Stepbrother Billionaire(35)
Author: Colleen Masters

“How would you have known if I did?” I ask, exasperated.

“I followed you,” he says, “Online, I mean. Your social media presence was pretty remarkably unprotected when you were younger. For a while, I scoped you out on Facebook, Myspace, checked in to see how you were doing. But once you got to college, and it seemed like your whole life was just opening up in front of you…I knew you’d be OK. I knew you didn’t need me anymore.”

“That’s not true,” I whisper, my eyes stinging with unexpected tears. “I did need you, Emerson. So much…”

“I needed you too,” he replies, rubbing his thumb against my hand, “But we couldn’t be in each others’ lives then. Not with everything that had happened. But look. We seem to have found a way back in again.”

“So it would seem,” I smile softly.

“I’ve spent the past eight years wondering what I would say to you, if I ever saw you again,” Emerson murmurs, his voice dipping low. I know that dip, know what it means. Between that and the gleam in his eye, his intentions are pretty clear. And despite every ounce of logic I possess, I can feel myself responding to his lead.

“What do you want to say, then?” I ask, my own voice soft and husky. My heart feels like a kick drum as Emerson moves closer to me. Our sides brush against each other as he moves his hand up my arm, pulling me in.

“It turns out, I don’t want to say anything,” he says, his words gravelly and ardent. His lips move ever closer to mine, and I can feel my mouth lifting to his, as if of its own accord. Emerson goes on, his mouth nearly on mine, “I’d rather show you…”

“Hey Emerson!” someone says from across the room.

I jerk away from Emerson as a trio of familiar faces make their way across the room. I recognize the two men and woman as some of the young people manning the communal desk at Bastian. My new coworkers, as it were. And they’ve just happened upon me about to suck face with my superior. I stare at Emerson, my mind scrambling to figure out what my heart wants. He just looks back at me with frustrated desire, forcing a smile as his colleagues come over.

“How’s it going, Bradley?” Emerson asks, as the stylish threesome comes to a stop before us, “Tyler, Emily—Do you guys all know Abby?”

“You’re the new recruit, right?” the man called Bradley asks. He’s doing the whole trendy-pseudo-rustic look, full beard and all. And from the barely-concealed amusement on his face, I know he’s hip to what was about to happen between me and Emerson. They all are.

“That’s me,” I say faintly. Looking up at them, then across the table at Emerson, I feel like we’re back in our hometown diner—that night Emerson’s lax bros nearly gave me a heart attack. I feel the panic beginning to rise inside of me at the mere thought of it.

“You guys mind if we join you?” asks Emily, the chic hipster with bright violet hair.

“I was actually just going to head out,” I say, grabbing my purse and rising quickly to my feet. “I’ll have to catch a drink with you guys some other time!”

“Abby,” Emerson says, his smile tightening. “You don’t have to go already—”

“I really do,” I shoot back firmly.

“What about your drink?” he presses, as our coworkers drink in the tense drama.

With my eyes locked on Emerson, I raise my martini glass and knock back the rest, chugging the insanely expensive and delicious liquor just to spite him. He holds my gaze, his expression hardening into that unreadable mask I know so well.

“See you guys later,” I say to Emerson and our three flabbergasted coworkers. “You have a lovely evening.”

Without another word, I turn on my heel and dash out of the bar. I’ve barely made it back onto the busy street before the tears come. I should have known that this—being alone with Emerson—would be too much for me all at once. There’s too much history there, too much pain, for some breezy birthday drinks to be possible. I hurry back toward the subway, cursing myself for being such a damn idiot.

“I’d love to not make this running-after-you thing a habit,” I hear Emerson’s terse voice say from over my shoulder.

“There’s an easy fix for that,” I snap back, “Stop running after me.”

I draw myself up short as Emerson places his staggering, perfect body in my path.

“I didn’t mean to freak you out,” he tells me, “I shouldn’t have pushed you. It’s just…I can’t pretend that I don’t still want you, Abby. That I don’t still care—”

“Goddammit Emerson,” I exclaim, wrapping my arms around my waist, “Haven’t you ever heard of subtlety?”

“Tried it once. Not a fan,” he shrugs.

“This isn’t going to work,” I tell him, shaking my head, “We can’t just pick up right where we left off after that night at the beach.”

“Why not?” he insists, taking my hands in his.

“Because you took a sledgehammer to my heart, you asshole!” I say, tearing away from his grasp. “I’ve loved you for the better part of a decade, but we’re not kids anymore, Emerson. We can’t just throw caution to the wind, you live in Europe, and—”

“We’re twenty-five!” he laughs, incredulously, “We can do whatever we like.”

“You’re twenty-six,” I remind him, “And I’ve spent the last eight years picking up the pieces of my life on my own. I’m not about to let you shatter them again.”

“Is that what you think I’d do, if you gave me another chance?” he asks, his voice hard.

“No,” I reply, feeling my bottom lip begin to tremble, “I know it’s what you’d do.”

His eyes flash with wounded sorrow as I barrel past him. This time, he lets me go. I charge away, back up to my haven on the Upper West Side, struggling to hold it together.

I manage to make it all the way home before my own grief spills over. By the time I glance at my bedside clock, I see that it’s after midnight. It’s officially my own twenty-sixth birthday. And would you look at that? I’m lying here alone, miserable as ever.

“See, this is why I hate birthdays,” I mutter to myself, surrendering to sleep at last.

Chapter Fourteen

It seems that Emerson has taken the hint. There aren’t a thousand voicemails and texts waiting on my phone in the morning, and he doesn’t appear out of thin air all day during my birthday. Riley, unable to contain herself, wakes me up with a wonderful breakfast spread to start the day off right. One look at my face and she doesn’t press for details about the night before. She’s a saint, that woman. We take our time waking up, head out for a hot yoga class, and take a nice long walk along the Hudson River together. Eventually, I fill her in on what went down at drinks last night. She listens pensively as I give her the scoop.