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His hand grips me tenderly just above my elbow, drawing my attention to his face. “Stop it,” he commands me, his voice deep and jarring as I nearly stumble backward, his grip on my arm keeping me upright.
Somehow I’m closer to him, nearly pressed against his chest and staring up at him. Did he pull me closer?
“You are not a loser or a fuck-up or an idiot, do you understand me?” He seems almost angry, and if his words weren’t so complimentary, I’d be frightened.
“Okay,” I mutter.
“I’m sorry he made you feel that way.”
“It’s okay,” I reply. The neurons in my brain have stopped firing as I’m overwhelmed by his nearness. His breath is on my face, warm and masculine, and if I were any other woman, I’d want him to kiss me. I think he would.
But I’m not any other woman, I’m Charlie. Too naive. Too clumsy and immature and insignificant.
“And I’m sorry for reprimanding you today at the club. Garrett and Drake were out of line. That wasn’t your fault.”
What happened to Mr. Bossy Asshole? He was easier to deal with than Mr. Compliments and Apologies. I’m not sure how to respond to this, so I back away, pulling my arm from his grasp. “I understand. Yes. Thank you,” I stammer.
“If Beau wants his money, he can come get it himself,” Emerson adds with a bite to each syllable as he marches into the house. I follow after him, feeling a little shaken.
Somewhere between the garage and the kitchen, where Emerson shows me the coffee maker and the water and where I can find everything I need, I think about my own father.
Emerson probably hasn’t spoken to Beau in four months. I haven’t spoken to mine in almost five times as long. He doesn’t call or text or hire my exes to try and get me back. He’s never forcibly made me accept that I wasn’t a screwup.
And later, as I’m filing paperwork, I let my gaze linger on Emerson as he works. And I wonder what he sees when he looks at me. Does he really see a girl young enough to be his daughter?
Then I mentally try on what it would feel like to have a man like Emerson Grant look at me as a woman good enough for him. Warmth floods my lower belly as I think about him in that way, to behiswoman. To feel his hands on my body, his lips on my skin. To walk into a building on his arm and know that no matter who is in that building,Iam the most important one tohim.And everything shifts in my brain from seeing him as a father to seeing him as a man.
* * *
After work, I’m pulling up to the curb next to a blue-haired teenager who is so engrossed in her book, she doesn’t even see me coming.
“Get in, punk.”
My sister turns, her blue hair flying in her face from the harsh winter breeze as she walks home from school. I usually start work around this time and can never pick her up, so it’s nice to be able to surprise her during her mile-long hike.
After climbing in, she looks at my outfit and laughs. “You look like a hooker.”
“Thanks. You look like a Smurf.”
“Thanks. How was your first day at your new job?” she asks, as I pull away from the curb and head toward the shopping plaza on the opposite side of town.
“It was…interesting.” I’m not really planning on sharingallthe gritty details of my new job with my fourteen-year-old sister. She may be wise for her years, but she’s not ready for all ofthat. I have also decided not to disclose the fact that I’m working for Beau’s dad. She was never much a fan of Junior and wouldn’t be too keen on me working with Senior.
“Wait, where are we going?” she asks when I miss the turn for our house.
“Didn’t that new anime comic come out today?”
Her eyes light up. “It’s called manga, and yes, it did…but they probably sold out already.”
“Well, it’s worth a shot.”
As we pull up to the strip mall with Sophie’s favorite comic book store, I suddenly wish I had gone home first to change. There’s a gaggle of teen boys, all clearly in the throes of puberty, huddled outside. You can tell by the acne, ill-fitting clothes, greasy hair, and metal-filled smiles.
Oh well.It’s for Sophie, I think as we climb out of the car. She side-eyes me as we walk up to the shop, my heels clicking against the oily, cracked concrete of the parking lot.
“Geez,” she mutters under her breath.
I can literally feel their eyes as we pass. Inside the shop, there’s a lot of chatter, the excitement from the new release today clearly filling the empty spaces. A group of giggly girls with K-pop T-shirts and Hello Kitty backpacks browse the back wall as Sophie heads toward the empty endcap where the new book should be.
