Seducing Fortune (A Serendipity Novel Book 3) (12 page)

“Oh,” I answer.

Veronica speaks up quickly with a defensive edge to her voice, throwing up an invisible shield around her friend. “Mal, you did great. I was shaken up, too.”

“Yeah, I know someone who has PTSD. And that wreck would make me shaky. So, you acted like any one of us.” I stare straight ahead at the traffic and hope they don’t expect me to explain the statement I’ve made about the PTSD. Shit, shit, humongous truckload of shit. Why did I confess that? I do not know these chicks well enough to be sharing secrets. It’s not like the movies where this would be the moment that defines our new friendship. Besties forever because we had a heart-to-heart.

Veronica twists in her seat to look back at Malerie. “We should ask Emerson to help us. She would do it.”

I glance uneasily from Veronica to the road ahead. “Do what?”

“We have to rearrange the game room. Jelly Bean Queen is coming over to party after their concert this weekend and Collin had some furniture delivered. You have to help. Can you come in? Say yes.” Veronica puts her hands together in a prayer and raises both eyebrows. “Please?”

“Yeah, Emerson. You should.” Malerie grins into the rearview mirror. “You know you can arrange the room better than we can.”

I’m stunned. For one, Jelly Bean Queen is huge and successful. And the most popular band of the year. I knew they were a big client of Collin’s, but I can’t fathom that they have any kind of personal relationship with people I know.

Also, when Veronica said they were moving furniture around, my inner control freak flipped out. I am the head furniture mover even if it’s only when I’m vacuuming and cleaning.

“Okay. I’ll help.” I turn the car into the driveway. Several cars line the drive and I don’t recognize all of them. Dylan’s Porsche is the only one my gaze lingers on. I think about seeing him and my belly does a fluttery flip. He’s probably pissed since I avoided his calls all weekend.

The slam of a door draws my attention to the house. A willowy blonde steps onto the front porch and Dylan follows right behind her. They’re talking and laughing—totally into their conversation and each other.

She’s dressed in business clothes that I’d love to wear someday—a navy skirt of an acceptable length, nude-colored spiked heels, and a short feminine jacket. This girl could do magazine ads with her rail-thin figure and classic features. Sleek hair pulled back in a low ponytail.

I hate her immediately.

My belly clenches. I suck in a breath. I flare my nostrils and inhale, astronomically short on oxygen at the moment. My hands grip the steering wheel to ground myself and hide my sudden shaking.

Malerie unclips her seatbelt and mutters. “Asshole. Who is that?”

I exhale. “She’s pretty.”

Veronica makes an unflattering grunting sound. “I don’t like her. She’s been over here before. She’s a snob.”

Wow. I’m stunned there’s someone in the world that Veronica doesn’t like. The girl could make friends with a cyborg.

“Listen,” I say. “I don’t think I can stay and help. Maybe some other time when the guys aren’t home.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” Malerie opens her car door. “We need you and you’re coming in. I will personally drag you out. Don’t let him get away with this.”

I’m officially horrified. They must know I went out with Dylan. Also, it’s clear they can see I’m having a breakdown at seeing this unknown blonde with him. I straighten in my seat.

“Hey, it doesn’t bother me if he dates. We’re only friends. Really. It was a pizza and hanging out kind of thing...” My words sound flat and unconvincing even to me.

Dylan shoves his hands into the pockets of his low-slung jeans and turns toward my car. His brows bunch and I know he’s recognized that it’s me.

Veronica hops out and runs around to my side of the car. She opens my door and I scramble to grab the handle to shut it. She leans into my space. “He’s crazy about you. Ms. Stick-Up-Her-Ass is like a bad habit for him. Don’t let her scare you off. We can handle her.”

I get out of my car. “Handling this situation is not a group effort.” I mutter the words, my pulse out of control. “And she doesn’t scare me in the least.”

The danger isn’t this blonde porcelain doll standing next to Dylan. The real problem is the way I can’t take my gaze off him. And he’s staring right back at me. I get the feeling I’m the one toy he wants to own and can’t.

He puts his hands on his hips and nods back to the woman. Her gaze coolly flits to me—barely a blip on her radar—and returns to him. “I’ll call you later,” she says to him. Then, she turns, walks down the porch steps and past us without a word. Her car is parked on the other side of mine, and I can’t help but compare her sleek sedan to my non-too-gently used economy model.

I can’t handle the two violent emotions that fill me, an urge to punch that girl in the throat and then punch him. Preferably a lot lower than his throat.

Dylan’s attention is back on me. I refuse to be seconds for anyone. My gaze slides over him—his black Henley molded to broad shoulders, sleeves pushed up on his powerful arms, shirt untucked and casual. His lips part in a smile at my slow study. One eyebrow arches in question.

Despite all my protests about not wanting to get involved with a player, I let myself fall for him without even realizing I stumbled. He’s much too confident of his hold on me. I’ve got to fake disinterest before he makes any more moves.

W
ind whips
around the edge of the front porch where I stand without a coat. It’s bitterly cold today, but it’s just gotten colder. Emerson’s arctic stare could freeze the balls off a snowman.

My gaze swings from Emerson to the receding taillights of Yvette’s car. Yvette, a former girlfriend who somehow still views me as a friend, called me insane for getting involved with Emerson.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I say to Emerson in a welcoming tone so she’ll stop scowling at me. Then my gaze shifts to Veronica and Malerie who both give me murderous looks. A trio of bad vibes pointed my direction.

“You’re gonna blow your chance,” Malerie says and passes by me. “Don’t mess this up. Talk to her.” Malerie raises both eyebrows at me. Her eyes are red with makeup smudges underneath.

I quickly glance away, uncomfortable with the thought of two upset females right now. Emerson’s all I can handle. “Right,” I answer. Emerson’s back is turned to me and she’s whispering with Veronica. I stride over, not waiting for them to finish.

Emerson shakes her head at Veronica in some girl sign language that further confuses me. These two rarely talk to each other much less go places together.

Emerson lifts her chin at me in a way that Jordy might. “Hey, what’s up?” she asks.

“I’ve called and left you voice mail.” Two voicemails on Saturday, two on Sunday, and one today where I did all but threaten to show up at her place if she didn’t call me back.

“Oh. Sorry. I didn’t think it was important. I’ve been busy.” She gives a tight-lipped fake smile and walks around me to follow the retreating Veronica into the house.

What. The. Fuck.

Her flippant tone and disregard for my concern shoots a bullet of anger into my gut. I turn and follow her inside, walking quickly enough to step around and block her path to the kitchen. “If I’ve done something to piss you off, then you should talk to me.”

She folds her arms across her chest and stares into the afternoon sun that streams through the patio doors leading to the deck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.” I grab her hand and pull her toward the staircase. “We need to talk in private.”

“I didn’t come here to see you. Veronica and—”

I lean in close, so close my breath stirs a wisp of hair dangling over her eyes. I need a reaction from her so I know I’m not imagining there’s something between us. “You really don’t want to do this with an audience. If that’s how you want it, we can talk about Saturday night with everyone listening. I’m not shy.”

“Ugh,” she moans. “You are so bossy.”

I nod in agreement. “Yes. I’ve been told that. Come on.”

She wrestles her hand from mine as if I’ve branded her with a burning stamp with the letters of my name. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”

“Yeah, right. I have plenty to say and I’m not going to hurry.” I motion that she should lead the way upstairs.

There’s a second when she looks like she might argue. Then she exhales her resistance in a long displeased huff and starts up the steps. I’m right on her heels, close enough to want to reach out a hand and make contact. The more I’m around her, the more I have the need to establish a connection between us. It’s like I can’t look at her without wanting to touch her.

We enter my bedroom, a long rectangular room with enough space for a reading nook in the corner. I motion for her to sit in the navy club chair. With only one available seat, I’m left to either loom over her by standing or resort to my bed. I take a seat on the end of my bed.

She rubs both hands over the velvet arms of the chair like it’s a genie lamp and she can wish herself to another place.

I drag one hand over my short hair. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Be honest. We had a good time the other night yet you want to cut my heart out right now—with a plastic spoon. I called you after the date—”

“It wasn’t a date.”

“Oh come on. Who do you think you’re kidding? You went out with me because you wanted to go on a date. You were kissing me before the break-in.”

“You kissed me.” A peach flush tinges her cheeks immediately in a guilty stamp of color.

“You didn’t object. In fact, I’m positive you liked it a lot.” I hold up a hand at her gasp of indignation. “But it’s more than the kiss that got to you.”

She groans. “I can’t talk about this right now. I need to go help Veronica and Malerie.”

“What are you afraid of?” A flash of something in her eyes tells me I’ve hit a bulls-eye.

“Nothing. And I don’t know how you have time to run a business in between chasing your next lay. If you were feeling chatty, you should’ve taken your time with that girl who just left.”

“Wait a minute.” I take three long steps and bend down to take her chin in my hand. “You’re avoiding my question and assuming an awful lot about Yvette.”

She wrenches her chin from my hold. “Don’t go all alpha on me. I really don’t get into that shit. I don’t know why you’re even bothering since you have the Wall Street Fashionista.”

I return to my standing position and place my hands on my hips while I stare hard at her. “There wasn’t anything going on with Yvette. For someone who doesn’t like to be judged, you sure know how to condemn others.”

We stare at each other in silence.

Her nostrils flare at an intake of air, a delicate sign of self-control. She exhales slowly. “Point taken,” she says. “So, what exactly were you doing in here? Playing chess?” She mimics looking around for a chessboard.

“Actually, we were talking about a legal matter. She happens to be an attorney.” I wait a beat before continuing. “Damn, you’re sexy.”

Emerson’s gaze shoots back to meet mine. One eyebrow rises. “Come again?”

“When you’re mad. But you don’t have to be jealous.” I lean down and put my hands on each arm of her chair.

“I’m not.”

In a low voice, I taunt, “Be honest with both of us.”

Her breath hitches. “You’re an idiot.”

I can’t stop the smile that breaks free. It’s not a prideful thing like it might be with some guys—trying to get the one conquest who resists, the hot girl you crave. Not like that at all. It’s because I really, truly give a damn about her.

I grab her hands and pull her from the chair, walking backward to the bed. “Admit it. You’re crazy about me.” When she doesn’t answer, I sit on the bed and pull her down beside me. “I’ll confess first. I don’t even look at other women anymore. All I do is think about you. I swear it’s the truth. Why don’t you get that?”

“You’re not getting it through that thick head of yours.” She closes her eyes for a couple of seconds. “You don’t understand the amount of baggage you get with me.”

“Oh yeah. I have a pretty good idea. But I think you’re worth it.” I squeeze her shoulder.

Emerson falls onto her side on the bed, propping up on an elbow. “Let me make the baggage clear. We’re not talking an overnight case. We are talking the mother lode. A steamer trunk. It’s not just what I told you about my dad.”

“I’m listening.”

“I have a crazy mother.” She challenges me with a wide-eyed stare.

I don’t even blink. “Don’t we all.”

“No. I mean the real-deal kind of crazy.”

“Understood.”

She’s frozen, her gaze not meeting mine as she searches for her next words, her mouth open but nothing coming out. Finally, she sucks in a gulp of air. Her words tumble out. “Institutionalized crazy.”

“Oh. Well, that really does trump my crazy kind of mom who texts me every day. You win this round.”

“See?”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Oh. My. God.” She rubs a knuckle across her brow. “The problem is I’m like a lightning rod. Don’t you get that? I constantly try to dig my way out from underneath the destruction and I will someday. I can do it. But I don’t have the time or energy to do anything right now but make sure I make it out and no one gets hurt. This thing with the person breaking into my apartment? It’s just one more thing that is my normal.” Her voice breaks a little on her last two words, but then her vulnerability disappears with a lifting of her chin.

I smooth a tendril of hair away from her cheek. “Still not scaring me away.”

“You don’t have to protect me from some feeling of obligation. Somebody thinks I’ve got money. They think my dad brokered a deal for millions, but it didn’t happen. I mean...would I really be working for you if I had money? The guy watches me long enough and he’ll figure that out.”

I lie flat and look up at her. “Why is it so hard for you to understand that this thing between us would’ve happened without the break-in?”

“Ok. Prove it. Tell me when you wanted to know me better. What do you even know about me?”

I pause before speaking, legitimately attempting to remember the very first time. A vision of one moment—maybe not the first time, but definitely a memorable one—surfaces. “It was the first time I heard you dropping F-bombs while you cleaned my bathroom. Multiple fucks with a goddamn thrown in. I was standing around the corner and listening since you seemed to want me out of your way. The entire time, I hoped you wouldn’t catch me acting like a stalker in my own house.”

Her mouth twitches, and she shakes her head. “You’re kidding. That’s a sad excuse for a pickup line. ‘Hey girl, I love your dirty mouth.’”

“I’m serious.” I meet her amused gaze. “I learned something about you that day. About your character. You walked around muttering the entire time about privileged mama’s boys who piss on the floor and use too many towels and own an exorbitant amount of cologne. I was laughing so hard I was sure you’d hear me. But when you finished that day, everything was so clean and organized, and you never said a word to me. It’s like you cared about what you did because you made sure everything was in place and perfect. The towels rolled like I was on a cruise ship or something. You wrote me a note that I needed more shampoo.”

She snorts and places her face into my comforter before lifting her head to look at me. “You are really weird. You do know that, right? Like you have some fetish for foul-mouthed clean freaks.”

“Maybe I have a fetish for you.”

She rolls her eyes and smothers the smile I can see tipping the corner of her lips.

It’s clear she doesn’t know what to do with all this honesty. I forge ahead, not caring if I push her out of her comfort zone. “I think that’s one example of what’s made me respect you as a person. You didn’t like what you were doing that day. You were cursing like a marine in there, but you took pride in your job and never complained to any of us. And you were so funny. I wanted to poke my head around the corner that day and talk to you, but I also wanted to listen to you being yourself. Because even back then I wanted to know you better. You’re more than a pretty face.”

Emerson smooths the cotton comforter, her gaze following the movement of her hand instead of looking at me. “That’s a really decent thing to say. If you’re trying to score points with me, you’re not playing fair.” Her voice is low and unhappy, each word pulling at my heart.

“I’m trying to give you a compliment. It’s all true. You give so much of yourself and the world would be a nicer place if people were more like you.”

Her unhappy look slays me. “What’s wrong?” I ask.

“It’s called repentance. You have no idea.”

“What’d you do? Steal Gabby’s candy as a kid?”

She visibly blanches and I regret saying something to trigger her reaction. I lay my hand over hers, stilling it. “I’m not buying that you’ve been some bad person in the past. I know you. Maybe you’ve made some bad decisions, but we all do that.”

She gives a rueful laugh. “I was a spoiled little girl who grew up into a spoiled teenager. You think you know me? You can’t even imagine the type of girl I was. The ultimate daddy’s girl. I asked for it and he gave it to me. And you know what? Daddy loved me so much he ignored his wife, his younger daughter, his obligations. I knew it, too. Loved it. Kept taking everything he gave until he couldn’t give any more.”

“Emerson, stop. Stop talking like you think a kid can be responsible for the things a parent does. You can try to paint yourself as selfish and try to push me away, but it isn’t going to work. You didn’t force your dad to do anything. He was a grown man.” I want to grab her by the shoulders and give her a good shake, but of course I don’t.

Her face is flushed and she lies back, looking at the ceiling while she steadies her breath. “So, you see...baggage. Lots and lots of baggage.”

I take her hand and thread my fingers through hers. My body is pressed close to her side and I bring her hand to my lips to press a kiss against her knuckles. Her body stiffens. “People grow. We change the way we think about things, what we want, who we want.”

“Yeah,” she says with an almost imperceptible nod. “I’ve changed. I’m never going to be that selfish girl again. I do know what I want. I also know what’s realistic.”

“Good. Can you be honest then? Honest with me?” My voice is calm but my heartbeat drums in my ears. I was so in control a minute ago and now I’m afraid of what she’s going to say.

“Okay.”

“Do you trust me when I ask you to give us a chance?”

She eyes me without answering. I can see the quick flutter of her pulse at the base of her throat.

“Emerson? I’m asking you to trust me. I know you want to be with me. I can’t promise it will work forever. Hell, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that with anyone. But I can tell you I’m going to try hard to make this work. And if it doesn’t, and you don’t want to work here because you decide you don’t want to be around me, I swear I’ll find you another job. If that’s what is holding you back, then it’s not an issue.”

She closes her eyes and wrinkles her nose like she’s tasted something sour. “No other women. No former girlfriends hanging around. If we are together, then it’s only me.”

“No threesomes then.” I try to keep a straight face.

Emerson smacks my chest. “You are pushing your luck.”

“Gorgeous Girl, I’ve got it. No threesome, twosomes that don’t involve you, or any combination to risk your trust. I’ll take care to be on my best behavior. You won’t regret it.”