12
Emma
Emma hadn’t known where she was going when she left her apartment, only that she needed to get out of her father’s cold white prison. Her fight with Will hadn’t helped her mood at all. She sobbed in the back seat of the yellow cab, feeling even more adrift than ever.
The cab driver didn’t appreciate her indecisiveness and after changing her mind three times about her destination, he rudely told her to get out in Brooklyn. Emma wandered from cafés to boutiques missing the days of having her own driver. Her feet were cold and wet. Louboutin boots were fashionable as hell, but definitely not designed to trudge through the slushy winter sidewalks of Brooklyn.
She eventually took a cab back to Midtown and spent the rest of the day wandering the garment district, stopping at her favorite fashion houses. But shopping without her old Manhattan budget wasn’t much fun. Even if Emma had managed to swipe her father’s black card, she had a feeling it wouldn’t fix the hollow ache in her chest. So she went to church. The church of fashion that is—Mood Fabrics.
Mood was a fashion designer’s heaven on earth. A maze of rainbows and glitter, with rows upon rows of luxurious fabric bolts stacked to the ceiling, and an accessory section that sparkled brighter than the Crown Jewels. Emma used to spend hours lost among the aisles dreaming of the day she’d be in design school at Parsons and shopping here for real. She always left feeling inspired. But today, even Mood couldn’t make her smile.
She knew if she still felt dismal after spending the day in New York’s fashion mecca that it was a lost cause. Out of options, Emma hailed a cab and headed home—if that’s even what she could call her father’s new ice palace.
Emma checked her phone from the back seat of the cab. The screen was blowing up with notifications. Apparently word that she was back in town had spread through the St. James social-sphere. Everyone was asking if she was coming to Cranston’s party tonight. Even before her run in with Will this morning, she’d decided she wasn’t going. The pictures of Will and Liz still seared her heart. And Emma had no intention of witnessing their affection first hand.
She swiped to another screen on her phone. She had two missed calls from her mother. Emma sighed and decided to call her back. Her mother answered on the first ring.
“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”
“Hi, Mom. I’m fine.”
“Really? You don’t sound fine. Are things going well with your father?”
Emma’s throat felt tight with tears. Things were definitely not going well, but Emma couldn’t tell her mother that. How could she tell her that her father was marrying Tara, the woman that ruined their marriage, because she’s pregnant? Or that his new apartment only has one extra bedroom, which belongs to the home wrecker’s son, because Emma’s own father forgot she was coming for Christmas? But more than anything, how could Emma tell her mother she just wanted to come back to Boston, because New York wasn’t home anymore?
“Everything’s fine, Mom. It’s just weird being back in New York.”
“Are you going to get to see any of your old friends?” her mother asked.
“Probably not.”
“What about Kensie?”
“No. Her family’s still in France.”
“Oh I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know you miss her. What about Will? You guys used to be so close. Do you have any plans to meet up with him?”
Emma swallowed hard. “I already did.”
“Oh that’s great, sweetie. How is he?”
“The same.”
“Emma, are you sure everything’s okay?”
“Everything’s fine, Mom.”
“So tell me, what else is new?”
“Nothing much,” Emma replied.
“Oh come on, Emma. You’ve gotta tell me something. What’s your father’s new apartment like?”
“White.”
“White?”
Emma could practically here her mother’s eyebrows arching in surprise and it made her smile and miss her even more. “Yeah. As in everything is white.”
Her mother giggled. “Well that’s something.”
“And he got a dog.”
Her mother gasped and Emma loved her for it. “No! He said he’d never get a dog.”
“He said he’d never do a lot of things,” Emma grumbled. “Like leave us.”
“Emma, sweetheart. You know your father didn’t leave you. The problems in our marriage were between us. And no matter what happens, your father still loves you very much. I know the divorce put you in the middle, and I’m sorry for that, sweetheart.”
“I love you, Mom.”
“Oh, baby, I love you too. So much. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yeah. I think it’s just different than I was expecting.”
“Emma, I know this is a big change, but give it a chance.”
“I will.”
“And you know you can come home anytime you want, right? No one is forcing you to spend Christmas with your father. The last thing I want is for this to be any harder on you than it is already.”
“Thanks, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
13
Will
The sun was starting to set by the time Cranston decided to grace his hotel suite with his presence. He waltzed in in true Parker Cranston style, with a bottle of obscenely expensive booze and a girl on each arm.
He greeted Will and the half dozen other guys from St. James that had already gathered at his place with a wry smile. “Gentleman, let the festivities begin.”
“I’m afraid we started without ya,” Vaughn Bettencourt replied, holding up a bong.
“Well, then I’d better catch up.” Cranston turned to the women accompanying him. “Ladies, go ahead and get started.”
“Are they the models?” Mason Spaulding asked, taking his eyes off the video game he was playing.
“Chill, Mason.” Cranston smirked. “The models are arriving with the martinis.”
“I thought the theme was mistletoe and martinis?” Will asked.
Cranston grinned. “I thought it was missing that something special.”
“Yeah, models!” Mason said, high-fiving Vaughn.
“Martinis, mistletoe and models,” Will mused. “It has a nice ring to it.”
Cranston winked. “My sentiments exactly.”
Will laughed and drained the last of his scotch, before pouring himself another. It had lightened his mood substantially.
Cranston poured himself a drink and joined Will on the couch. “What’s the occasion?” he asked nodding to Will’s glass.
Will rarely drank, and when he did, it was usually beer. He found himself surprised that Cranston knew him so well. But Will was going to need more than a few glasses of scotch before he’d ever admit he was nursing a broken heart in front of Cranston and half the guys on his lacrosse team.
“Emma’s not coming,” Mason added in a mocking tone.
Will chucked a pillow at Mason’s head. “Shut up.”
Cranston raised an eyebrow. “Emma who?”
Will sighed. “Emma Rhodes.”
“She’s back?”
Will nodded. “For Christmas break.”
“And let me guess, she was so much fun at the winter formal last year you asked her for a repeat performance?” Cranston teased.
Will shook his head. “Ya know, you guys are kinda the worst?”
“Accurate,” Cranston crooned. “But relax, I’ll let you have first dibs on the models.”
“Models aren’t going to fix this problem,” Will replied.
Cranston smirked. “I haven’t found too many problems models can’t fix. Well . . . models and money.”
The guys laughed and ribbed Will a bit more. Luckily one of the hotel staff pulled Cranston away with a question, and everyone else went back to their video game. Will snuck away to the balcony, letting the cold New York air bite his skin. He glanced at his phone, his finger hovering above Emma’s name.
He wanted to text her, but the idea of going round two wasn’t appealing. Instead, he scrolled down his contacts to another name and tapped out a message.
Will: Hey. Are you coming tonight?
Liz: That depends. Will you be there?
Will: I’m already here.
Liz: Then I’m as good as there.
Will: Good. We need to talk.
Liz: Looking forward to it.
14
Emma
Emma felt worse after talking to her mother. She hated keeping things from her. They’d always been so close. And before the divorce, they told each other everything. But the scandal of her father’s affair had changed things. It happened right around the same time that Will broke Emma’s heart. Emma had wanted to talk to her mother about it, but she was either crying or raging over her father’s betrayal. There just never seemed like a good time for Emma to tell her mother about her own boy trouble.
She tried to deal with her complicated feelings for Will on her own, but managed to royally screw things up. Not only had she lost the possibility of dating him, but she’d also lost his friendship. And Emma didn’t know what hurt worse.
That had been the worst year of her life. And even though Boston wasn’t where she wanted to be, Emma thought she was putting her life back together. Her mother had a great job, they’d settled into their new home and Emma was looking forward to applying to fashion schools. In a few short months, her life would start again. This trip to Manhattan was meant to help her make her decision between pursuing her college aspirations in New York or Boston. And so far, New York had shown her the cold shoulder.
Emma had never felt like such an outsider before. She’d been so excited to return home and spend the holiday with her father. She’d done her best to put a positive spin on her parents’ divorce lately. Telling herself she’d get to be one of those kids who got two of everything. Two birthdays, two Christmases, two graduation parties. And it would great, because she’d get the undivided attention of her father at each—something she never had before because he worked too much.
She’d been sure this trip home would be the start of something great—that her father would want to spend time with her now that he got to see her so rarely. God, she was stupid. Her father might have divorced her mother, but Emma certainly felt like she’d been cut out of his life just the same.
The chime of a text message interrupted Emma’s pity party. She looked at her phone to see a message from Marcy Foy lighting up her screen. Why was Marcy texting her? They weren’t even friends when they were classmates. And according to Will, Marcy was only concerned about beating out Liz for ruling monarch at St. James. Did she really think Emma was going to help her?
Marcy: Hey bitch, heard you’re back in town. Going to Cranston’s tonight?
Emma: I’m just here for xmas. I’m not going to Cranston’s.
Marcy: You have to come. Who else is gonna get drunk and make fun of Liz Slander-smear with me?
Emma laughed. The offer was enticing. An old quote floated back to her mind. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’ Emma couldn’t remember where it came from, but she finally felt like she understood it. Having someone loathe Liz as much as Emma did was suddenly comforting.
Emma: Enticing. But I’m spending time with family.
Marcy: Oh come on. We can use my father’s app to give her a bad nose job.
Marcy’s father was the plastic surgeon in Manhattan. Everyone on the Upper East Side went to him. It was rumored that he let Marcy have a nose job in fifth grade, and then boobs in eighth. He also developed an app called Snip that let you try out different plastic surgery options. Of course Marcy and her friends used it to edit photos and give their fr-enemies big noses or double chins.
Emma: Sorry. Maybe next time.
Marcy: Well, if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be. Enjoy family time.
Family time. What a joke. Tara and Colin were not family. All Emma wanted was to spend time with her father, but she’d only seen him for a total of twenty minutes in the two days she’d been in New York. Her mother’s words echoed in Emma’s mind. No matter what happens, your father still loves you very much. Maybe Emma could ask to spend some time together, just the two of them. That is if she ever got two seconds alone with him.
Emma was feeling sorry for herself when she walked into her father’s apartment. And it didn’t help that she nearly ran into Tara in the foyer. She looked impeccable in a new designer dress that Emma had coveted while window-shopping. The jade fabric hugged Tara in all the right places, highlighting the slightest hint of a baby bump.
“Emma, honey. I’m so glad I caught you,” Tara chirped. “I’m on my way out to meet your father. Colin’s in his room. Would you mind ordering some dinner for him a little later? And order yourself anything you’d like as well.”
Tara slipped two crisp hundred-dollar bills from her red Gucci clutch and tried handing them to Emma, but she took a step back.
“No. I’m not your babysitter, Tara. And since I know you’re only marrying my father for his money, why don’t you use some of it to hire some help.”
Tara’s eyes were wide and she seemed to struggle to find words as she gawked at Emma.
“Forget it,” Emma grumbled, turning on her heels and exiting the apartment while Tara’s shocked face stared after her.
Emma stormed down the hall. She hadn’t planned to go to Cranston’s stupid party, but right now it was the best offer she had. She pulled out her phone and typed out a quick message.
Emma: You were right. I need a drink. See you at Cranston’s.
Marcy: I’m always right.
15
Will
Liz was late as usual. And when she arrived, Will wasted no time cornering her.
“Hey, we need to talk.”
“Hey, handsome. I’m happy to see you, too,” she crooned, trying to plant a kiss on his lips.
Will turned his face and gave her his cheek instead. Liz was with her usual crew of drama queens, Isabelle Spence and Paris Dillon. The last thing Will needed was those gossip girls blowing his conversation with Liz out of proportion and posting it all over social media. Last year they’d slut shamed a freshman girl for sleeping with Cranston to the point that she dropped out of St. James. It was total crap. Sleeping with Cranston was practically a badge of honor for girls at St. James. But apparently Paris had a thing for him so the poor freshman got the hazing of her life when they posted a video of her and Cranston getting it on.
That type of bullshit was the precise reason Will didn’t have any form of social media. He knew it didn’t stop the drama from happening, but it could at least keep him from getting dragged into it by not giving himself the option to participate.
Will grabbed Liz’s hand and started leading her away from her friends and their prying ears.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice flirty as ever.
“To talk.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere but here.”
“Aren’t you the man of mystery?”
Will could hear Isabelle and Paris giggling in the hall as he pulled Liz into one of the hotel suite’s many bedrooms and shut the door. But when he turned to face Liz, he knew instantly it’d been a mistake to bring her into a bedroom.
Emma
Walking into Cranston’s party made Emma feel like she’d never left New York. It seemed some things had stayed the same. Like the fact that Parker Cranston threw the best illicit parties in Manhattan. The festivities were in full swing and Cranston had outdone himself. The penthouse suite of his father’s swanky hotel had been transformed into a glittering wonderland of red and green, complete with DJ, strobe lights, mirrored dance floor and more mistletoe than Emma had ever seen before. The entire ceiling was draped with it.
Emma handed her coat and purse to the coat check girl, who was dressed as a very naughty elf, then scanned the party for Marcy. It was impossible to pick anyone out of the crowd. The on
ly people that stuck out were the scantily clad cocktail waitresses wearing Santa hats and not much else. As Emma watched them carrying trays of decadent-looking martinis through the throngs of party goers, a shiver of déjà vu swept through her. Suddenly, it was junior year all over again and she was staring into a sea of familiar St. James faces, but only searching for one—Will.
Coming here had been a mistake. Emma retreated to the coat check and handed her ticket over. If she could retrieve her things quickly, she could disappear before anyone noticed her. Emma tapped her heel impatiently, while the naughty elf went in search of her things. What the hell was taking her so long?
Finally the girl returned and Emma thanked her, draping her purse and jacket over her arm in a hurry. She breathed a sigh of relief that no one had spotted her and spun on her heel ready to flee from the party. But then disaster struck—in the form of Parker Cranston. Emma slammed into his chest and nearly fell on her ass as a result. Cranston grinned at her, not even offering a hand to steady her. She dropped her purse, but managed to stay upright. He spoke as she bent to pick it up.
“Emma Rhodes. So nice of you to grace us with your presence,” Cranston drawled in his usual smarmy manner.
“Hey, Cranston.”
“You weren’t going to leave without saying hello, were you?” he asked, nodding to her jacket. “Although I hear that’s your MO.”
“No, I-I was just cold,” Emma stuttered.
Cranston raised a well-manicured finger lazily into the air and a cocktail waitress appeared at his side. He pulled two bright red martinis off the tray and handed one to Emma. “This will keep the chill away.”
The Boyfriend Series Box Set (Books 1-6): YA Contemporary Romance Novels Page 65
