“It’s true,” he sighs dramatically, “Some things never change.”
“Besides, there surely isn’t room for Courtney in your harem,” I go on, “With your whole gorgeous bad boy billionaire thing, you’ve probably got a girlfriend for every day of the week.”
“Nope,” Emerson replies, “But thanks for calling me gorgeous.”
“Like you don’t know,” I shoot back, “So then, just the one girlfriend for you?”
“I’m afraid not,” he says.
“Fiancée?” I ask, with mounting dread, “Wife?”
“Well, there is Roxie...” he says, “She’s very important to me.”
“Roxie?” I ask, “You’re with a woman named Roxie? Who the hell—?”
“She’s my west highland terrier,” he cuts me off with a smirk. “But good to see you’re still protective of me, Ab.”
“I’m not—I just—” I sputter, “I’m just curious, is all.”
“That makes two of us,” he replies, “I’m expecting a report on your love life, too.”
“Or lack thereof, you mean?” I ask drily. “I just finished grad school. That means my most significant romantic relationship at the moment is with my pizza delivery man.”
“Who is he? I’ll throttle him,” Emerson says, raising his fists like a cartoon leprechaun. But the memory of the beat down he gave Tucker all those years ago is too fresh for that particular joke to be funny.
For the first time these evening, the silence between us grows tense. Despite our relatively breezy reunion so far, there’s a lot of ugly, buried emotions hanging between us. I’ve spent a good part of the last eight years being furious with Emerson for disappearing on me when I needed him. I’ve been hurt, angry, and more than anything, just terribly sad to have lost him. All that feeling can’t just evaporate because he’s resurfaced with a shit ton of money and nicer biceps than ever before.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he says with quiet firmness, leaning toward me.
“Honestly?” I reply, “I’m thinking about all the imaginary fights I’ve had with you these past few years. All the things I’d dream of saying to you, if we ever ran into each other again.”
“Like what?” he asks intently.
“You don’t want me to tell you,” I mutter, “Your eyebrows might get singed off.”
“That bad, huh?” he asks.
“That bad,” I assure him.
“Well, I had plenty of imaginary conversations with you, too,” he tells me, moving closer by just an inch. “Want to know how most of them went?”
“I’m not sure—”
“Usually, they revolved around me apologizing for vanishing into thin air on you,” he cuts me off, “And for leaving you to deal with the fallout on your own. And hey, now that you’re actually sitting here with me, I can tell you—I’m sorry.”
“I don’t think sorry can begin to fix it,” I whisper, staring down at my drink. “You left, Emerson. Left me alone in that house, with my dad, after the way he treated us. He could have hurt me, if Riley hadn’t shown up to get me. Did you even care?”
“Of course I cared,” he said fiercely, “But try to imagine being me in that moment. Having my mother bring the whole family crashing down all on her own...it was humiliating. I felt like absolute scum for being my parents’ kid. I couldn’t even look at you, I was so ashamed of who I was. And so furious that I couldn’t do anything to help or protect you.”
“Is that why you nearly killed Tucker?” I ask softly.
“I guess it is,” Emerson allows, shaking his head, “I wasn’t really thinking about it much at the time. To be honest, Abby, I don’t lose much sleep over what I did to him. In my mind, that’s what he had coming from the moment he...Anyway. I had to disappear, Ab. I couldn’t stand the idea of you being as ashamed of me as I was.”
“I was never ashamed of you,” I burst out, “Never once, Emerson. That was just some crazy idea you cooked up in your own damn mind. I never gave a shit about our families’ money and standing. You know that. Or at least you should have known.”
“You’re right,” Emerson murmurs, reaching for my hand, “I should have. And for that, again, I am truly sorry. But don’t you think for a second that I wouldn’t have come running back if you’d ever needed me.”
“How would you have known if I did?” I ask, exasperated.
“I followed you,” he says, “Online, I mean. Your social media presence was pretty remarkably unprotected when you were younger. For a while, I scoped you out on Facebook, Myspace, checked in to see how you were doing. But once you got to college, and it seemed like your whole life was just opening up in front of you...I knew you’d be OK. I knew you didn’t need me anymore.”
“That’s not true,” I whisper, my eyes stinging with unexpected tears. “I did need you, Emerson. So much...”
“I needed you too,” he replies, rubbing his thumb against my hand, “But we couldn’t be in each others’ lives then. Not with everything that had happened. But look. We seem to have found a way back in again.”
“So it would seem,” I smile softly.
“I’ve spent the past eight years wondering what I would say to you, if I ever saw you again,” Emerson murmurs, his voice dipping low. I know that dip, know what it means. Between that and the gleam in his eye, his intentions are pretty clear. And despite every ounce of logic I possess, I can feel myself responding to his lead.
“What do you want to say, then?” I ask, my own voice soft and husky. My heart feels like a kick drum as Emerson moves closer to me. Our sides brush against each other as he moves his hand up my arm, pulling me in.
“It turns out, I don’t want to say anything,” he says, his words gravelly and ardent. His lips move ever closer to mine, and I can feel my mouth lifting to his, as if of its own accord. Emerson goes on, his mouth nearly on mine, “I’d rather show you...”
“Hey Emerson!” someone says from across the room.
I jerk away from Emerson as a trio of familiar faces make their way across the room. I recognize the two men and woman as some of the young people manning the communal desk at Bastian. My new coworkers, as it were. And they’ve just happened upon me about to suck face with my superior. I stare at Emerson, my mind scrambling to figure out what my heart wants. He just looks back at me with frustrated desire, forcing a smile as his colleagues come over.