Page 22 of Anything But Lonely

“I’m happy to.”

And I mean the words with everything I have.

Nothing makes me happier than having this time with Crew.

I just hope I don’t fuck it up.

CHAPTER 11

EMERSON

My stomach twists as the elevator doors slide open.

The entire flight here, I've been rehearsing this conversation—every excuse Mateo might throw at me, every reason he'd have to refuse my help. I'd built an answer for each one, convinced that if I prepared enough, I could talk him into seeing things my way.

Standing here now, I'm realizing how little any of that matters.

He can still say no.

I'm not someone who gets nervous. I don't waste time imagining how things could go wrong.

Life already taught me that it's a losing game.

You can prepare for the worst, and the universe will still find a way to blindside you.

So I stopped trying to control what happens to me.

Instead, I learned to control what I could.

Power has always belonged to me.

Until now.

What if Mateo tells me he doesn't need me? What if he sends me home before I even get the chance to prove I belong here?

I've never—not once in my life—been afraid of some man not wanting me.

It fucking sucks.

My suitcase rattles behind me as I follow the room numbers down the hallway. Getting here was almost insultingly easy. Mateo not only reimbursed me for my flight but somehow got me upgraded to business class. And even though he texted me the hotel information, when I landed, a driver was already waiting at baggage claim holding a sign with my name.

But I thought actually getting here would quiet the panic.

Instead, every step toward his door feeds it, the dread settling heavier in my chest, whispering that I've come all this way just to hear the one answer I can't talk my way out of.

Lifting my hand to knock, I close my eyes, breathing in through my nose in an attempt to fill my lungs with air.

I need this.

Lightly rapping my knuckles against the door, I knock twice, careful not to wake Mateo’s son. It’s probably well past the kid’s bedtime.

Footsteps sound on the other side, each one ticking down the seconds until the inevitable.

No backing out now.

The door swings open, revealing a far more disheveled version of the man I ran into a few nights ago. His dark hair is messy, exhaustion etched into the lines of his face.

I’ve known who he was this entire time.