Page 4 of Emmett
“I think I might be maybe a little too drunk for this,” she tells me with her cheeks going pink. Her eyelids droop just a little bit while she tries to focus on me. “I’m really sorry.”
I take my hands off of her ass, moving them to her shoulders instead to steady her. “That’s okay,” I tell her. “Uh, do you like shorts or sweats better?”
“Huh?”
I help her off of my lap and get up, heading for my kitchen to grab her a glass of water. “I’m not gonna make you leave because you aren’t having sex with me,” I chuckle. “You can crash on my bed, I’ll take the couch.”
“I thought you were an ax murderer,” she slurs.
“Oh yeah, but my shift doesn’t start until after six.”
I slice open the box marked COMFIES and dig out an old t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that I won’t miss – not that I’m not planning on seeing her again because she isn’t sleeping with me. I wasn’t planning on seeing her again before we ever got here. The last thing that I need right now is to dive into another relationship or situationship or flirtationship – any kind of -ship, I’m not getting involved in it. My breakup with Naomi was enough chaos to last me the next few years, at least.
I get Sasha situated in my room with some sweats, a trash can, and a fresh glass of water before heading back out into the living room. Dropping down onto the couch, I grab the TV remote and flip through to old reruns ofGolden Girls. Nothing gets rid of a semi quite as quickly as a bunch of oldladies making raunchy jokes.
While I scroll through social media, a text message drops down from the top of my screen and I open it with a loud laugh. A blurry selfie fills the screen, with Davis holding his middle finger to the camera and a bare ass on either side of his head.
Davis:You wish you were me right now.
I respond with a picture of my TV screen.
Me:I don’t know, I bet Blanche is a freak.
His lack of response after ten minutes tells me that he’s likely face-first in one or both of those asses, and I probably won’t hear from him again for the rest of the night. I kick my shoes over the arm of the couch and settle in for a long and, judging by the ache in my crotch, uncomfortable night.
TWO
Emmett
The tension in this conference room is so thick that I could probably cut through it with a butter knife. Davis sits perched at my left and Dad sits on the other side of him while the man across the table from us spouts off a bunch of crap that I’m honestly not even listening to. I probably should be, but I’m distracted.
Nash Montgomery can be an intimidating guy, especially when he’s followed and backed up by a matching pair of cronies. They’re each nearly half a foot shorter than he is, making his already large frame look even more massive, even just sitting at the table across from us.
“I think he only hires people shorter than him,” Davis leans over to whisper in my ear. “Needs to make himself look big and scary.”
I stifle a laugh and click the pen in my hand a few times, pretending that I’m taking notes in this meeting.
“The problem,” Nash says, eyes locked on my dad, “is that you’re trying to step into my territory, Fowler.”
“Oh? We weren’t aware that you held a monopoly over the nightlife of the city,” Dad retorts.
With a scoff, Nash tells him, “I have eyes everywhere. When you come intomyclub, and your friends take homemygirls, I hear about it. Let me be perfectly clear,” he adjusts the gold Rolex on his wrist and leans forward in an effort todominate the conversation. “I own half of the clubs in this city, and I own everyone in them. If you continue this little project of yours—”
“Threats?” Davis laughs, pulling himself to a standing position. “Really, Nash? Is that how you wanna do this?”
Nash pulls himself up, matching Davis’s stance, and his associates tense on either side of him before joining in. They’re not alone in their nervousness; my own jaw clenches as thick tension fills the room. For several long moments, the only movement in the room is in the gold crucifix dangling from Nash’s neck.
“Gentlemen,” Dad interjects, “can we be civil, for once?”
“This is civil,” Nash smirks.
“Then both of you. Sit. Down.”
The two men comply, slowly lowering themselves back into their seats, eyes locked onto each other in a glare the entire time. I think if they had half the opportunity, they would waste no time throwing punches at each other until one of them was either dead or unconscious.
Anxiously picking at the skin of my thumb, I tune out the rest of the conversation – not on purpose, I really had every intention of being fully present and participating. This is my first big meeting as a shareholder, and I’m completely blowing it because I’m distracted by the visible tension in Nash’s jaw and the way that the muscle rolls across it as he grinds his molars against one another.
Davis knocks his knee against mine under the table, pulling me out of my thoughts, and he uses his eyes to gesture toward my dad, signaling that I need to at least listen to this part.