s still quite impressive to me.
My college ex had always been so stiff around them, so afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing.
To Jim, my grandparents had been dinosaurs, so ancient and strange that he never bothered getting to know them as individuals—or paying them much attention.
Marcus, however, is not only listening to my grandmother with total concentration, he’s asking follow-up questions, interacting with her as he would with me.
To him, my family isn’t unwelcome baggage that comes along with dating me; they’re people. And judging by his demeanor, people he likes and respects.
Grandma and Gramps have already had breakfast—despite going to bed late, they woke up early, as usual—but they keep us company as we devour the leftovers: zucchini-pumpkin pancakes with homemade yogurt and local honey.
As we eat, Grandma tells Marcus all about the tomatoes she’s growing in her garden, and Gramps asks Marcus a zillion questions about the market and which stocks to invest in.
“Gramps, he can’t just tell you that,” I chide when my grandfather first gets on the topic. “That’s like insider trading or frontrunning or something.”
“Only if I’m disclosing material nonpublic information or telling him about a trade my fund’s about to make,” Marcus says, smiling at me warmly. “There’s nothing wrong with your grandfather asking my opinion on various investments.”
“Oh, okay. I wasn’t sure,” I mumble, forking a piece of pancake into my mouth. “In that case, carry on.”
And they do. By the time breakfast is over, I feel like I’ve sat through an hour of CNBC, only with vastly smarter talking heads.
My grandfather must’ve gotten even more into investing in the past year, because he seems to know all the right things to ask.
Or maybe it just feels that way to me because Marcus answers all of his questions without the slightest hint of condescension.
Either way, all the stock talk leaves Gramps so pumped up that as soon as we get up and thank Grandma for the delicious pancakes, he runs straight for his laptop—presumably to buy some of the investments he and Marcus have discussed.
“Thank you for that,” I tell Marcus as we walk back to our room. “You made him so happy.”
“Did I?” He gives me a sidelong look. “What about you, kitten?”
“Me?”
“Did I bore you with all the investment chatter?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.” And to my surprise, it’s true.
Though the topic isn’t something I’m interested in, observing Marcus in his element had been fascinating.
Not only does he possess bottomless knowledge about the stock market and many publicly traded companies, he has a way of conveying it that makes the normally dull-to-me subject come alive.
Partially, it’s the way he speaks, with a kind of quiet authority that commands attention.
Mostly, though, it’s how he seamlessly weaves the human element into the numbers, talking about investor psychology and CEO personalities in the same breath as profit margins and valuation metrics.
Listening to him, I understood why my grandfather and so many others fall into stock investing as a hobby—and why Marcus himself is so passionate about what he does.
He smiles warmly. “I’m glad. You didn’t look bored, but you were very quiet.”
“Nope, not bored at all.” Entering the guestroom, I stop and turn to face him. “So, what are your plans for today? I mean, do you have some ideas for what you want to do before our Thanksgiving dinner?” Marcus’s gaze instantly strays to the bed, and I clarify, “Besides that .”
He grins down at me, blue eyes gleaming. “Well, this is Florida, so I was thinking we could go to the beach. Unless you have other suggestions? I’m open to whatever.”
“You don’t have other work calls or anything?
” Before he showed up, I planned to spend most of my vacation hanging out on my grandparents’ lanai with my laptop, getting ahead on edits—and maybe even working on the first chapter of my own super-secret story.
Now, however, all of that is out the window…
unless Marcus also plans to work part of the day.
He lifts his eyebrows. “You sound disappointed. Do you want me to work?”
“No, of course not—unless you have to. I’ll totally understand if you have to.
” And yes, maybe a part of me wants him occupied with something other than me, so I can catch my breath and try to maintain some equanimity.
I’d been the sole recipient of his attention for most of last weekend, and it had been beyond heady, so much so it had nearly crushed me when he left and subsequently disappeared for three days.
If he’s going to be here until Sunday—and I suspect he will be, as despite my ultimatum last night, he hasn’t said a peep to my grandparents about flying back to NYC tonight—I need to find a way to protect myself, to keep at least a portion of my heart shielded in case he flips the switch from hot to cold again.
His lips curve wryly as understanding glimmers in his gaze.
“How about we bring some folding chairs and our laptops to the beach? We can swim if the water is warm enough, and if not, we can just enjoy the ocean breeze while catching up on some work. I’m guessing you have something you need to get done, editing-wise? ”
“Well, kind of,” I admit sheepishly. “It’s nothing urgent, but—”
“Say no more. If there’s anything I understand, it’s wanting to have a productive vacation.”
I smile up at him. “Okay, great. Let me just grab my things and—”
“Wait.” He catches my arm. “Before you do that, there’s something I’ve been meaning to do all morning.”
“Oh?” I say breathlessly, my head tipping back as he grips my hips and draws me against his tall, hard body. “What’s that?”
His voice turns husky. “This.” And dipping his head to kiss me, he maneuvers us toward the bed.