22. Emmy
Over the weekend, the painful dreams about my childhood are replaced by delicious dreams of Liam.
Liam looking at me in that way he does sometimes, soft and heated both at once. Or getting irritated when Donovan calls, except this time he ends the call and kisses me while he lifts my skirt around my waist.
I wouldn’t actually let him push my skirt up in the middle of Lucas Hall, but it’s a dream, so I allow it.
He is none of the things I want and his behavior is frequently outrageous—who the fuck ends someone else’s call?—and I can’t stop thinking about him anyway, even while I’m the phone with my asshole boss.
“Walk me through,” says Charles.
“I am,” I reply between my teeth, holding the camera aloft so he can see the theater.
It’s irritating that he’s even making me do this. I’m not some untrustworthy fifteen-year-old niece he was forced to hire for the summer.
But I’m consoled by the fact that someone at Damien Ellis’s firm just looked me up on LinkedIn, I assume at Ellis’s behest. Charles can go ahead and enjoy these last moments of authority—he’s going to have none whatsoever once I convince Damien Ellis to buy the company out.
I take Charles through the theater where Liam’s guys are putting in the concession stand, but he’s not interested in that, since it’s just for show, and we’ll sell it off once we’ve got our apartment complex.
Outside, I hold up my camera to the street, pointing out the future location of the new restaurant, the gym, and the smoothie place.
Charles, of course, only sees the things we haven’t been able to get ahold of: buildings we don’t own, people who don’t want to sell.
“Diner’s still there, I see,” he says, nostrils flaring as if he’s smelled something unpleasant.
I’m not sure how he thought I’d get rid of it in three weeks. Since the camera’s facing away from me, I can roll my eyes at leisure. “They own the building and aren’t interested in selling.”
“Then make them interested,” he says. “Or make their lives hell. Call the health board on them. See who they’re employing…I bet there’s at least one undocumented worker back in that kitchen. Call the news and say you’ve found glass in your food. I don’t care what you do, but get it done.”
I won’t try to claim that using such underhanded tactics is beneath me, but when I think of Jeannie, it gives me pause. Yes, the diner is an eyesore. It won’t be winning a Michelin star anytime soon.
And yes, Jeannie raised an asshole who deserves to have his legacy torn away from him. But I’m no longer sure I want to be the one to do it.
I finish up with the grocery store. I should have started with it since it’s going to end this call on a sour note. “I’m going to sit in on the grocery store manager interviews so we don’t run into another Nashville situation,” I tell him, and he doesn’t care, because he’s focused on the fact that Liam and his guys are tearing the floor out.
“What the fuck is going on there?” he demands.
“We had an issue,” I reply over the noise. “The contractor we hired put the subfloor in wrong. I got most of our money back and hired someone else.”
“You mean the contractor you hired,” Charles corrects.
It’s funny, the way my successes are ours and my failures are mine alone.
“So the question,” he continues, “is why you hired him and how much money I lost.”
We lost a tiny fraction of what I’m making for us, asshole. You lost a single drop in the ocean of millions that will come in through my hard work.
“You lost very little, as I already stated,” I reply between my teeth, turning my face to the camera.
Charles’s mouth pinches. “And you hired him because…”
“I hired him because I live in New York, Charles, and as always, I’m working with the information we have on hand.”
“We have a lot of money invested in this, Emerson,” he says. “And without that apartment complex, it’s entirely lost. Don’t think for a moment that it’s my head that will roll if that happens.”
He hangs up, no doubt satisfied that he’s put me in my place and threatened me sufficiently for the day.
“Inspired Building cares,” Liam says behind me. “Small-town values. Quietly working in the background to preserve Elliott Springs’ past.’”
He’s reciting my speech to the town council verbatim.
“We can care and be ruthless assholes at the same time,” I reply, too wearied by the call to even fight with him. Dealing with Charles’ bullshit always zaps my energy.
He frowns. “Have you had lunch?”
“I don’t eat—”
“I’m going to spend an entire day with you sometime just to see what meals you will admit to eating. Come on. You’re cranky and clearly need food.”
“I’m not cranky.”
His mouth opens, and I hold up a hand.
“I’m no crankier than normal, which I suspect you still believe is excessively cranky, but I’m comfortable with it.”
He smiles at that. It’s the smile that does it.
“Fine, I’ll eat,” I tell him. “But don’t expect miracles. I’ll still be cranky.”
He’s still smiling. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
* * *
He steersme north of Main Street to Beck’s.
“We’re not eating at the diner?” I ask.
He glances at me, his mouth drawing into a flat line. “No, because if Paul Bellamy starts any shit with you, it’s going to get ugly, and Jeannie has enough problems.”
“It’s not like I’m going to hit him if he starts shit,” I argue. “It would just be a war of words.”
“I wasn’t worried about you turning it physical,” he replies.
I fight a smile as we enter the restaurant. I knew he’d defend me.
He leads me to a deck with a spectacular view of the mountains. “I always assumed this place was a dive,” I tell him. “I had no idea there was a deck in back.”
His eyes hold mine. “You know, you might find that a lot of things here aren’t as bad as you assumed.”
So far, you’re the only thing here that isn’t as bad as I assumed.
“Doubtful,” I reply.
The waitress takes our order. They don’t even have salads on the menu so I get the fried chicken, at Liam’s suggestion, which means I’m going to have to find time to run this afternoon.
“I think you want me back at my high school weight as badly as my mom does,” I mutter once the waitress leaves.
His brow furrows. “So she wants you to gain weight? That’s not the impression I got when I helped her inside that day.”
I unroll my silverware and place the napkin in my lap. “She enjoys feeling superior. It’s a competition for her.”
He frowns. “That’s…really fucked up, Em.”
I sigh. I know this, and yet here I am, still affected by it. “She enjoys telling me I won’t be able to keep the weight off, and she loves the way it makes me panicky and desperate to prove her wrong while also making me desperate to eat more at the same time.” Silence stretches between us. My eyes fall closed. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”
“It seems like the kind of thing you’d need to get off your chest eventually,” he replies softly. “Has it always been like this with her?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. “When my father was there, it didn’t matter so much. He kept her in check.”
“You’re sure you want me to throw out that lockbox of his, by the way? Lockboxes tend to contain valuables.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t want anything of that man’s. You can toss it.”
He leans back in his seat. “Can I ask what happened to him? You seemed upset that day you mentioned you had his shirts, but now it’s like you hate him.”
I blow out a breath. He must be the only person in the state who hasn’t heard. “He was helping some very bad people in San Francisco launder money and, from what I understand, was either going to have to testify against them and die on the way to the courthouse, or refuse to testify and get killed in jail. So he fled the country when I was ten. They know he made it to Mexico, but there was no sign of him after that.”
His face falls. “I’m sorry, Emmy. That sucks.”
I shrug. “He couldn’t have been much of a parent if he left me with someone like my mom, so it’s probably not much of a loss.”
Except it was a huge loss at the time. And a punch to the gut when I realized he’d used me to plot his escape.
It took all my memories with him and tainted them. Did we go to the wharf in Santa Cruz or take the train through the redwoods because he wanted to spend time with me, or was it all a trick? Was he making drops? Was he holding a silent conversation with some really shady guy right over my head the whole time? I’ll never know.
Our lunch arrives. It’s extra fried—I will have to go for two runs to work it off—but it’s still delicious. We’re nearly through when a woman walks up to us, glaring at me and Liam.
“Hi, Liam,” she says, her voice crisp and angry.
My stomach drops. I know he’s not going to be sleeping with me, but that doesn’t mean I want to meet the women he’s slept with instead.
“Hi, uh….”
“Holly,” she snaps. “Jesus Christ. It’s bad enough you’re already out with someone else, but now you can’t even remember my name?” Her head jerks toward me. “Enjoy your date. But assume you’ll be ghosted when he’s done with you.”
He groans aloud as she walks away. “I knew I was going to regret that.”
It seems his principles are a lot more flexible than he implied. “I thought you were against one-night stands.”
He runs a hand over his face with a weary sigh. “I never even slept with her. I kissed her because she made it incredibly awkward not to, and then I walked away.”
I should be calling bullshit on this, because no woman gets that pissy over a kiss, but all I can think is this: if he’s telling the truth about boycotting flings, he must be dying to get laid by now.
“I’m still not sure why you can’t have one-night stands. I mean…you’ve got to miss it a little?”
“Yeah, I’m starting to.” There are a thousand words spoken by that soft growl in his voice, by the way his gaze meets mine. It’s a growl that says he really misses it, that it’s been a while and he’s in need of some relief.
And the way he’s looking at me says he wishes I’d offer it.
“But I think it got in the way of finding something lasting,” he adds. “When you fuck a girl in the bathroom an hour after you’ve met her, it’s hard to go back to the part where you learn about who she is.”
I’m picturing it before I can stop myself—my back against the bathroom door, him pushing my skirt up, pulling one of my thighs around his hip. My eyes flutter closed for half a second, and I squeeze my legs together.
“There are probably some girls you could still fuck in the bathroom,” I tell him, the words a soft purr. “Save the tedious real dates for your future wife.”
He bites his lip.
He’s considering it. And I’m suddenly so unbelievably ready for him to agree. For him to ask me which girl I’d be, for me to say meet me in the bathroom and we’ll see.
He shakes his head. “Fucking someone in the bathroom is like getting a bunch of small snacks. You’re never quite hungry enough for a meal afterward but never quite satisfied either.”
I promise you’d be satisfied.
I barely keep the words in, but I’ve thrown myself at him enough.
He insists on paying the bill again. He’s just handed his credit card to the waitress when my phone rings.
“Donovan again?” he asks, scowling.
I shake my head. “Orthopedist.”
I bark an annoyed hello into the phone. I’m not sure why the hell the office is calling me anyway, unless my mother has made more allegations of abuse.
“Emerson? It’s Dr. Sossaman.”
My irritation that he’s once again using my first name but not his own is like a sharp poke. “Hi, Harold,” I say pointedly. “You’ve called my cell. Were you looking for my mother?”
His laughter is nervous. Embarrassed. “No, actually, I was calling to speak to you. There’s an art exhibit in San Jose this weekend. I was wondering if you’d like to attend.”
“With you?” I ask gracelessly.
He laughs. “Yes, that’s generally how it works when someone asks you out.”
My eyes widen. “Sorry,” I say after a moment. “I just couldn’t make the transition fast enough from you being the doctor who thinks I’m abusing my mother to…this.”
“I never thought you were abusing her,” he says. “But anyway, back to the exhibit—what do you think?”
Under normal circumstances, Harold wouldn’t be my type. He looks like the kind of guy who has very soft hands and calls sex lovemaking. But the fact that this will piss my mother off makes him a lot hotter than he’d be otherwise. I give Liam one last glance, wishing he was actually an option instead.
“Sure, that sounds great.”
When I hang up, Liam is studying me. “You’re on a first-name basis with your mom’s doctor?”
My tongue pokes my cheek. I’m smiling ear to ear. “I am now. He just asked me out. My mother is going to hate it.”
His face remains blank. “Are you going out with him because you like him or because it’ll piss your mom off?”
“It’s kind of hard for me to tease all those emotions apart,” I reply. “The second piece is definitely a major factor, but he’s not a bad guy.”
A vein I’ve never noticed before starts to throb in his temple. “And how far are you planning to take this date to get back at your mom?”
“Well, I’ll have to marry him obviously. That would bother her the most.”
His smile is slight. “I’m going to assume that was a joke.”
“Yes, that was a joke. Marriage isn’t for me. But I haven’t had sex in weeks, so that’s a possibility.”
His pen sinks right through the receipt he’s signing. “Seriously?”
I shrug. I definitely won’t fuck him if he mentions lovemaking, that’s for sure, but I’m not ruling anything out at the moment. “I mean, it’s not like you’re planning to put out. You’ve made that pretty clear.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. “I have no memory of making that clear.”
For fuck’s sake, Liam. You just made it clear about five minutes ago.
“At your house. I asked why you were being nice to me and if it was just because you wanted to get laid, and you acted like it had never even occurred to you.”
“You were questioning my motivations, princess. I can want you fed and dry and not getting swept off the road in a flood simply because those things matter to me. It doesn’t mean I’ve never thought about bending you over the back of my truck and fucking the snide smile off your face.”
Gulp.“You know I could fire you for saying that.”
“I could countersue for sexual harassment. You just admitted to propositioning me.”
I reach for my purse. “That’s ridiculous. Why would I sexually harass you when I’ve got my mother’s pretend boyfriend to meet my needs?”
His teeth grind audibly. That muscle in his jaw ticks again.
I’m not sure what I like more: the fact that this whole thing is eventually going to infuriate my mom, or the fact that it’s already infuriating Liam.