Stepbrother Billionaire(29)
Author: Colleen Masters

In no time at all, the marriage was annulled. No one will tell me where Emerson and Deb have gone, and I don’t even know where to start looking. But to be honest, I’m too brokenhearted to search very hard. If Emerson wanted me to know where he was, I’d know. As painful as it is, I have to accept the fact that he doesn’t want to be a part of my life. Even once our parents’ marriage is dissolved, there’s no trace of him.

So be it.

I dive into the last semester of my schoolwork, and end up graduating in the top ten percent of my class. Riley and I both decide to continue our studies in the fall at The New School in New York City. My grandparents agree to pay for the portion of my tuition that isn’t covered by scholarships, and even let Riley and me stay in the apartment they own in New York as an investment property. I spend the summer by my best friend’s side, slowly but surely coming to terms with everything that’s happened. I tell myself every day that come fall, I’ll be able to leave the whole ugly mess of my childhood behind me.

And hopefully, my memories of Emerson Sawyer along with it.

Chapter Twelve

New York City

Eight Years Later

“Which do you like better?” I ask anxiously, holding two dresses up before me, “The black, or the navy?”

Riley rolls her eyes at my outfit choices. “I’d like it if you ever bought anything that you couldn’t also wear to a funeral,” she replies.

“Would you be serious?” I plead, “My interview is in two hours, and god knows it’s probably going to take me an hour to get there, and I might have to stop and find a Starbucks to pee in first because I can’t ask to pee during an interview—”

“Abby,” Riley says, taking my just-scrubbed face in her hands. “Relax. You’re going to nail this. You are perfect for this job.”

I stare back at her, trying to have as much confidence in me as she does. In the past six years, Riley has transformed from a dissatisfied party girl to a successful PR powerhouse. She’s traded in the cheap vodka for top-shelf martinis and the house parties for bottle service and chef’s tables at all the best places in the city. We’ve been living together since we were eighteen, and are closer than ever because of it. But being close means being blunt, and she doesn’t hold back with me now.

“If you don’t take a breath and cool it, you’re going to be kicking yourself all the way home,” she says, marching me over to her closet. She rummages through her colorful wardrobe and hands me an emerald green blouse and yellow pencil skirt. “Here. Put these on.”

“They’re very…bright,” I say.

“Just like you!” she grins. “You’re interviewing at a creative agency, not a morgue, for Christ’s sake. A little color will be good, trust me.”

“Well. Thanks,” I sigh, taking the pieces and heading back into my room to change. “I won’t fill them out as well as you, but…”

“If you think I’m going to cry you a river for having stayed the same size since you were seventeen years old, you’ve got another thing coming to you,” Riley tells me. “Speaking of getting older, though, what do you want to do for your birthday this weekend?”

“Nothing,” I tell her through the crack in my bedroom door.

“That’s not an option,” she replies, as I slip into the clothes she’s leant me.

“You know I hate my birthday,” I call back, piling my hair into a quick, wispy up do. It’s still blonde, if a bit of a darker shade than when I was a kid. “All I ever want is to have a quiet night at home.”

“And you know that I’ve never taken that for an answer,” Riley reminds me, rustling around the kitchen.

“My grandparents are already taking me out to some swanky restaurant,” I tell her, “I owe it to them for letting us stay in this place.”

“They’re not using it,” Riley reminds me.

“Still,” I insist, “Living rent free is not exactly something to be taken for granted.”

“Not with what I spend on booze it isn’t,” Riley agrees. “At least let me take you out for a drink after your fancy dinner, OK? You can give me all the juicy family gossip.”

I cringe to think of what that gossip might be as I swipe some light makeup onto my face. Every time I see my grandparents, they spend at least an hour moaning about how badly my dad is doing. He’s been in and out of rehab since breaking up with “that woman,” as my grandparents like to refer Deb. After the brawl that ensued the morning after his wedding, I no longer make an effort to include him in my life. Some things can’t be forgiven, and the way he treated me that day is one of them.

“I’ll give you one birthday drink,” I tell Riley, grabbing my purse, “But no surprise karaoke this year, OK? Or surprise strippers. Or…You know what? Just no surprises period.”

“Cross my heart,” Riley smiles.

“Sure,” I say, stepping back out into the living room. “So? How do I look?”

“Fabulous, as ever,” she says, giving me a quick once-over. “They’re going to love you.”

“I hope so,” I sigh, “Bastian does such amazing work. They’re one of the best new creative agencies out there. It would be a dream to work for them.”

“So, tell them that!” Riley insists, giving me a quick hug and a pat on the ass. “Go get ‘em tiger.”

I take a deep breath and march out of our Upper West Side apartment.

It’s been a few months since I finished my masters program in graphic design. I’ve been able to freelance for a few different companies, and have built up my portfolio by doing so. I never pictured myself having such a tech-based job, always sort of assumed I’d stick with visual art exclusively. But graphic design lets me be just as creative as drawing does, and employ my mind in other ways, too. If I get this job as Bastian, I’ll be designing and helping come up with marketing strategies for different companies and brands. It would be something new every day, the perfect, totally consuming job. Just what I’m looking for.

Don’t get me wrong, I have other interests and hobbies, outside of work. I’m an avid runner, adore going out to restaurants, read like a maniac, and try and volunteer around the city. I just loathe downtime more than anything in the world. Downtime means thinking time, reminiscing time, and I want as little of that in my life as possible. Without fail, my thoughts always turn to the past if they’re not rooted in the present. And that’s never a pleasant experience for me.