Page 102 of Emmett
“How does April twelfth sound?” I ask him.
His eyebrow arches in response. “Awfully coincidental.”
“You’ll need a new suit,” I tell him, standing to meet him in a kiss.
FORTY
Nash
April 12th
I’ve spent the past three weeks tracking down my former employees and asking them for meetings so that I would be able to tick off all of the bullets on Colt Fowler’s to-do list, the effort for which, I’m almost certain was designed to end up fruitless. I was surprised by the number of them who agreed to meet with me and talk me through their experiences. I’ve written out more than sixty personal checks and handed out an equal amount of genuine apologies, the reception of which has been a mixed bag.
I saved the Texan’s girlfriend for last, because she was one of the few to whom I was the cruelest, and I know it. She’d come to me for help once and I all but spat in her face. Hearing her perspective of that night - which I do remember well – made my stomach turn.
Tonight, I learn if my efforts have paid off. Without his father’s approval, I know that Emmett won’t stay. That approval may be the most important thing in the world to him, and it’s why I was so willing to jump through his many, many hoops. Even if we don’t end the evening with Fowler’s blessing, Emmett will know that he was worth it to me to try. After everything, that’s the only thing that matters.
The doorbell sings out as I tuck my crucifix into my shirt collar and secure my tie into place, and I angle my head downthe hall to yell at my staff. “Will someone—” I stop myself, releasing a breath, and I head for the door myself.
Emmett stands behind the door in a deep eggplant suit with black accents, one that – finally – hugs his body the way that I’d hoped to see one day. “He answered his own door and he’s wearing black?” He asks with his eyebrows shot up in surprise as he takes in my own suit.
I smoothe my hands over the lapels of the jacket with a chuckle. “I thought that it might be a nice change.”
“It’sreally—” he blows out a breath through pursed lips. “Wear black more often.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d almost be convinced that I can feel myselfblush. With a hand wrapped around the back of my neck, he pulls me in for a kiss and offers me the large bundle of flowers in his hand, each of them deep red and varying in species. “These are for you.”
“Flowers?”
“I’m picking up my date,” he smiles, pressing another kiss to my lips. “Do you know what I want for my birthday?”
“Probably to get high at home and watch that horrible mutant rat cartoon.”
“Okay, yes,” he laughs. “But I want you to bringthisNash tonight. I want people to meetyou.”
“That’s an awfully big ask, pretty boy.”
“We’ll check in with each other,” he says. “And if one of us needs to escape, we’ll bounce.”
With the way that the deep purple hues in his suit bring out the different tones in his eyes, and the way that he’s smiling at me, all that I can think about is hauling him up to my bedroom, tearing that suit off of him and fucking him until sun up.
Reaching for his belt, I pull his hips closer to mine, pinching my brow together as a crinkle sounds from hispocket, and he presses his lips together in an effort to keep from laughing. I reach inside of the pocket, producing a neatly-folded pouch of gummy worms, and I have to bite back my own amusement.
“You’re bringing candy?”
“It’s my birthday,” he laughs as he snatches them away from me. “Let me live.”
“That, it is,” I smile.
•
As we step into Arcane, we are inundated with loud, bass-heavy music that rattles the bones. Beautiful women in white cocktail dresses carry trays of beverages over their heads, passing them out to our guests, many of whom have taken to dancing with one another. As one of them passes us with a tray of glasses topped with a gold trim – to signify that the drinks are non-alcoholic, where their alcoholic counterparts are rimmed with black – I pluck two beverages from the tray and hand one to Emmett, clinking my own glass against his.
For the first time since my grandparents passed, I have someone standing at my side as I make my obligatory welcome and thank you speeches. My ex-husband never wanted to be in the spotlight, and though we met because I was in it, he was still surprised by the constant pressures that came with it.
Emmett wears a proud smile as he stands next to me, which pushes in the dimple on the left side of his mouth. I can feel the hateful burn of several pairs of eyes against my skin, but for the first time in as long as I can remember, I don’t look to find the source of them. I feel absolutely no desire to scare them into submission or humiliate them for looking at me. Myeyes are onhim, and I have no intention of them leaving their post.
Emmettis the one who looks, andEmmettis the one who stares them down, even through the shutter of cameras, as his hand falls protectively against my back. “Just keep showing them,” he tells me quietly.
I rest my hand at the base of his neck and squeeze, and I can feel him stifle a giggle as he continues to stare at the people who have made the apparent mistake to pass judgment.