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As my eyes roam her deliciously cool, pale and curvy body, I find myself wishing she'd take advantage of a certain situation. Unless things with her have changed that drastically – and I'm pretty sure they haven't – that's something that will remain a pipe dream.
I wave her off. “It's not a big deal. Life's short,” I tell her. “You need to learn to relax and enjoy yourself a bit, Emily.”
She lets out a chuffing sound. “Easy to say when you're worth billions. It's not quite as easy for us common folk who get stuck flying coach,” she retorts.
I sit back in my seat and immediately feel like an asshole. I sometimes forget the privileged life my wealth allows me to lead. I also forget that Emily also used to have a pretty comfortable life of privilege. Not that she ever lorded it over anybody, but it's a life she doesn't have anymore. Something happened that stripped her of that life, and I know if I want answers – and I do – I'll have to be direct.
There's no guarantee she'll answer me, though. Emily always plays things very close to the chest. She's never been a woman who speaks freely, even back in college. Getting her to reveal anything about her personal life is like pulling teeth. With the level of comfort growing between us, she's let a few things out, but very minor, superficial things. Getting anything deeper is going to be more difficult.
Good thing I'm stubborn. She knows that more than anyone.
“What happened, Emily? Why did you leave law school, and how did you end up working for me?” I start. “Back at Rodham –”
“I don't think that's an appropriate topic of discussion.”
“Maybe not. But I'm curious,” I press. “I mean, don't get me wrong, I love having you at Frontline. You're doing a tremendous job. In the short time you've been here, I've already learned to value and rely on the job you do...”
I let my voice trail off when I see a look of pure pain in her eyes. She's angry as well, but the overriding thing I can see in her face is hurt – which is remarkable, since she's not given to displays of emotion. At least, not around me. But the fact that her mask has slipped that far tells me just how deep the wound goes.
“But?” she asks when she's gotten herself back under control. “There's always a but.”
A wry grin crosses my face. “But it makes me wonder why you're at Frontline to begin with. I mean, I always believed you were meant for better things,” I admit. “What happened, Emily? Not that I think the position you occupy is unimportant, but to be honest, it's beneath you. It's beneath your intelligence and your skill set.”
Her bark of laughter is bitter. “That thought has also crossed my mind once or twice.”
“Then why?”
She sighs and looks down at the table, picking at her napkin. “Because sometimes life doesn't work out the way it's supposed to. Or at least, the way you think it's going to.”
“Part of me always thought you left school after what happened with MarthMartha –”
She shakes her head, cutting me off. “That's a bit narcissistic and egocentric, don't you think?”
I shrug. “What else was I supposed to think?” I counter. “All of that shit goes down, and then I’m out of the country, and suddenly I'm left with – what? You wouldn't return my calls, you cut off all contact, I had no idea where you lived at the time, so it wasn't like I could hop a plane to come searching for answers even if I'd wanted to –”
“Because showing up at my house out of the blue like that wouldn't have been creepy or anything.”
The faint smile upon her lips tells me she's trying to keep things light, but I'm not having it. I've never admitted it to anybody, but the fact that she broke it off with me the way she did – just hurt. It hurt a lot.
I'm not sentimental and not predisposed to opening myself up to anybody to begin with. But I did with Emily, and she practically threw me out – yeah, that stung deep. I won’t lie. And obviously, that sting is still with me to this very day.
“Since you left without ever asking for my side of the story, I just thought you should know that MarthaMartha lied,” I tell her. “What she told you happened never did.”
“That had nothing to do with it, Aaron.”
“Okay, so if that whole situation had nothing to do with why you left, then what was it, Emily?”
When she looks up at me, her eyes are filled with even more hurt. More than that, they're filled with anger.
“I cut it off with you because you didn’t care about me. I know you thought you did, but clearly you didn’t. My mother died while we were together, Aaron. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. You just went off, traveling the world, trying to ‘find yourself’ while I was hurting. You abandoned me.”
I’m shocked. I’d had no idea. Did she try to tell me this before I left? I suddenly feel an overwhelming rush of regret. I remember, in the final days of our relationship, she had been sad. That stuck out to me like a sore thumb. But I’d had no idea why.
“I –" I begin, but she interrupts me.
“But you know what? It was fine. I picked my life back up and I finished college. I even got to travel a little bit, too. And then after my first year of law school, my dad – died,” she practically spits the word, her eyes flashing with rage. “And when he did, I was all alone, and there was no more money for school. I had no choice but to come back here and look for work. Happy now? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be alone like that?”
The way she said that – the way he died – is filled with so much heat that I get the feeling there's more to the story. Her father can’t have simply passed away of a heart attack or some other natural cause. And the anger I hear in her voice tells me he wasn't a victim of a crime or an unfortunate accident. Which, in my mind, leaves just one option. He took his own life. Her anger is completely understandable and justified.
