Stepbrother Billionaire(39)

“Sure,” I tell her, “The job is great. It’s perfect, actually. Amazing company, good salary, nice benefits. Oh! And Emerson Sawyer happens to work there, too. So there’s that.”

Riley stares at me blankly. I haven’t uttered Emerson’s name for years—well, not while sober, anyway.

“Are you shitting me?” Riley hisses. “You saw Emerson today? At your new company?”

“Oh yeah. He’s going to be showing me the ropes,” I tell her. “Or he would be, if I was going to take the job. Which I’m obviously not.”

“Excuse me?” Riley exclaims. “Why the hell would you not take it?”

“Did you miss the part about Emerson working there?” I shoot back. “As in my one-time brother, long-lost lover, walked out of my life forever and broke my heart into a million little pieces Emerson?”

“No, I caught that loud and clear,” Riley replies, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “And there’s no way you’re passing up a dream job because he happens to be working at the same company. If anything, his working there should be a perk!”

“What,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

“Now you can rekindle your romance at last!” Riley exclaims, “It’s kismet!”

“It’s a train wreck waiting to happen,” I correct her. “In case you’re forgetting, we didn’t exactly end on great footing, Emerson and I.”

“So what? It was your parents who f*cked everything up back then,” Riley presses, “You could totally hit it off now that you’re adults.”

“God. Did you give him a pep talk too or something?” I ask, shaking my head, “He asked me out for a birthday drink about three seconds after we’d run into each other.”

“What?!” Riley shrieks, pulling me to my feet. “He asked you out?! For when?!”

“Tomorrow,” I tell her, wiggling out of her excited grasp. “But don’t get your hopes up, it’s not happening. No way. No how.”

All at once, Riley snaps from giddy girlfriend to drill sergeant mode. Stepping into my path, she plants her hands on her hips and levels a glare at me that could cut through diamond.

“Abigail Cecily Rowan,” she begins. “For the past eight years, I have watched you pine away for this person, miss him beyond all comprehension, and refuse to get serious with anyone else because no one could ever take his place in your heart. Now, all of a sudden, fate has deposited him back into your lap, and you’re seriously thinking of bailing? That, my dear, just will not do. I am not going to stand by while you flip off destiny and forever ruin your happily-ever-after chances because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. You will take this job. You will let Emerson back into your life. And you will start tomorrow with a drink on his birthday. Do I make myself clear?”

Looking into Riley’s furious face, I realize two things. First, I’ve been dying for someone to give me permission to see what happens from here with Emerson. I don’t know how to give it to myself, of course, so thank god she’s here. Second, even if I didn’t want to see him ever again, she would make me anyway. So, this is looking like a win-win.

“Will you at least help me pick out something to wear?” I ask softly.

“Please,” she scoffs, “As if I’d let you dress yourself for something this important.”

And just like that, the matter is settled. I let myself consider the possibility that maybe running into Emerson today wasn’t a cruel joke from the universe, but a gift. A super sexy, super loaded, super intelligent gift wrapped up in an incredible person that I’ve loved since I was a kid, that is.





Chapter Thirteen





After trying on twenty outfits, getting in at least three fights with Riley, and nearly booking a plane ticket to Canada rather than going through with this evening, I make it out the door to meet Emerson. He’s asked me to meet him back on the Lower East Side, just a stone’s throw from the Bastian offices. I arrive a few minutes after eight and linger on the corner. The birthday boy is nowhere in sight.

Riley dressed me up in a deep red dress with a low-cut back and tasteful scoop neckline. My blonde hair is arranged in a loose chignon, and the warm spring night doesn’t even require me to wear a jacket. My stomach is a little fluttery, and I’m still halfway convinced that I dreamed up seeing Emerson the other day, but I’m willing to stand here for another five seconds or so before I flee.

Five...I count down in my head. Four...Three...

I feel a hand on the small of my back and spin around sharply to find Emerson standing before me. And of course, he looks utterly fantastic. A gray blazer, light slacks, and trendy suede loafers have him looking right at home in this neighborhood. And he’s lost the glasses, too—the better for me to ogle his twenty-five-year-old—or rather, twenty-six-year-old face.

“You showed up,” he grins, his eyes gleaming as he gives me a subtle once over.

“Yeah, well,” I shrug, burning up under his gaze. “I can’t resist a martini, so.”

“Hey, I’ll take it,” he replies. “Come on. The bar’s right over here.”

I clutch onto my tiny black purse as Emerson leads us over to an unremarkable doorway embedded in the busy line of shops. He raps the door three times quickly, then twice at a slower pace. I cock an eyebrow at his antics, but before I can say anything, the door swings open for us.