The Trouble with Love (Sex, Love & Stiletto, #4)(11)

“Fine,” Riley muttered, tossing back the rest of her drink. “But there will be lunch involved, right?”

“Yes, honey,” Julie said soothingly. “I’m sure we can find you a chunk of bread stuffed with pasta, topped with butter and cream.”

“Perfect.” Riley rubbed her ever flat, yet never satiated, stomach. “Maybe they can fry it.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Emma muttered, standing and gathering all of their glasses to take into kitchen.

“You’re from the south,” Riley said. “You’re supposed to be on my side on this. Don’t they eat delicious fried stuff down there?”

Emma ignored this. She didn’t like talking about her past life. Not if she could help it. Not since her engagement had exploded, courtesy of her drunken father, whom she barely spoke to these days. Not since she found out her sister, the dearest person in the world to Emma, had lied to her.

“Hey, can I ask a crass question?” Julie said as the four of them put on their coats and grabbed purses.

“Crass is sort of my shtick, but I’ll allow it,” Riley said.

Julie looked at Emma, her expression kind. “How are you on money? I think we’re all in agreement that you need to shop, but do you need to borrow something until the insurance reimbursement comes in?”

Emma glanced around at her friends, who all looked ready to sign over their life’s savings to her, if she’d just say the word.

She swallowed, feeling unusually emotional.

Emma had never been the type to wear her heart on her sleeve. Tears and physical affection and talking about feelings had been more her sister’s territory. Emma knew that on a good day, she was reserved. On a bad day, she’d definitely heard the term ice queen thrown around.

Sometimes it bothered her that just because she didn’t show her emotions, people somehow thought she didn’t have them.

And that simply wasn’t true. She felt things. Deeply.

And right now, Emma was feeling an acute sense of gratefulness for these girlfriends who’d somehow welcomed her into their group, stunted emotions and all. When Emma had fled North Carolina seven years ago, it had mostly been about escaping the pain of her breakup with Cassidy.

But in her deep, terrifying pain, she’d shut out other people as well. Her friends had slowly stopped calling, because she never called them back. Her aunts, who’d tried to fill the surrogate mother role after Emma’s mom passed away of cancer when Emma was sixteen, had slowly given up on fretting over her.

Her father, for his part, never stopped leaving bossy voice mails demanding that she return home immediately. The man was determined to pretend like nothing was amiss between them. Refused to acknowledge the starring role he’d had in the demise of her relationship with Cassidy. He still called every other Sunday. Sometimes Emma picked up. Sometimes she didn’t. Maybe it was wrong, but she was still mad at him.

And then there was Daisy. Daisy, whom Emma had tried desperately to be mad at, but who’d refused to stop calling and texting and writing long letters until Emma had forgiven her. Daisy had made a mistake not telling Emma the truth about Cassidy, but one of Daisy’s more admirable qualities was her willingness to admit mistakes, and, more important, to learn from them.

Still, Daisy, as wonderful as she was, was back in North Carolina.

Julie, Riley, and Grace were here. And until they’d wiggled their way into her life with their happy enthusiasm and unfailing loyalty, Emma hadn’t realized just how horribly alone she was.

“I love you guys,” Emma said, the words bursting forth. “You know that, right? I mean, I know I never say it, and I’m not all hugsy like Julie, and kind like Grace, or outspoken like Ri—”

“We know, honey,” Grace said, reaching out and squeezing Emma’s hand. “We totally know.”

Riley stepped forward and tapped Emma’s temple gently. “Guys, I think the floodwater went into her brain. She’s going soft on us.”

“So that’s a yes on money, then?” Julie asked. “We can lend you some?”

“No,” Emma said, her voice kind but emphatic. “I’m fine on money. Really.”

It was true. Her Stiletto salary was decent, if not exactly luxurious, and, if necessary, she had another source. A trust fund even her best friends didn’t know about. A trust fund Emma hated because her mother had had to die in order for Emma to have access to it.

But then…Emma let herself smile, because the whole situation was almost fitting, in a way. Her ever perfectly coiffed mother would be absolutely delighted to know that her legacy had gone toward a new wardrobe. In fact, if Annabeth Sinclair were here right now, she’d insist on dragging Emma to the makeup counter, and probably the hair salon.

A woman can never have too many lipsticks, girls.

Emma smiled at the memory.

“Hey, let’s stop by the cosmetics department at Bloomingdale’s,” Emma said as she followed them into the hallway. “I think I’m in a beauty rut.”

“Traitor,” Riley hissed.

Emma dropped her keys in her purse and ran straight into Grace’s back.

All three of her friends had skidded to a halt in the hallway, and Emma peered around them to see why.

She promptly felt her stomach drop to the floor.

Suddenly, Camille’s smirk on that day she’d offered Emma the apartment made a lot more sense.