4. Emory
4
EMORY
I pull up to the large gate in front of my father’s house and press the intercom button. The voice of one of his staff members comes through.
“Come on in, Emory. Your father is expecting you.”
“Thanks,” I say as the gate opens with a slow creak. I drive through and park in the circular driveway. I find it funny that his staff members say the same thing every time I arrive. Your father is expecting you. Like they wouldn’t even consider letting me through the gate if he weren’t. Brian Caldwell is not exactly the ‘stop by to chat’ kind of dad.
When I enter the house, Maeve, my dad’s maid, immediately scurries over to me and takes my purse. “Um, would you like me to take that as well, or will you be wearing it?” she asks, gesturing to the flannel shirt I tied around my waist before heading here. I’ve never been into fashion. Comfort is pretty much the only thing I take into consideration when deciding what to wear. Plus, I wear scrubs about ninety percent of the time, so I don’t think much about clothes in general.
“I’ll keep it on, thanks.”
She nods and looks down at my white Converse sneakers before clearing her throat in an attempt to rein in her judgment of my outfit. “That’s grand,” she exclaims in her Irish accent. “They are in the main dining room. Follow me.”
I step forward, finding it amusing how formal my dad is. I know where the damn dining room is, and yet he insists on having someone escort me there. Then it hits me—did she just say they ?
As soon as I round the corner, a wave of regret washes over me. How could I allow myself to get roped into this lunch? I hear my dad’s polite laugh as he lifts a glass of champagne to his lips. Because it seems that when you’re rich, drinking lunch wine is acceptable. Next to him is a man around my dad's age, with a sharp jawline and deep wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Across from them is a woman with bright blonde hair pulled back into an elegant low bun. And next to her is a man who looks to be in his early twenties. He has light, slightly wavy chestnut hair and that air of aristocracy about him. Like you could dress him up in a burlap sack and still know he came from money. He’s classically handsome in a slim-fitted navy suit, the jacket draped elegantly on the back of his chair. I’m surprised Maeve hasn’t snatched it up yet.
I’m fuming now—talk the two of us, my ass.
My dad glances over, noticing me, and his eyes light up. “Emory, I’m so glad you could make it. You remember Darla and Matthew Tyler, right? This is their son, Ashton.”
Have I ever met these people before? Maybe. I'm pretty sure we've crossed paths at some function or other, although I usually find ways to get out of them, citing my hectic work schedule. My schedule has been fairly normal since I switched to days from nights a year ago, but there's no need for my dad to know that. Do I remember them, though? Not at all.
Their son, Ashton, looks a little familiar, but he didn't go to my high school. I assume he went to Baybridge Prep with the other trust-fund kids. Emberfield County is made up of three neighboring towns. Emberfield is in the center and is as quaint and idyllic as it comes. Sure, there are the giant mansions on the east side of town near the border of Baybridge, like my father’s house. But there are also many simple homes and craftsman cottages. Baybridge, with its beachfront properties and sprawling estates, is home to some of the country's wealthiest elite. They don't have a regular high school, so all the kids attend the private Baybridge Prep, which happens to be my alma mater's rival. Then there’s Rocky Falls to the west, which is a small city with a grittier, rougher edge. It's where all the bars and clubs are.
I realize that the only way out of this is through it. So, I push my frustration aside and put on my best fake smile.
“Of course, it’s so lovely to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Tyler. Nice to meet you, Ashton,” I say sweetly, playing my part.
Dad gets a better look at me and lets out a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I forgot to mention we would be having a sit-down lunch. She must have come from the beach or something,” he says as he looks back at the Tylers, who seem less amused.
I look down at my outfit and back up at Ashton, who can barely stifle his laugh.
Anger starts to build in my gut, and I can feel it about to boil over. No more nice, obedient Emory. This lunch isn't going to go the way my dad wants. I glare at Ashton, and he straightens up, clearing his throat.
“Nope. I wasn't at the beach. This is how I always dress, Dad. Not everyone wears a suit to lunch,” I say, sliding into the only other seat with a place setting, which happens to be on the other side of Ashton.
It's painfully obvious that this is a setup. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, trying to calm down. I won't give my dad the satisfaction of sucking up to these people, but I also won't let my anger get the best of me and say something I'll regret. The last thing I need is a lecture from Dad about being rude in front of our guests.
The rest of lunch is uneventful. The Tylers discuss their luxury hotel chain and their excitement about my dad taking them on as clients, given their previous cybersecurity company's mistakes that cost them a fortune. Ashton remains mostly quiet, only responding to my dad's questions about his college experience, business degree, and plans for the future. It turns out he went to Blackwell College like Nate. Most kids in the county end up going to one of two colleges if they choose to stay in state—Blackwell or Ellsmont University, which is where Allie and I went.
My dad continues his invasive line of questioning as if he’s conducting the most awkward interview ever. I can only imagine how it ends. I think you would be a great fit for my company, but I will only trust you if you routinely start fucking my daughter and eventually marry her.
I can’t do this.
Just when I think lunch is over and I can finally leave and hide under my covers until Allie comes home, Dad stands as if he’s the fucking president about to address the nation on the state of the union.
“Well, that’s enough work talk. Don’t you think? Let’s let these two chat. Emory doesn’t have many friends, so it would be great for you two to get to know each other better.”
I can't decide if my dad is matchmaking or giving this guy something to laugh about with his friends later. I can picture Ashton and his finance buddies laughing over their Manhattans as he tells them about the awkward, loser girl his parents set him up with. You know, the one who wore a T-shirt to lunch and has no friends.
As if there’s nothing more to say on the matter, Dad pats my back and leaves the room with the Tylers in tow.
Ashton whistles, breaking the silence. “Shit, that was brutal. Just so you know, I had nothing to do with this.” His voice startles me, and I almost jump, still consumed by my blind rage.
“Yeah, you just had to nearly gag yourself to stop laughing at my lunch attire earlier,” I snap back, maybe a bit more aggressively than necessary.
“I wasn’t laughing at you. I just like that you don’t take shit from your father. It’s refreshing.”
“Oh.”
He laughs. “This is the third date my parents have set me up on in the past month. I have to say, you have been the most pleasant.”
“Thanks,” I say, but it comes out more like a question.
“They want me to settle down, get married, and have kids,” he goes on. “My parents are trying to overpopulate the earth with Tylers. I’m the youngest, and my siblings have five kids between them, but it’s apparently not enough.”
“Jeez. You’re like, what? Twenty-five?”
“Twenty-Four. But it’s never too early to have kids, according to my mother. She encouraged me to get my college girlfriend pregnant when we were nineteen.”
“Jesus. Yikes.”
“Yeah. She’s extra.”
“So, did you? Get her pregnant, I mean?” I ask, pouring myself another glass of champagne because what the hell? If I’m going to be forced into a date I didn’t ask for, I might as well drink the good stuff.
“Fuck no. I was nineteen. It just made me want to be single and fuck my way through the rest of college. Fully wrapped, of course. Sometimes double-wrapped. You can just tell the fertile ones.” He shudders.
A laugh bursts out of me, and I can't hold it back. Before I know it, I'm wheezing.
“I’m so glad my plight amuses you,” Ashton groans.
“I’m sorry. I’m just imagining the lengths your mom would go to. Do you think she ever poked holes in your condoms?”
“Honestly, I wouldn't put it past her.” He looks like he's imagining something, and a pained expression crosses his face. “I know I brought it up, but can we just drop it? I’d rather not talk about my mom being involved in my contraceptive methods anymore.”
“Okay, okay. Fair enough.” I bring the glass of champagne up to my lips, feeling the bubbles hovering before I take a swig. “Why do they want so many grandchildren, anyway?”
Ashton sighs, like he's told this story a hundred times. “Mom wanted a big family, but her last pregnancy with my little sister, Cassie, was tough, and it wasn't safe for her to get pregnant again. They're building their empire, and now it's up to the three of us to have kids and keep the family-friendly image of the Tyler Hotel Group going. My siblings have done their part, but I'm falling behind.”
“Shit, I'm sorry. But you get that our families have conflicting interests, right? My dad wants me to marry some guy who can be his second in command because he doesn't think my brother can handle it. I doubt your parents would let him take you away from their company when they're trying to build it up.”
“Yeah, they would probably fight over us if it came down to it. Right now, all my mom wants is for me to marry a woman who comes from wealth and has working ovaries.”
I wince at that last part, and suddenly Ashton's predicament doesn't seem funny anymore. It hits me that his parents are using him, just like my dad is trying to use me. I also realize I've been talking to Ashton this whole time without feeling that usual dread that comes with talking to guys. Except for Luke, but that's different. Talking to Luke makes me feel all fluttery, but talking to Ashton feels like talking to Allie. Maybe my dad is right—having one more friend wouldn't be so bad.
“So now that you are completely versed in the shitstorm that is my life, would it be a good time to ask for a favor?”
“Depends…”
“It’s nothing weird. I promise.”
“Okay…shoot.”
“Will you go on a date with me?”
Shit. I didn't see that coming. Maybe I misread our friendly conversation. Has he been flirting with me this whole time? The easy feeling I had slowly gives way to panic.
“Listen, Ashton. It has been surprisingly fun talking to you, but I’m just not in the right headspace for dating right now.”
“I understand. I'm not either. But if I go out with you, it'll get my mom off my back for a bit. Just dinner, no pressure. It'll be over before you know it.”
“Well, when you put it that way…”
He chuckles. “Come on. Don’t make me beg.”
It’s just a phrase, one that people say all the time. I’ve probably said it to Allie a hundred times. But when Ashton says it—I’m thrust back six years. Six years. Six words. I was hesitant to go on a date with Jaxon at first. He asked me out every single day for a week before he uttered those words.
“ Come on. Don’t make me beg. I will if I have to. I’m not above it,” Jaxon says with a wink, easy confidence radiating off him like steam in a hot shower. I want to say yes. I’m in college. On my own for the first time ever. Finally free to make my own decisions about my life, romantic or otherwise. Nothing is holding me back. Except this nagging feeling that this is too good to be true. Jaxon is too perfect. Too gorgeous. Too smart. Too sweet. But I guess I’ll never know if I don’t try…
“Okay, fine, but only if you take me to get Mediterranean food. It’s my favorite."
“You got it, Princess,” he says with a wink.
“Emory?” Ashton’s voice snaps me out of the past. “Are you okay?” Concern flickers in his eyes, and it stings a little. He’s a stranger. He shouldn't feel this way. Why should he care? I’m broken and numb, a shell of the girl I once was. I swallow hard, trying to push down the lump in my throat. Jaxon can’t keep holding this power over me. It's been three long years. I need to get a grip.
Maybe this is what I need to finally move on from him and get over my silly crush on Luke. Two birds, one stone.
“Okay, I’m in,” I finally say.
Ashton lets out a breath. “Shit. You sure know how to keep a guy on his toes,” he teases. “I have a pretty hectic week. Any chance you're available tomorrow night?”
“I work late on Sundays. How about next Saturday?”
“I’ll be in Boston for our new hotel opening.”
“Damn.”
He thinks for a second. “How about tonight?”
“Tonight? Lunch date and dinner date in one day? Are you trying to impregnate me, Ashton Tyler?” I playfully backhand his chest.
Ashton spits out the champagne in his mouth. He grabs a napkin and blots his shirt, looking panicky. I laugh and mop up the rest of the bubbly liquid from the table with my napkin. “Relax. I’m joking.”
“Oh, thank God.”
I giggle. “Hey, can I ask you a personal question?”
“You’re my new partner in crime. Of course you can.”
“Do you want to get married? Or have kids?”
“Honestly, no. I mean, I don’t think so. I guess I don’t know in the long run. But I definitely don’t want that right now.”
“I’m sorry you feel that you have to.”
“It’s part of the life we were born into, right? I know I can’t change my fate, but I can hold it off for a little longer.”
Ashton’s words make me even sadder than when he was worried about me earlier. He's trapped, just like me. But he's accepted his fate, while I refuse to give in. I don’t believe that marrying someone for my dad's business is the best I can do. But I can help Ashton delay the inevitable and let him enjoy his freedom a little longer.
Abandoning the marriage conversation for our earlier one, I pull my phone out and hold up a finger to him. “Let me check on something, but I should be able to make tonight work.” I shoot off a text to Allie.
Did you cancel your date yet?
Allie: Not yet. Why?
Don’t cancel. Give him a chance. We can rain check Bolognese and Alaska for tomorrow night.
Allie: Are you sure?
Yeah, something came up.
Allie: Something like riding our sexy neighbor’s face?
No! Something else.
Allie: Okay but you’re spilling later.
Maybe…
That taken care of, I glance back up at Ashton as I pocket my phone.
“Okay, we’re good for tonight.”
“Perfect, I’ll pick you up at six. What kind of food do you like? I’ll make a reservation.”
Anything but Mediterranean.