Chapter 18
EMMELINE
I glare at my phone suspiciously. Is he drunk? And why is my heart skipping beats?
“We talked about this crush, Emmeline. He’s just a client. A mean, assholy client who is out of reach.”
There’s just something about him that I like.
“You don’t even know him!”
“Meow!” Ramen glares at me.
She is insufferable. I swear, this cat thinks she owns the place.
“Sorry, did I disturb your morning with my rant?”
Ramen jumps off the couch and goes to my bedroom.
“Just a reminder, the sheets are being washed. Don’t expect me to make the bed before tonight.”
What is wrong with me? I’m fighting with the cat. It’s Jackson Spearman’s fault. He started it. The last thing I expect from him is to act human and show understanding. Or prove to me he’s more than what his stupid application and his initial behavior showed.
“You fucking asshole!” I point at my phone. “This isn’t the time to tell me you like to work with me or that you appreciate me.”
Think about Jack, Emmeline. Sexy, patient, swoony Jack.
My heart melts as I think about our kisses, and how well we fit together.
I’ve never fit with anyone before … except for Jackson Spearman.
He gets me and indulges my conversations at two in the freaking morning.
Finish the discussion and focus on Jack.
Tomorrow, I’ll look into transferring him to another assistant.
He’s no longer a harm to himself or others.
AWalk90: As you know it’s my day off unless you need anything, I’m turning this phone off.
JSpear84: Thank you for the offer, but I’m about to go out.
AWalk90: You’re going out, I’m impressed. Do you have a hot date or just some kind of work meeting on a Sunday morning?
Please have a date. Just rip my heart out, and I’ll move on. I have Jack.
JSpear84: You know my calendar as well as I do. There’s no work meeting or hot date. What are you up to?
AWalk90: Yoga, errands, house cleaning, laundry and I’m walking my cats.
JSpear84: Cats walk?
AWalk90: I believe they do. That’s why they have four legs.
JSpear84: [expressionless emoji]
JSpear84: You said you’ll be walking them.
AWalk90: Are you grumpy today? You might want to try something to take the edge off. A run, sex, your hand, so many possibilities.
I stare at the phone. What did I just text? At least I didn’t offer my own hand.
JSpear84: And the comedian sets up her soapbox. I’m asking about the cat walk.
AWalk90: I found leashes for cats at the petstore. So, I thought, Amy why don’t you try? Although, I can already see Ramen refusing to be pulled around. She’s a very independent feline.
JSpear84: She must be as headstrong as her owner.
AWalk90: I plead the fifth.
JSpear84: Have a good Sunday, Miss Walker.
AWalk90: You too, Mr. Spearman.
AWalk90 has sent you a playlist.
JSpear84: Is that my playlist of the week or just for the weekend?
AWalk90: Let me know what you think. Enjoy!
Sunday, May 1st, 9:57 a.m.
When I arrive home from Wash Park, I take a shower and start the washing machine while I load my bedding into the dryer.
Instead of oatmeal, I prepare myself a juice and toast with Nutella.
Which reminds me of Jack and after two hours I’ve conquered my stupid, nonsensical feelings for Jackson Spearman.
I check my schedule and decide it’s the best time to set up my laptop and talk to Laura.
“Hey, Lau!” I greet her when her face appears on the screen with a broomstick in her hand and a bandana covering her red hair. “You look different. Where’s the infant?”
“Ha!” She rolls her eyes. “What’s going on, Emmeline.”
“Nothing much. I’m just going along with my Sunday program which includes a call to my favorite person,” I tell her. “Where is Roger, your dog?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “You can’t pick on Simone, so it’s my turn. Why do I love you?”
“Because I’m amazing and I wrote all your lit papers freshman year?” I tilt my head waiting for her to either laugh or roll her eyes.
“God, I can’t believe they never caught us. I was terrified.”
“It wasn’t the first time I had to do a report for two people. Amy used to beg me to help her too. I saved her ass during high school,” I tell her, and that’s when my lungs deflate.
“Hey, did I tell you about Alistair?” Laura asks promptly.
“What’s up with him?”
“There’s a rumor they might close the company he’s working for,” she says a little panicked.
“That’s not good. Why don’t we start looking for something?” I suggest. “You still have some HR connections?”
She nods, twisting her lips.
“So, what are you up to?” I ask because it’s Sunday and there’s nothing we can do. I’m not going to worry because it will only make her worry more.
“I’m cleaning the house, living large,” she says yawning.
“Look at you, so fashionable. I should check that marriage box off my to-do list and have a child. Seems joyful.” I give her a narrowed gaze, pretending I’m judging her.
“Are you telling me I look like shit?”
“No, I’m telling you maybe we should try to get you out of the house every once in a while. You know, put on a little makeup and some real clothing. I mean, you’re starting to look like me.”
Laura takes off her bandana and fixes her auburn hair. “My husband loves me just the way I am.”
“He better or I’d bury him alive. I’m happy that you two are happy,” I say, smiling at the screen. I do envy her just a little because they have an incredible relationship and I would love to have someone like Al by my side.
Well not like him. We’d be done with each other within a day. What I want is someone who understands me and loves me like Al does Laura.
“So, I assume you went out on a date with,” she pauses and bats her eyelashes. “The hottest guy in Colorado!”
“Hey, come on. I didn’t fangirl like that yesterday morning,” I defend myself.
“I reserve the right to reenact the shit out of it,” she says. “You seemed smitten with him. What’s happening?”
“Jack is hard to explain. He’s sweet and patient too,” I say closing my eyes for a few seconds. I savor the memory of our first kiss and the one he gave me when he dropped me at home. “You know when you feel like you’ve known someone your whole life even though you just met?”
“No,” she responds, giving me a curious look. “But that sounds like something you would experience. I’m surprised that you’re even considering spitting the word, magic, again. Do you believe in it?”
“I never stopped believing in it,” I correct her.
“Which means there were sparks with Jack,” she concludes.
I sigh and nod without telling her that there’s magic happening with Jackson Spearman too. The same magic that I pushed away during yoga, but for some fucked up reason is back.
“So, even if things don’t work out romantically with him, you two are still going to be best friends,” she concludes. “At least, you can check off your friend box. Once you find a great connection, you don’t let go. What’s he like?”
I describe him from head to toe. His boyish grin, the soft dark hair that contrasts his eyes. The little frown that appears on his forehead when he’s thinking and deepens when he’s upset.”
“You really like him,” she says in a singsong voice.
“Obviously I like him, but I’m not sure how far things will go. We’re trying to take it slowly, but it’s hard when we have this off the charts chemistry coupled with a strong connection. There are certain things I can’t tell him.”
“There are things you don’t want to tell me,” she adds.
To this day, I don’t like to talk about my sister Amy.
How she wanted everything for herself, and how I gave as much as I could because I was hoping that it’d make her happy.
What would’ve made her truly happy was our parents’ love.
It’s hard for me to admit I feel responsible for her death.
And even after all these years, I still feel as if I lost half of myself with her death.
“Tell me if I have this right. He’s smart, hot, and you guys have amazing chemistry,” she says with a taunting tone. “So, what is wrong with him?”
“No guy who looks like Jack is single at thirty-four without a reason,” I declare.
“Meaning he’s a player or he’s married?” she suggests.
I shake my head. “In my professional experience, you don’t see married men spending Saturdays in the mountains.
” Handling a company where I manage the calendars of at least seventy-nine male clients, I can assure her what most of them do.
“That’s where they take the mistress during the week, and tell the wife they have a business trip. ”
“I get the feeling you know someone who’s done that before.”
“Unfortunately, many,” I agree. This isn’t compromising anyone’s privacy, I’m not giving names. “You have no idea how many clients we’ve had over the years who say things like: ‘I’m going to the Maldives, but my wife thinks I’m in London on business.’”
“Assholes!” She looks up at the ceiling and sneers.
“Oh, don’t worry, most of them have gotten caught.” I can’t help but laugh.
“What did you do?”
“We made sure to send their corporate credit card bill to their home address.”
Her mouth opens wide and then she laughs. “You’re kidding me?”
“Nope, I’m super serious. I refuse to be used to cover that kind of shit.”
“I’ve always said it. You are evil,” she concludes. “It’s hard to find a good guy these days.”
“Do you believe Jack is one of the good guys?” I ask out loud. “Maybe my apprehension isn’t about him, but about me instead. I’m not an easy person. What’s he going to do when he realizes it?”
She rolls her eyes. “You are fun, smart, and kindhearted. You help a lot of people even if you don’t give yourself credit for it. He has to learn to love you along with all your perfectionistic tendencies. All of those quirks that you carry around like a security blanket.
She actually shows me a baby blanket and says. “Look at me, I’m Emmeline, and I’m terrible, so stay away.”
I groan. “What does that even mean?”
“It means you advertise your flaws in a neon banner over your head, then say, ‘here I am so inadequate you don’t want to get close to me.’”
“Well, that’s the best way to keep away undesirable people.”
She ignores me, continues folding clothes and asks, “When is your next date with this guy?”
“He said he’d call me on Monday or Tuesday, it all depended on his workload.”
“Got it,” she says popping her lips. “You’re his weekend mistress. Unless he has one for every day of the week.”
“Then I would choose to be the Sunday girl,” I input, taking my dishes to the kitchen.
“Why Sunday?” I hear her ask.
“Because then he could help me with all my errands and chores,” I joke looking at my house.
“There’s more proof that you’re diabolical.”
I can’t help but laugh. She’s been around me too much and knows me too well. “Diabolical and selfish.”
“You don’t have a selfish bone,” she corrects me.
“Speaking of bones, I have to go out for cat food, groceries, and maybe lunch. Say hi to Al and Simone, I hope she talks soon,” I say, changing the topic and getting ready to leave.
“She’s only four months old. Not all of us can say we started talking at nine months old, you freaking prodigy.”
“I had to be a prodigy or else I wouldn't get fed,” I defend myself.
“That’s hyperbole, right?”
“Who knows, I can’t remember my infancy. Anyway, I really, really have to go. Love you.”
“Love you back, girl.”