Ruthless In A Suit(72)

The point is, the pressure is mounting.

And then there’s Emily.

The brunch with her family was not successful. I keep thinking back on it to see where I went wrong. I don’t like being cornered and questioned, and I don’t like to bullshit people by saying the things just because it’s what they want to hear. That left me (smugly?) reminding her family that I benefit greatly by living in a capitalistic society. Normally I wouldn't care about speaking the truth like that, but it upset Emily, and that hurts me more than knowing I pissed off her family.

I want to make up for yesterday, and maybe for my distance at dinner tonight. I have a lot on my mind but I shouldn’t take it out on Emily. I shouldn’t ignore her. She’s the only thing good in my life—my one true bright spot.

When we arrive at my place, all I want to do is wipe my mind clean of the last two days. I want to gather Emily up in my arms and hold her close all night long. More importantly, I want to be honest about what I’ve been feeling—and what’s happened with work and my father. She deserves to know—especially now that I realize how deep my feelings for her are.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask Emily. We walked into the kitchen, and I put my briefcase on the counter. “Water? Cocktail? Wine?”

“I could use a drink,” she says. “Surprise me with something. I’m going to head to the ladies’ room.”

I watch her walk away, the way her hair hangs down her back and her hips sway. She turns back to look at me, and smiles. My heart almost cracks, that smile is so beautiful.

I need to enjoy the night so I open my laptop right there in the kitchen and check the emails one more time, making sure there’s been no more traffic from my brothers and the lawyer. Nothing new. With Rex three hours behind in L.A., I’m sure he’ll have more to add as his evening goes on. I’m glad to be done with it for now.

I make two vodkas with soda and pomegranate juice with a splash of lime. I carry them into the living room, a space I actually use to watch games on Sundays or let movies play while I stretch out on the couch with my laptop and do some work. I’m thinking about what I’m going to say to Emily because at this point I’ve left too much unsaid. If only I knew which words to say to her. Thank god for the vodka.

“There you are,” her sweet voice says, finding me in the living room. She curls up next to me on the couch, her body fitting so perfectly against mine. She picks up her glass from the oversized ottoman in front of the couch. “Cheers,” she says, clinking her glass to mine. I watch as her lips touch the cold glass, the liquid pouring over her tongue. “Dang. You’re even a good bartender. What can’t you do?”

My feelings for Emily are deeper than anything I’ve ever felt with a woman. They’re real and deep and totally fucking complicated because of my family. How can I ask her to be a part of such an ugly world, where siblings actually despise each other? Her family loves her, wants the best for her with no strings attached. If I did what I wanted to do—and what I want to do I can hardly admit to myself—and married this woman, what kind of life would I be bringing her into? Her mother is right—I can’t give her what she needs. She deserves someone better, who can be there for her at all times, not when my schedule allows.

“Come here,” I say. She moves close, facing me. I rest my forehead against hers. “My mind is tangled,” I say. I run my fingers along the smooth lines of her jaw.

Emily touches my chest, her hand gently rubbing right over my heart. “I know,” she says. “But it’s okay. I feel tangled too.”

“I’ve never felt this way before, Emily.”

“Neither have I,” she says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper. “It’s a little scary, isn’t it?”

I can’t admit that out loud so I nod into her, our foreheads still together as if our thoughts are melding into each other, words not necessary.

Her lips look as plump and kissable as ever. I run my thumb over her bottom lip, so pliable under my touch.

“I’m sorry about my family,” she says.

“Don’t be,” I say, concentrating on her lips as she forms the words.

“They’re just protective. They mean well.”

“I know.” I gently kiss her, my fingers caressing her cheeks.

“If you ever want to talk about your family, I’m here,” she continues, her voice as soft on her skin. I continue my kisses down on her neck. “You can tell me anything, Jackson.”

I pull back and look at her. “I know.”

And I do—I can tell her anything. I can tell her that I am in love with her, because I am. I can tell her that she makes me crazy happy, because it’s true. I can tell her that I want to marry her and that I want to be with her always. Forever.