She peeks back at me at the exact moment I’m sure she realizes I told him.
“Yeah, I am. Why?” She bites her lip and curls in on herself even more. “Because I needed a job and it pays better than the rink.”
A tense pause as I hear his muffled voice rattle on.
“It’s not about you,” she says a bit louder now. “No! I’m not— Beau!”
I stiffen in my seat. She looks noticeably affected and growing more agitated with each second.
“No, I won’t quit. I need this job, and what does it even matter to you?”
Then she gasps before turning toward me. “You’re wrong,” she mumbles quietly, her eyes still on my face. I can’t take another moment as I burst out of my seat. I don’t even know what I’m doing when I snatch the phone away from her and hold it against my ear.
“Beau?”
He stops talking the second he hears my voice. Then, he responds with just two words. “Fuck you.”
And the line goes dead.
RULE #13: ACCEPT CHANGE. CHANGE IS GOOD.
Charlie
He unbuttons his shirt methodically while I wait awkwardly by my car. I can’t take my eyes off his thick, masculine fingers as they slip each tiny button through the hole. Underneath his shirt is a white cotton T-shirt that fits him so snugly, I can make out the contour of his pecs and the protruding shape of his nipples.
Jesus, Charlie. His nipples? You’re staring at the man’s—
“Pop the hood for me,” he says, and my mouth goes dry.
“Huh?”
“The hood, Charlotte. I need to reach the battery.”
“Oh,” I stammer, rushing to the driver’s side to find the latch Sophie showed me last time we had to do this. It pops, and when I look up through the window, I see that Emerson has completely removed his long-sleeve shirt and draped it over the top of his car. I find myself staring at the heavy weight of his shoulders, marveling at how more muscular he looks without the work attire on until he pulls open the hood, obstructing my view.
He’s such a…excuse the cliché…man. Not quite dad enough but still so much older than me that I find it strange to even look at him like this. And to think I kissed him.
And a couple hours ago, I was rubbing my foot against his impressive erection while he massaged my feet. God, what is happening? This is all getting out of hand, but I almost don’t want it to stop.
I have to stand up to see him again, and I know he can feel me watching. My curiosity is becoming my greatest fault, making me want to do things I know I shouldn’t but how can I resist? And he’s just jumping my battery, not exactly highly involved mechanical work, but watching him attach those jumper cables is doing something to my heart rate. Warmth pools low in my belly as I imagine running my hands along his chest and abs.
“Okay, start it,” he bellows from in front of the car. When I turn the key in the ignition, it stutters for another moment, which is a lot more than it did this morning. And after a moment, it purrs to life.
“Success!” I yell with my hands up. He gives me a curious arched-brow expression before pulling the cables off the battery and closing the hood.
As I move to tell him thank you, he blocks my path, holding a black credit card out to me. “You need a new battery. And you’ll need to find a dress for the opening next week. Something that matches with my blue tux.”
I stare open-mouthed at the credit card. “I can’t take that.”
“You have to,” he replies so matter-of-factly, like I don’t have a choice.
“Why would you buy me a new battery?”
“I’m tempted to buy you a new car.”
“Emerson,” I say, glaring at him.
“I need to be able to count on you to show up to work, which means you need a reliable vehicle for your job. And the dress is a company event too, so just take it. No spending limit.”
“Emerson!”
I stare up at him as he leans on the door of my car. The expression on his face says he’d like to put me in my place for yelling at him, and I let my dirty mind wander, wondering what exactly that would look like.
There’s something about the credit card that makes me feel like it has something to do with the call from Beau. As if this is his way of apologizing or making it up to me since I know he must have told Beau about me working here.
I shouldn’t take it. I still have no idea why his son isn’t talking to him. It only feels minimally like my business, and I don’t have the nerve to ask, afraid I might upset Emerson even more. And to be honest, hearing Beau berate me for taking a job with his dad, and literally accusing me of sleeping with him, really put me in a sour mood since lunch. Not to mention breaking up that hot-as-hell foot rub I was in the middle of getting.
“Are you fucking him? He fucks his secretaries, Charlie. You think you know him, but you have no clue. He’s sick.”
I had to make sure Emerson didn’t hear that last part, which I don’t think he did. I wanted to tell Beau that I knew everything about the company, and his father’s history with secretaries, but it was too strange to try and bring it up in front of Emerson.
Slowly, I close my fingers around the card. “Are you sure? I can afford to fix it myself.”
“So can I.”
I purse my lips at him, but I take the card anyway. Looking down at my lap, we stand in silence for a moment before I quietly mutter, “I’m sorry about that call from Beau today. I didn’t expect him to be so angry.”
“It’s fine. He obviously cares about you. If you’re not comfortable working—”
My head snaps up as I stare at him in shock. “I’m perfectly comfortable. I’m not quitting because of Beau.” Okay, maybe I didn’t need to say it like that, but to think of giving up such a good-paying job in an environment I like is ridiculous. It makes me angry just thinking about it.
“Good.” His eyes are unfocused as he stares off into the distance, clearly thinking through a lot.
“You’re not uncomfortable with me here, are you?”
He hesitates, and my heart sinks. His eyes squint ever so slightly, and I can tell he’s not answering very quickly for a reason. He is uncomfortable with me here.
Fuck.
“Not because of Beau, no.”
What does that mean? It means I do make him uncomfortable in some way, just not in relation to his son.
“Do you feel uncomfortable with me here?” he asks, repeating my question back to me. And suddenly, that foot rub we’re not speaking about is standing here between us like a giant, unavoidable elephant. I think what Emerson is asking is if his being turned on around me or attracted to me is crossing a line.
“No,” I answer without hesitation. Which is the truth. And it makes me want to know so much more, like if he meant for the foot rub to get so sexual or if he really wants me in the same way I want him.
Before I can ask another question, he says, “Drive safe, Charlotte.”
Then I watch him walk away, his white T-shirt stretched across his muscled back, and it feels a little colder without him near me anymore.
“What are we shopping for again?” Sophie whines as we enter the department store of the mall.
“I need a ball gown for the club opening next week.”
“What kind of club?”
“Err…like a dance club,” I reply awkwardly as we make our way over to the formal section. I’m already discouraged by the selection, nothing but sequined prom dresses and mother-of-the-bride type gowns. Not at all what I want.
“Like a dance club or an actual dance club?”
“Stop asking questions.”
She’s trailing behind me in her ripped jeans and black and yellow Nirvana tee. We normally spend Friday nights at the rink, and I hate to miss out on the chance to hang out with her, so I figured she’d be a good shopping buddy.
“But I have so many! Like where did you find this new job? Why does it require you to dress like a pricey escort? And since when do you go to dance clubs?”