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I groan internally. Every few months some ex-con comes in and I lose more sleep over the possibility of them leading the kids down a path we try so desperately to keep them away from. I’ve wanted to cut the program for years, but Dad’s right in some regards, we do need the help.
“Don’t look at me like that. You know I like to give them a shot just like your grandpa did, and besides, this one is different.” It has been a long time since I’ve seen him look so worry-free, and that piques my interest. “It’s Rayne Saint James… brother of Storm Saint James, CEO of Frost Industries.”
I stare at him blankly. I’m clearly missing something, because to me, an ex-con is an ex-con, regardless of who they’re related to.
“If we can get a family like the Saint James’ involved in this place, it could mean we can make the breakfast program permanent. We could open another center like we planned before the recession. It could be huge for us, Emerson.”
He’s right. The Saint James family are rich, like really fucking wealthy. The word on the street is that Frost Industries walks on both sides of the law, not that anyone has ever been able to prove it.
This could be huge for us. My eyes fall to the filing cabinet of initiatives we’ve dreamed up over the years but have never had the funding to get off the ground. We could really help our kids, scholarships, field trips, things we only dared to dream of in the past could become a reality with the right benefactors.
“I know you have reservations about the community service program, but you, more than anyone, know how much we need the help. And from my source inside the CPD, it sounds like the charges they had on him had to be dropped because there was no proof, and his community service isn’t court-mandated, it was something he offered up to prove his connection to the community,” Dad told me matter-of-factly.
I nod. “Okay, Dad. I’ll give the guy the benefit of the doubt, but I get even a whiff of him being a bad influence on the kids and he’s out.”
Dad runs this place, but I manage these kinds of things so he can focus on the kids. It’s where his passion is, and it’s what he’s good at.
“This is going to be a good thing, honey, you’ll see.” He’s gone before he can see me shake my head.
“I doubt it.” It’s too good to be true having a Saint James fall in our laps like this, and if there’s one thing this mess Brad has me in has taught me, it’s if it seems too good to be true, it abso-fucking-lutely is.
I bury my head into the mountain of work I have for the gala. No matter how much I tick off my list, more just seems to appear at the bottom. Before I know it, it’s lunchtime and I am no closer to getting anything finalized. It’s quiet for the most part around this time, only some of the older kids are here as the others are at school.
I groan as I count the hours before I can go to bed tonight. I still have four hours of work here, three at the diner under my apartment, and six hours at the club, and that’s without considering the assignment I have due tomorrow that is still a blank document open on my laptop at home. In other words, I probably won’t be sleeping tonight… again. Not that I sleep well anymore anyway. I usually spend the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out how to get out of the mess I’ve found myself in.
I round the corner into the gym and stop dead in my tracks. Dad is speaking to someone I don’t recognize, a man who is towering over Dad’s very respectable six-foot.
Instinctively, I reach for the baseball bat we keep at the door of the office. We’ve had our fair share of problems here, and the cops don’t have much motivation to respond in this neighborhood.
Before I can think about my next move, the man turns around, and I’m stuck in place for a whole other reason.
The man would have to be the single most attractive human being I’ve ever laid eyes on. Eyes so dark they’re almost black, and perfectly messy black hair my fingers twitch to tug on. His jaw and cheekbones are perfectly chiseled, as if God himself had spent hours molding this man into the piece of art standing in front of me. I can’t remember a single time my body has reacted like this to a man, and I met Ryan Reynolds at a charity event last year. My mouth is dry, body warm as my mind wanders to the dirty things I’d like this man to do to me. Our eyes meet and my heart skips a beat.
“There she is.” My father’s voice pulls me back into the land of the living and drags my attention from the specimen of a man he’s standing with. “Rayne. This is my daughter, Emerson. Em, this is Rayne Saint James.” My cheeks flame red as I’m reminded of the bat in my hand.
I don’t know how I didn’t recognize him. He and his brother Storm look so similar, and Storm is in the tabloids most days as Chicago’s most eligible bachelor. Rayne seems to stay out of the limelight a bit more, but I’ve definitely seen him in the gossip pages a time or two.
Great first impression, Em.I internally roll my eyes at myself. Sleep deprivation and stress have officially started melting my brain, there’s no other explanation.
I’m not sure how long I stand there, but it feels like a really fucking long time. The spell I’m under breaks when a smirk tugs at Rayne’s perfectly sculpted lips. Where does this guy get off looking like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine when he comes to do community service with underprivileged children?
I drop the bat at the door of the office and force one foot in front of the other. The air around Rayne is thick as I close the distance, trying my best not to look as on edge as I feel.
“It’s nice to meet you, Emerson.” The sound of my name on his lips should be a criminal offense it sounds so damn sinful. Rayne’s voice is deep but velvet in a way that seems almost familiar. His hand juts out in front of him and I drag my eyes from his, down the wall of muscle I can make out even through his perfectly tailored suit, and to his outstretched hand.
2
Rayne
The smirk tugging at my lips is almost impossible to smother, but I do my best to train my face into a polite smile. Emerson, or Em as her father called her, is eye fucking me six ways from Sunday. Her vibrant green eyes drag slowly down my body, as if undressing me with her eyes before falling on my outstretched hand.
I’ve been too busy finding her reaction to me amusing that I’ve barely taken the time to take her in. She’s fucking stunning. Not like those Page Six girls Storm is always seen with, but authentically gorgeous.
It’s been a long time since a woman has reacted this way to me, speechless and shy, and my cock seems to like the show she’s putting on for me.
I’m used to women falling over themselves, and others, to get to me, but I can’t remember the last time I saw this shade of pink on a woman’s cheeks, and it sets something off inside me that I don’t recognize. Something that has been dormant for as long as I can remember, maybe even my entire life.
I can’t put my finger on what is so different about this woman, but at least she’ll make the community service Wynter is making me do a little more interesting. Not that I begrudge giving back, because I absolutely don’t. Frost Industries gives millions of dollars to charity every year. We didn’t come from money. Our parents were hustling every day when we were kids to build the empire we have today.
