Praise (Salacious Players Club #1)(29)

I shouldn’t take it. I still have no idea why his son isn’t talking to him. It only feels minimally like my business, and I don’t have the nerve to ask, afraid I might upset Emerson even more. And to be honest, hearing Beau berate me for taking a job with his dad, and literally accusing me of sleeping with him, really put me in a sour mood since lunch. Not to mention breaking up that hot-as-hell foot rub I was in the middle of getting.

“Are you fucking him? He fucks his secretaries, Charlie. You think you know him, but you have no clue. He’s sick.”

I had to make sure Emerson didn’t hear that last part, which I don’t think he did. I wanted to tell Beau that I knew everything about the company, and his father’s history with secretaries, but it was too strange to try and bring it up in front of Emerson.

Slowly, I close my fingers around the card. “Are you sure? I can afford to fix it myself.”

“So can I.”

I purse my lips at him, but I take the card anyway. Looking down at my lap, we stand in silence for a moment before I quietly mutter, “I’m sorry about that call from Beau today. I didn’t expect him to be so angry.”

“It’s fine. He obviously cares about you. If you’re not comfortable working—”

My head snaps up as I stare at him in shock. “I’m perfectly comfortable. I’m not quitting because of Beau.” Okay, maybe I didn’t need to say it like that, but to think of giving up such a good-paying job in an environment I like is ridiculous. It makes me angry just thinking about it.

“Good.” His eyes are unfocused as he stares off into the distance, clearly thinking through a lot.

“You’re not uncomfortable with me here, are you?”

He hesitates, and my heart sinks. His eyes squint ever so slightly, and I can tell he’s not answering very quickly for a reason. He is uncomfortable with me here.

Fuck.

“Not because of Beau, no.”

What does that mean? It means I do make him uncomfortable in some way, just not in relation to his son.

“Do you feel uncomfortable with me here?” he asks, repeating my question back to me. And suddenly, that foot rub we’re not speaking about is standing here between us like a giant, unavoidable elephant. I think what Emerson is asking is if his being turned on around me or attracted to me is crossing a line.

“No,” I answer without hesitation. Which is the truth. And it makes me want to know so much more, like if he meant for the foot rub to get so sexual or if he really wants me in the same way I want him.

Before I can ask another question, he says, “Drive safe, Charlotte.”

Then I watch him walk away, his white T-shirt stretched across his muscled back, and it feels a little colder without him near me anymore.





“What are we shopping for again?” Sophie whines as we enter the department store of the mall.

“I need a ball gown for the club opening next week.”

“What kind of club?”

“Err…like a dance club,” I reply awkwardly as we make our way over to the formal section. I’m already discouraged by the selection, nothing but sequined prom dresses and mother-of-the-bride type gowns. Not at all what I want.

“Like a dance club or an actual dance club?”

“Stop asking questions.”

She’s trailing behind me in her ripped jeans and black and yellow Nirvana tee. We normally spend Friday nights at the rink, and I hate to miss out on the chance to hang out with her, so I figured she’d be a good shopping buddy.

“But I have so many! Like where did you find this new job? Why does it require you to dress like a pricey escort? And since when do you go to dance clubs?”

“Since I started getting paid to. And I found the job through Beau, and it doesn’t require me to dress the way I do. I choose to.”

“Well, you never chose to before, so it had me curious…” She won’t look me in the eye, and I can feel a little more than judgment coming off her in waves. I think it’s concern.

I’ve pretty much abandoned hope of finding anything here, so I turn toward Sophie and ask what I’ve been dying to know in the past three weeks.

“Do I seem happy?”

She asked me the same thing two years ago when she opened up to me, exposing her one secret and all of her insecurities. At the time, she seemed anything but happy, and I knew something was up, leading me to fish for information. I was scared to death for her, so we made a pact. Whenever we need a chat, we ask, Do I seem happy?

And the other person has to be honest.

When she got her ears pierced, she asked me.

When I started dating Beau, I asked her.

And when she dyed her hair blue and put on makeup for the first time, she asked again.

She seems a little surprised by my question, and maybe she thinks I’m asking because of Beau and not because of the new job, but she looks me up and down for a moment, as if scrutinizing me for signs.

“Yes…but.”

“But what?”

Her face falls a bit and she averts her eyes. “You’re changing, that’s all.”

Am I? I don’t feel like I’ve changed, and aside from the clothes, there’s nothing that really feels different. Then I think about the throne room again. And what Emerson said about desires and how normal they are. And the kiss, and the foot rub, and I realize that the way I’ve been thinking my whole life has changed. In ways I’m not really comfortable talking about with my little sister, I think I am in the middle of a major change. Growing into something I’ve always wanted, but never felt confident enough to ask for.