Stepbrother Billionaire(37)

“So, what else can I tell you...” Mr. Cooper continues, propping his sneakered feet up on his desk. “Salary is 60K. Full benefits. Three weeks vacation...”

I stare at him, practically salivating. I try to never think that something is too good to be true, as a rule. But this whole situation is testing me.

“Well, what do you say?” He presses jovially, “Are you interested in the job, Abby?”

“I’m...very interested. Absolutely,” I grin, “This is my dream job, Mr...Cooper. I can’t tell you how I excited I am—”

“Yes, yes. Very good,” Cooper says, standing abruptly. “Well, like I said, our brilliant managing editor is back from Europe this afternoon, and he’s going to be helping you get settled here at Bastian. You’ll trail him to meetings, sit in on brainstorming sessions, all that good stuff. But for today, just go home and relax. Take the Friday to yourself. This is a fast-paced company, Abby. You’re going to need all your stores of youthful energy come Monday.”

“Sounds great to me,” I say, standing as Cooper opens the door for me.

We walk back out onto the main floor together, but I might as well be walking on a cloud. This whole week, I’ve been stressing out about an interview that was actually an offer! What a screwy industry this is.

I think I’m going to love it.

The other employees look up with interest as Cooper leads me to the elevators. It’ll be so nice to work with people my age at a company on the cutting edge of creative innovation. And I didn’t even have to get grilled to score my place here! This day could not get any better.

Though of course, that just means it could get much, much worse.

“See you next week!” Cooper says, as the elevator dings to a stop at our floor.

“Thanks again for giving me this job,” I tell him, giving his hand a quick shake. “I promise you, you won’t be sorry.”

Beaming, I turn to the elevator as the doors swish open. So blinded am I by my luminous good fortune that I stride into the elevator car without noticing the person trying to step out of it. I reel backward, having collided with the human equivalent of a solid brick wall. Jeez, I thought this was a tech company, not a holding room for the Iron Man competition. I think I actually bruised something on this guy’s sharply cut muscles.

“Sorry about that,” a voice says from about a foot over my head, “I hope I didn’t hurt you, or...”

The voice is oddly familiar, though I can’t place where I may have heard it before. A commercial, maybe? Or the radio? It trails off into distracted silence, and I look up for some more clues as to whose it might be. The face looking down at me is utterly gorgeous—sculpted, symmetrical, and engaged. A short crop of dark hair and a hint of stubble on the mans’s razor-like jawline perfects his look. There’s a pair of dark rimmed glasses perched on his straight nose, and for a moment the overhead light glares against the lenses, obscuring his eyes from me.

But then he shifts, ever so slightly, and I can see his blue eyes clear as day. I recognize them at once, from the very core of me. How could I not? I’ve only thought about them every day, at least once a day, for the past eight years.

Emerson Sawyer is standing right in front of me. And from the look in those all too familiar eyes, I know full well that he recognizes me, too.

“Ah! Here he is!” I hear Cooper say, as if from very far away. “Emerson, I thought you weren’t due in for another couple of hours?”

“I was able to catch an earlier flight,” Emerson replies, his eyes still locked on me.

Now that I’ve placed that voice, every syllable he utters twists my heartstrings. His voice is lower, now. Richer. He’s even taller than he was when we last met, at least by a couple of inches. His body was muscular even when we were kids, but now every ounce of boyish baby fat has melted from his frame, leaving nothing but a perfectly cut form in its wake. He’s wearing perfectly-fitted dark wash jeans, a white cotton button down, and those designer black-rimmed glasses. No wonder I didn’t recognize him at first—Emerson’s transformed from a grungy, angry teenage boy to a successful, intellectual tech genius...

A tech genius who works for the same company I just landed a job at, who’s supposed to show me the ropes of my new position, and who clearly wasn’t briefed on the fact that I, Abby Rowan, was going to be his new protégé.

“I, uh, really have to run,” I say, my voice faint. “I have a...I’ve got to...”

“No worries. We’ll see you soon!” Cooper says. “Emerson here will teach you everything you need to know next week.”

“Right,” I say, my eyes locking onto Emerson’s once more. “OK. Well. Bye.”

I skirt around Emerson’s tall, built form, all but dive into the elevator, and jab the “close door” button with as much ferocity as I can muster. The second those doors snap shut again, I fall back against the elevator wall, my chest heaving, trying not to burst into tears. I feel like I’m going to faint. Or be sick. How could I have possibly not known that Emerson works for Bastian these days? What are the chances that we’d end up face-to-face like this, after all these years?

And what the hell am I supposed to do now?

I burst back out of the front doors, gulping down deep breaths as best I can. All around me, New Yorkers brush past, completely unaware that I’m having the strangest, most disorienting day of my life. But, that’s New York City for you—the best and worst place ever to have a panic attack. Struggling to regain a modicum of composure, I straighten myself up and make to book it away from the Bastian offices.