Rascal (Rascals Book 1)(38)

“We had a good time,” I said. “It was nice to be able to introduce him to everyone.”

At some point, I might have to come clean about the fact that I had barely known Emerson at the time of the party, but since things were going so well between us—and we actually seemed to be moving towards something more serious—I figured there wasn’t any harm in continuing the charade. Especially since it might not be a charade forever.

The thought scared and excited me. Did Emerson and I have a future together? We hadn’t spoken about it at all—and it was possible that he was just interested in something casual and fun. But I got the sense that this was something more—not just for me, but for him, too.

“Have you met his parents yet?” Arthur asked me.

It was a fairly personal question, and I was confused until I remembered how everyone had reacted when Emerson had revealed his last name.

“Not yet,” I told Arthur—wanting to be honest about that.

“Mr. Hayes an important man,” Arthur continued. “A good person to know. And as I’m sure you’re aware, the kind of person that would be beneficial to this firm.”

I was a little uncomfortable now. Was I supposed to be recruiting Emerson’s father? From what little I had figured out, they didn’t seem to have the best relationship. He hadn’t even shown up to Emerson’s big bar opening.

“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind, sir,” I said, trying my best to be vague. The last thing I wanted to do was make promises I knew I couldn’t keep.

“Thank you for this,” Arthur pointed at the brief, and it was clear that I was being dismissed.

Out in the hallway, I ran into Lucinda.

“Private meetings?” she asked, her lip curled upward.

“Just delivering briefs,” I told her, not wanting to get into it with her.

“You know that everyone is talking about the fact that you landed a Hayes.” Lucinda ignored my tone and followed me back to my desk.

“I didn’t land anyone,” I responded. “I’m dating Emerson. Not his family.”

Lucinda stared at me. “Are you really that simple?”

I sat down at my desk. “What are you talking about?”

“If I had the kind of connections that you do, I would use them,” she said, her long nails tapping on the cubicle divider. “That’s what you have to do in our business.”

“I can get by on my own talent,” I told her.

She laughed. “You’re na?ve if you think that you’re going to get the position just because you’re good at it. Look around—we’re all good at what we do. We wouldn’t be here if we weren’t. You have to use everything you have to your advantage. You have to be ruthless.” She shrugged. “But hey, at least there’s less competition for me!”



I was tired and drained by the time I got home that night. It was late, but Rascals was open. I paused on the corner, wondering if I should stop in to see Emerson. All of this was new to me, and I didn’t know the rules. Would dropping in make me look clingy or weird?

I decided to head straight home. I had just changed out of my work clothes and into a pair of yoga pants and a well-worn shirt when there was a knock on the door. I looked through the peephole, and my heart did the same thing it had done all day when getting a message from Emerson. Because he was there. Outside my door with a smile and a bag.

“Hi.” I opened the door, feeling a little bashful, but happy to see him.

“Hey.” He gave me a long, lingering kiss.

It left me breathless, and all my self-consciousness vanished.

“Are you busy?” he asked, holding up the bag, which smelled amazing. “I brought food.”

As if to respond, my stomach growled. We both laughed.

“I guess that answers my question,” he said.

I stepped aside to let him in, admiring the way his jeans cupped his butt as he sauntered into my apartment, putting the food down on my coffee table.

“We got a new chef,” he told me, unpacking what looked like an amazing spread of bar food. Burgers, fries, wings . . .

“How’s their grilled cheese?” I teased, coming to sit next to him on the couch.

“Not as good as mine.” He poked my arm. “But I’d love to get your opinion on the menu. Good thing you’re hungry.”

I was. I was starving. Even though we were supposed to get time off for lunch, I usually ate at my desk and ended up working at the same time, so I never got the chance to really eat a meal—and I definitely didn’t get the chance to enjoy it.

This meal I was going to enjoy. Not just because it smelled amazing, but because the effort that Emerson had taken to bring it to me meant the world to me. He was so thoughtful and considerate. None of the guys I had dated had ever been half as kind.

We ate with gusto—the food was even better than it looked.

“Yum,” I said, digging in. “Your chef is amazing.”

“Yeah, I think it was a good choice,” he told me. “I mean, she’s no Phoebe Sullivan, but I can wait.”

“You’re still hoping she’ll leave that other place for you guys?” I wanted to know, licking my fingers as I finished a salty, spicy chicken wing.

Emerson’s eyes were fixated on my mouth as I did this, and I couldn’t help but torture him a little bit, taking my time with my last two fingers, drawing them slowly out of my mouth.