Chapter 20
SUMMER
I’ve read a lot of Rhett Dawson articles over the years. Some of them surprising, most of them not. The only difference with this one is… my name’s attached to it.
The headline on the homepage of Celeb reads: “Can Someone Say New Mommy?”
It’s followed by: Lines are blurring, and boundaries are crossed. Rhett Dawson entertains overnight guest in his childhood home on Harrison Boulevard. Summer Rogers, a recently divorced woman he hired to be the nanny of his four-year-old daugh—
“Don’t read that.” Everett snatches my phone and marches toward the kitchen.
I follow him. “Excuse me? That article is about me. I think I have every right to see what it says.”
He stops and turns, making me rebound off his chest. I stumble before he steadies me.
“They’ll stop talking if they see your car here every night.”
I squint at his unflinching response. “Wait… you want me to move in?”
“Yes,” he confirms.
His cool confidence stuns me. I barely think before my biggest concern comes tumbling out of my mouth.
“Me living here won’t stop those reporters from assuming we’re—”
“It’s a tabloid, Summer. All they do is assume.”
Right. It’s all I do too, I guess. I thought it would bother him more than it seems to be.
More than it’s bothering me. That article stripped me down to nothing more than a floozy sleeping with her boss.
It’s not the kind of fresh start I was hoping to have post-divorce.
It can’t be the image he wants tied to his family either.
“Did Caroline put you up to this?” I heard his side of their heated conversation. I can see her suggesting a publicity cover up: Convince Summer to move in to change the narrative.
“What? No. This has nothing to do with her. It’s what I was going to ask you before she called.”
He pulls out his chair at the kitchen table, sits down, and takes a bite of the breakfast I made him.
“Then why? There’s only three weeks left of this arrangement,” gusts out of my mouth next. I’m the impulsive one, not you. Moving in is something I would suggest if he needed more help. Does he? Because he won’t ask for it if he does.
He sets down his half-eaten slab of bacon, wipes his hand on a napkin, and looks right at me. “I’d like you to move in so that if I end up out in my studio past dark again, you have a comfortable bed and pajamas. Unless you have a habit of sleeping in… that.”
His subtle joke about my dress does little to hide his nerves when he swallows.
This is about last night. He’s afraid he put me out when I slept on his couch.
The truth is, I’d do it all over again if it meant he’d be okay.
I tell him as much by saying, “I slept in something of this nature my entire twenties, and I was fine.”
“There’s a lot of shit I did in my twenties too. Thirties are for comfort, and the guest bed has one of the best mattresses in this house.”
I don’t want him choosing this if he feels like he has to. But I’m sleeping in an office right now. It’s not hard to compete with that.
“Well… I’m…”
“Is that a yes?” He polishes off the second half of his bacon.
After our heated moment in his studio less than twelve hours ago, sleeping in his guest bed down the hall might not be such a good idea. Doesn’t stop me from wanting to though.
“Summer?” he prompts.
I should come up with an excuse. A reason to say no.
So why can’t I think of one?
“Thank you so much for coming in early. Jason, the firm’s partner, is having knee replacement surgery in a few weeks, and I’ll be taking his caseload while he’s on medical leave. I need to be ready for this.”
His entire caseload? I’ve managed Emma’s for two weeks now and she barely has time to pee. No wonder she’s stressed.
Her fingernails clack at her keyboard. She acknowledged me with a nod when I got here. But that was ten minutes ago. She hasn’t looked up from her computer since.
The coffee maker dings. A bougie blend of vanilla and cinnamon swirls around the room.
“It’s no problem,” I tell her, filling two ceramic mugs. The rich brown liquid melts to a hazelnut as soon as the creamer touches it.
What I should be saying to her is thank you. The move-in conversation has consumed my every thought this morning. I managed to leave Everett’s with an “it’s not a no,” but I needed some space to make a final decision.
“It’s quiet today,” I notice. Not the usual chatter from down the hall I’ve grown accustomed to.
She smirks. “And you wonder why I work most Saturdays. Jason just happens to be at a conference today, so he gave Tara and Jasmine the day off.”
I hate that those women bother her so much. It’s no wonder Everett thinks she doesn’t have any friends. I need to get her away and show her what it’s like to have a good time.
“Would you want to grab a bite to eat when we’re done here?”
“Yeah. Sure.”
I chalk up her unenthusiastic response to the stack of emails in her inbox. Judging by the nervous tick in her knee, her schedule is in immediate need of managing.
“Great!”
I send two quick texts: one to Everett asking for the night off and the other to Julia, asking if Jake could pick Henry up from school and inviting her to dinner. I’ll be seeing a lot less of her if I decide to move out.
“I’ll be at my desk if you need me,” I say, taking a much-needed gulp of coffee.
“How long have you been sleeping with my brother?”
Hot liquid sprays from my mouth and rains on every surface in a three-foot radius from my body. Emma launches from her chair, racing for the stack of dishcloths she uses in lieu of paper towels. She hands me a few.
“I’m so sorry!” I apologize, mopping up my mess.
By some miracle I managed to miss her computer. But the edge of her desk, the chair, the hardwood, her trousers, all have sticky brown dots covering them.
“It’s fine,” she says, twisting off the top of her aluminum water bottle, wetting the tip of a rag, and dabbing it against fabric. I cringe as wet splotches paint her dress pants.
“Who told you that?” My eyes are stuck on the floor. No matter how many times I scrub the same spot, it takes me a solid minute to notice it’s clean. What a humiliating conversation to be having with your boss about her brother.
She chuckles. “You just did.”
I stumble to my feet. “We just kissed. But there’s a Celeb article suggesting otherwise.”
“I never believe those things.” She inspects her chair and sits back down.
Up until this moment, Emma hasn’t brought up Everett to me. I think she respected my situation enough not to ask questions. Based on her nonchalance now, I don’t think she cares if the article is accurate or not.
I should reciprocate that respect and keep her out of it. He’s her family and blending the two could get messy. But after last night, she’s the only person I know who can answer some of the questions I still have. Let’s hope her lack of concern over tabloids also extends to personal information.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” she says.
She’s abandoned her computer and swiveled her chair to face me.
How do I say this? “What was he like… before… you know, when he was just… Everett?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “He told you.”
Not in so many heartbroken words, but yes.
“His trashed music studio after Quinn’s evaluation yesterday did.”
Surprise leaves Emma’s face. It’s followed by a lack of fine lines around her eyes and mouth. A blank expression. I’m starving for more of a reaction from her, but all I’m getting is indifference. “Hard to read” runs in the family, I guess.
“He must really like you. Everett doesn’t tell anyone about that part of himself.”
“Right time; right place.” A nervous laugh slips out of my mouth. The truth is, I don’t know if Everett would have ever said anything had I stayed inside his house.
“He was hopeful about the future,” she answers. “Just as anxious, I think. Less exhausted. But he was more open with me back then. You might know him better than I do now.”
I finally get the reaction I was waiting for. It’s not the one I expected though. She’s hurt.
“I wouldn’t say that,” I reassure her. I don’t like witnessing other people’s turmoil when there’s nothing I can do about it.
She makes her point by saying, “I didn’t know Quinn had an evaluation yesterday.”
He didn’t tell her. And I overstepped. Keep overstepping as I fill in details that should have come from her brother.
“It was for speech therapy. They think Quinn could have APD like him but won’t know until she’s older.”
“That’s why he trashed his studio.” She connects the dots.
I nod. “Does Caroline know?”
She shakes her head. “No one does.”
I assumed as much. Caroline would have a lot more respect for him if she did.
“I’m sorry he didn’t tell you himself,” I say.
Emma reaches across her desk and grabs my hand. “Don’t be. He’s lucky to have you, Summer. So am I.”
Emotion brims beneath the surface, but I force it down. I don’t want to cry in front of her.
“Thank you. But enough about this. It sounds like we have our work cut out for us, and I’m not about to let you give up your bathroom breaks.” I hustle for the door.
“What bathroom breaks?” she asks.
“Exactly!”
“Wait… Summer?”
I spin around. “Yeah?”
“I almost forgot to tell you that yesterday was pay day. Should be enough for that down deposit on an apartment you were needing.”
Oh is all I can manage for half a second. Especially when a text pops through from Everett at the same time.
EVERETT: Does this mean you’re still thinking about it?
SUMMER: Still thinking about it.
EVERETT: Of course you can have the night off.
“Thanks,” I reply to Emma and step out into the hall in a daze, selecting the bright green app on my phone instead of responding to that message. A direct deposit of sixteen-hundred dollars stares back at me.
There’s the reason I was looking for this morning. This is why I took this job. It’s what I’ve been working toward.
It’s just not how I thought I’d feel when I got here.