Stepbrother Billionaire(47)

“I actually thought about calling you, when it happened,” he laughs shortly, “I knew you’d gone through the same thing. Couldn’t think of anyone else I’d want to talk to more.”

“You could have, you know,” I say softly.

“Well,” Emerson sighs, shaking off the sadness of his father’s passing, “You’re here now, right? Guess we’ve just got some more catching up to do. All of us.”

We all return to our drinks as the conversation resumes. I haven’t eaten a ton today, so my drinks are really doing a number on me already. Just as I start wondering whether we should order a huge pizza to soak up some of this vodka, I remember what tonight actually has in store for me.

“Shit. What time is it?” I exclaim, standing up suddenly from the couch.

“Just about seven,” Emerson says, glancing at his watch. “Why, what—?”

“Oh god,” Riley groans, looking up at me, “Your grandparents.”

“I’m not dressed. I don’t have time. They’re going to be here any second,” I cry, setting down my empty martini glass and setting off toward my bedroom to get changed. But the second I spin around on my heel, I hear the buzzer ring out.

Frank and Jillian Rowan have arrived for the evening.

“Well, shit,” Emerson laughs darkly, “It’s a family reunion! This should be fun.”

“Relax, Abby,” Riley says, anticipating my panic. “You’re a grown woman. It’s none of their business who you spend your time with.”

“Try telling them that,” I mutter, anxiously buzzing them up.

“Look, I’m sure it will be fine,” Emerson sighs, starting to gather his things, “If nothing else, they’ve got that whole snobby, fake-polite thing going on. So it’s not like they’ll start anything with me. Rich people don’t do confrontation. It’s not proper.”

I’m surprised to feel a twinge of annoyance at Emerson’s generalizations. My grandparents aren’t perfect, but they’re the only family I have these days. They’re the only people who have supported me through my life, even if that support has been more financial than emotional. I’m not OK with Emerson slamming them.

“Aren’t you a rich person now, too?” I ask curtly, crossing my arms.

Emerson raises an eyebrow, taken aback by my tone.

“Sure. But I earned my money,” he replies. “I haven’t just been inheriting my advantages and coasting along.”

“Like I’m doing, you mean?” I shoot back. Now I’m really getting pissed off. I thought that he, of all people, wouldn’t be judgmental about something like money. But I guess maybe I was wrong. Maybe having money has changed him.

“You know I’m not talking about you,” he says, actually shocked by my reaction. “Abby, you don’t coast. You work your ass off, you’re great at what you do—”

“Well. When you spend your whole life inheriting your advantages, you have a lot of time to devote to your interests,” I say drily.

“Don’t put words in my mouth,” Emerson says sternly.

“Don’t spout orders at me,” I return.

“Whoa, whoa,” Riley says, placing herself between us, “Back to your corners, you two.”

“He started it,” I mutter, crossing my arms.

“Excuse me?” Emerson scoffs.

“Oh my god,” Riley groans, “Just because you’re in the same room again, doesn’t mean you get to revert back to your angst-ridden teenage selves.”

Before I can reply, the doorbell chimes. My grandparents are right outside.

“That’s my cue,” Emerson says, walking toward the door with me. “I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t—”

“Me too,” I say quickly, pausing before the door. Riley is kind enough to go back into her room for the moment.

“Can I at least give you one last birthday kiss?” Emerson asks, catching my hand and placing the ring box onto my palm. I nod, clutching the box to my chest. Emerson lowers his lips to mine, giving me a sweet, swift kiss goodnight. I pocket the box, giddy and flushed, and pull open the front door.

My grandparents are revealed to us in all their finery. I watch them go stock-still, forced smiles paralyzed in place, as they see Emerson beside me. It takes them a moment, but recognition floods in at last. And the second it does, the goodwill drains from their eyes in an instant, replaced by sheer revulsion.

“Is that—?” my grandmother breathes.

“It is,” Emerson smiles, drawing himself up to his full, towering height. “Good to see you again, Jillian. Frank.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” my grandfather says to me, refusing to look at Emerson for another second.

“He was just leaving,” Emerson replies, “But you all have a good night. Happy birthday again, Abby.”

He leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and I watch as my grandparents’ eyes bug out of their heads. I’m surprised they don’t keel over as he moves past them to the stairs and disappears from sight. A long moment of silence unfolds as my grandparents stare at me, absolutely seething.

“So...Do you guys want to come in, or—?” I offer faintly.