Chapter 22 – Grant
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
GRANT
“Call Emerson and tell her you’re running late and then turn your car around and go home.”
Desi sputters on the other end of the phone. “You’re cute and all, but that doesn’t excuse you for being a bossy asshole.”
I glance over to where Emerson is sitting at the bar about fifty feet away. Her strawberry blonde hair is tucked behind her ear, her fingers twirl the straw stuck in her drink, and those long, tan legs call to every man in here. The thought alone has me itching for a fight or any excuse to get my anger over the Keely situation out of my damn system.
“I’ll owe you one,” I say between gritted teeth as another man sits beside her and offers small talk she doesn’t encourage. But still, she smiles. Still, she’s goddamn gorgeous.
“How do you know I’m meeting her for a drink?” Desi asks.
“Because I’m sitting in a back booth at Davenport’s, drinking away my shitty day, and I’m watching Emerson sit at the bar and ignore every man who dares pull up a stool next to her.”
Desi snorts. “So, in other words, you’re pissed at every man going near her, and the sight of them has started the testosterone-laced caveman part of you to finally make your goddamn move instead of sitting on the sidelines, playing games like you have been.”
“I am not playing games, Desi. I am making sure she knows she can’t control this like she’s controlled every other relationship she’s ever had . . . at least according to you.” I let that dig sit there to let her know if she talks about our conversations to Emerson, then I’ll talk, too.
“Are you blackmailing me, Officer Sexy?” she teases.
“Just stating the facts, ma’am.”
Another man. Another clench of my fists.
“Well, it’s about damn time. I was getting dried up over here waiting for you to act.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Just so you know . . .” The four words every man cringes when he hears. “You’re I’m-in-control shit doesn’t fly with me any more than it flies with Em. I’m only calling her and doing what you ask because you two need to get over this cat-and-mouse game and eat the damn cheese already.”
“Goodbye, Des.”
The call ends, and I sit back and wait for Emerson to pick up her phone. As if on cue, the moment I think it, her phone rings. She looks at her watch while talking to Desi, and she shrugs, flinging one hand up as if to question Desi when she’s nowhere in sight. She may be irritated, but that only serves in my favor in the end.
As soon as she sets down the phone, I’m already ringing her.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I’m heading out to you right now for my jump.”
There’s resignation in her sigh over the connection, and I physically watch as she slumps her shoulders back against the chair. “Not today. I can’t.”
“I thought you said any time, though.” I push her buttons.
“Yeah, well, any time is not right now. Besides, I’m not even there.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m meeting Desi.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just a shitty day all around.”
“You and me both. Wanna talk about it?” She’s silent for a moment as a man sits too closely next to her and she shifts to regain her personal space. “Tell him to back the fuck off, Em.”
It takes a second, but I can tell the moment awareness hits her. Her spine stiffens. Her fingers tighten on her drink. But ever cool, she takes her time scooting back and looking around the bar. She finds me right away. Our eyes lock. A smile flickers and fades before I hear her sharp intake of breath on the phone.
“Tell him, Emerson. Tell him you’re with me.”
Her brow narrows, but she doesn’t move. “I’m meeting Desi,” she says into the phone instead of taking the ten steps to tell me face to face.
“No, you’re not. She isn’t coming. I called her and told her to turn around and go back home.” Temper stews on that gorgeous face of hers. “ Tell him .”
She doesn’t say a word to the man next to her, who is still eyeing her, but rather slides some cash across the bar, pushes her chair in, and then stalks over to me, phone still held to her ear.
She stands in front of me, and every part of me begs to kiss her. Fuck her. Anything with her because it feels like forever since we kissed and a lifetime of foreplay that has in no way been satisfying.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
Okay. This is how she wants this to go. “Have a seat.”
“No.”
“Have a seat, Emmy.”
“It’s Emerson.” She glares, her feet shifting as she lowers her phone from her ear. I eye the seat next to her and then look back to her.
“Sit.”
“You’re an asshole, you know that?” she sneers.
“Yeah. Probably. But I’ve had a shitty day, so fucking sue me if I want you to sit and have a few drinks with me and maybe see why your day was so goddamn crappy too . . .” I shrug. “Sit.”
Her emotions wage a war across her face, but I can see reluctance flash through those eyes of hers before she lowers herself to the seat across from me. Without looking away, I lift a hand to the bartender and motion for another round. We don’t speak until the drinks arrive, tension mounting between the two of us for some odd reason.
Foreplay.
I smile at the thought, and I know it pisses her off.
“Since when did you become such a stalker?”
“Me? Stalker?” I laugh, and this banter is just what I need.
“Yeah, word has it that you’ve been asking about where I live.”
“You mean the one question I asked Desi?”
Her lips quirk as she fights a smile. “Yeah, that question.”
“If I’m going to stalk you effectively, don’t I need to know that info?”
She’s still trying to make up her mind whether she likes this idea, just like I’m still trying to figure out if I like her living in the loft of a hangar doing odd jobs in exchange for rent and transportation. Even if it’s for the harmless caretaker, Travis Barnhardt, it’s still another thing on her plate to do when she already does too much.
“Being a cop and all, I figured you had better means than loose-lips Desi.”
“I happen to have a soft spot for loose-lips Desi,” I say just to irritate her.
“No shit. Give the girl William Sonoma, and she’ll sing like a canary.”
I laugh, which draws looks from others around us. “I’m afraid to know what else she confessed.”
“That’s for me to know and you to never know.” Her eyes glance up from her drink and hold mine.
“So, you had a shitty day, too?” I prompt.
She shrugs. “Something like that. What about you? Why was your day so bad?”
“I had a donut delivery even though I hate donuts. My cruiser still smells like them.”
There’s her smile. “Must have been donut torture.”
“Yep. It was. Waterboarding and the smell of donuts are right up there together.” I lean back in the booth and take a long sip of my drink before pushing the bowl of pretzels and nuts across the table toward her. “A call we had today got to me.”
“Want to share?”
“Can’t . . . I just can’t,” I explain, when what I need is to talk about it. But not now. Not with her while I keep seeing her face in Keely’s. Not until I can separate the facts from the past. “What about you?”
“You know what, let’s not and say we did.” She laughs and takes a sip, averting her eyes from mine. It’s a gesture that only serves to remind me of Keely again.
“Nah. I’m not biting. What’s going on, Em?”
She sighs and concentrates on picking through the bowl to steal all the cashews from it. I give her the time and smile at the prick who’s glaring at me from across the way because she’s talking to me and not him.
Maybe I’m taunting him because I’m in the mood for a fight. Maybe I’m just being an asshole. Then again, maybe I just want to kiss Emerson and know this is bad timing to be thinking about it.
“I told you I’m trying to buy Blue Skies, right?” I nod. “Well, trying is the operative word. In fact, my loan officer is a total prick.”
“Is he not responding?”
Her laugh has my back up instantly. “He’s responding, all right. I think the only reason he’s responding and considering me for the loan is because he thinks he can get in my pants.”
I don’t like the fucker already. “Who is it?” I demand.
She eyes me and twists her lips. “He’s a loan officer.” She deadpans. “I can handle it myself.”
Bullshit.
“Then go to a different bank.” Simple.
“I wish,” she says in a way that makes me want to move to her side of the booth and slide an arm around her. I’m not quite sure we’re at that stage yet. “But they were the only bank even willing to consider my application. When my mom got sick, money was tight, so we used her credit, my credit, anything we could to pay for treatments. I’ve worked my ass off to pay it all back, took odd jobs everywhere I traveled to, and have sold off everything I own to do so.”
“So, you have no collateral.”
“Nope.” She sighs, and I hate seeing the sadness in her eyes. “It’s all paid off, but that doesn’t mean my credit score has recovered. I just need a fresh start, and Blue Skies is my chance.”
“Everyone needs a fresh start now and again. Besides, I find what you did—paying off the debt instead of declaring bankruptcy—very admirable.”
“It is what it is.” She rolls her neck.
“So, who’s the prick?”
“I told you, none of your business. I’ve dealt with a lot worse than a handsy loan officer, Malone.”
“Handsy?”
“Chill out. I’m a big girl.”