He didn’t wait for a response but instead, stepped out of the room to let her dress. She looked at the expensive wardrobe, then pulled out the clothes from the bag. They were just a warm sweater and soft jeans which only confused her more. Looking at the suits, she rejected her small rebellion. She didn’t hate the suits as much as she hated what they represented. They were like a prison uniform and every day she’d put one on and march through Manhattan to her prison sentence.
Ironically, this prison was exactly what she’d wanted. It was what she’d told Jack she wanted. And Emerson had given it to her. He’d taught her so much, but now…?
She sighed, not sure what to do. And at this point, she was too confused to try and figure out what her next move should be.
She pulled out the jeans and slipped them on. There was also a thick, warm sweater in the bag, similar to his. She pulled that on as well, then dried her hair and pinned it all on top of her head. It seemed more appropriate to wear a messy bun with jeans versus blow drying it and styling it like she normally would to go into meetings.
She added only a bit of makeup, just some mascara and lipstick, then noticed the dark circles under her eyes and dabbed a bit of concealer and powder on to hide her fatigue. She didn’t want Emerson to think she was defeated with this lifestyle. Well, she’d have to tell him eventually. She couldn’t keep this up. She hated this. She’d proven to herself that she could do it, but she didn’t want to continue.
And then an even more confusing thought struck her. She hated the idea of leaving here and never seeing Emerson again. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror reeling from the pain of that thought. But why should it be like that? She’d rejected him so long ago. Their affair had ended the moment she’d spoken those horrible words about wanting a different life, one that he couldn’t give her.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the marble countertop, her hands braced on the cold, flat surface. He’d told her over and over again that she wouldn’t like this life. And what had she done? She’d scoffed at his insight. She’d told him that she wasn’t going to be poor, that she wanted the power that came along with understanding Emerson Watson’s methods.
Well, now he’d taught her his methods, she was making loads of money and she knew how to control a business transaction so that it was profitable. Oh, she didn’t delude herself into thinking she’d broken the code on all of his tactics, but she was pretty good now. She wasn’t exactly sure what her bank account looked like, but she estimated that she’d earned twice as much in the past four weeks learning from Emerson as she’d earned the entire previous year.
Somehow, she had to figure out how to turn back time.
She now understood exactly what he’d been trying to tell her, what he’d patiently told her several times! Her palm flattened against her forehead as she absorbed the shock of realizing what a complete and utter fool she’d been! She might not have had all the money and power she’d wanted a month ago, but she could have been happy with Jack. She could have figured out a way to make things work. She just hadn’t been trying hard enough! She’d been such an idiot not to have come up with a creative solution to their situation and now, here she was, hiding out in a bathroom and hating life, so tired she could barely stand and disgusted with all the merciless people who now called themselves her “friend” which, in Wall Street terms meant Rachel had become “important”.
She had to fix this. She didn’t know if he would ever forgive her and she wasn’t exactly sure if she could get out of this whirlwind, but she had to try.
She picked up her cell phone and dialed Nikki’s number, needing advice on how to get out of this mess. But Nikki didn’t answer so she left a voice mail. She glanced at her watch and realized that Nikki and Brianna were probably out on their normal Saturday morning run along the river.
When her voice mail clicked on, Rachel said, “Hi Nik. Just calling to check in. I know you and Bri are out on your run so give me a call when you have time. Nothing urgent. I just miss you guys.”
She sighed and put her phone away, wishing she could be there with them, wanting that run and the cool, morning air against her face. Rachel loved the way the three of them would traipse down the rough path, chatting about their week, laughing at their foibles while cheering each other’s successes. She missed those times. She missed her friends. And she missed Emerson so much, she wanted to crawl back to him and beg him to ignore what she’d said that horrible Sunday evening.
Stepping out of the dressing room, her eyes searched hungrily for Emerson, wanting to see him in those jeans once more. He might be intimidating as all get out, but he still made her stomach flutter whenever she saw him, even in a business suit or tuxedo, even though she hated everything those represented.
When he wasn’t in the bedroom, she tentatively moved about his enormous penthouse, ignoring all the stark, horrible furniture that was like sitting on a bench at the bus station. Not even the enormous fireplace or the stunning views of the city could make this place look comfortable. Maybe, just like the expensive clothes Emerson had bought her, it wasn’t the actual penthouse that she disliked, but what it represented. This was the “Emerson” side of the man she’d fallen in love with. This was the hard, cold, driven and unfeeling man that was merciless and calculating.
She found him in the most unlikely of places. The kitchen! Talking and laughing with Lilly, his housekeeper and cook. As soon as she stepped into the kitchen, the laughter stopped and Emerson stood up.
Rachel could tell that he liked her in jeans and she had to admit, they were pretty comfortable, for denim. She still preferred her leggings and a big, bulky sweatshirt when she wanted to relax, but he probably didn’t know that about her. They’d only been together at the tail end of the summer. With the cold air moving in and their insane schedule, he’d never seen her relax.
“Here,” Emerson said, handing her a travel mug.
“I hope this is coffee,” she grumbled, feeling left out since they’d broken up their conversation as soon as she’d entered. She hadn’t had a genuine, friendly conversation with anyone since she’d arrived in New York. Her conversations with other human beings consisted of discussions about money, how to make it, the cost of making it, the transferring of it and the disbursement of it.
Rachel never would have thought it possible, but she was starting to hate money.