by Fiona Riley
“Up front of what?” Hayley adjusted the strap of her bag and made every attempt to maintain eye contact with Emerson while her stage of undress continued to change—the tank top appeared to be up higher now.
Emerson raised her arms at the gentle nudging of the seamstress, clasping her hands behind her head and leaning back slightly. Hayley didn’t miss how the loose pants along her hips slid down with the motion.
“I need you to write an article. There will be frustrating delays. I just wanted to warn you,” Emerson replied. Her tone was sincere, her voice calm.
Oh, right. She had asked a question. “An article about what?”
The seamstress whispered something to Emerson. She nodded and pulled her tank top off completely while slowly stepping out of the pants that barely encased her hips. She returned her hands to their clasped position behind her head, standing only in matching black lace underwear as she playfully rolled her eyes at Hayley. “About me. The naked truth, so to speak.”
Hayley knew she was blushing. Astronauts in space could see she was blushing. She might spontaneously combust. It was that serious. Emerson Sterling was just about naked in front of her, standing in an oddly suggestive position, asking her to write about her naked truth. Naked. Also, truth. Right, truth. She was there for the truth. You can do this. Get it together, Hayley.
She arched her eyebrow and asked, “Will all our meetings end with one of us scantily clad, or is this just how you welcome new people into your inner circle?”
Emerson laughed, putting one foot forward as the seamstress took measurements along her toned leg. “No one said I was welcoming you into my inner circle, Ms. Carpenter.”
“Hayley.”
Emerson nodded. “And the answer to your other question is—I guess we’ll just wait and see.”
* * *
“Here’s some coffee. She’s waiting for you on the balcony,” Tremont said as he handed her a cup and pointed toward the second-floor terrace of the home Emerson was renting near the movie studio. “I have to run an errand. Call me if you need anything.”
Hayley followed behind him, making a mental note that although he was still rigid with their interactions, the iciness of the first day seemed to have thawed a little. This was her third meeting with Emerson in the past week. Once the legal department at the Sun had gone over all the paperwork and had her sign a bunch of things, she was given a loose schedule of dates and times. Today was the first day she would have more than an hour of Emerson’s time, and it was time that according to the schedule would be exclusively their own. No fittings, no meetings, no phone calls. The lack of distractions made her a little nervous.
Emerson was reclining in a lounge chair when Hayley found her on the balcony. She was dressed casually, her ankles crossed in front of her. Her hair was pulled up today in a sloppy and yet annoyingly perfect twisted updo. She looked cute. Almost like any other attractive LA person, save for the fact that Hayley knew behind the large dark sunglasses were those amazingly expressive eyes she’d been dreaming about all day and night since they’d crossed paths at that awards ceremony.
Emerson was reading over a thick bound sheaf of paper that Hayley noticed had intermittent highlighted passages. She didn’t look up when Hayley sat down at the lounger next to her, only waving her fingers briefly to acknowledge her presence. After about ten minutes she put the bound papers down and surveyed Hayley.
“He likes you, you know,” she said.
“Who does?”
“Tremont,” Emerson replied simply.
“Why do you say that? I get the distinct impression he hates me.” Hayley pulled out her tablet and began loading a blank document to take notes.
Emerson pushed her dark glasses up into her hair and smiled. “He’s bringing you coffee.”
“I’ve just been assuming that he’s tampering with it in some way”—Hayley shrugged and typed in her password—“and I’ve only been polite in taking it from him. I haven’t actually been drinking it.”
Emerson sat up and swung her legs around so that she was facing Hayley. “Give me your cup.”
Hayley leaned forward and hesitantly obliged the strange request.
Emerson brought the cup to her lips and sipped it. “Nope, no poison, bleach, or salt. But it’s pretty heavy on the cream, is that how you like it?”
Hayley took back the cup and looked at the lipstick mark on the rim. “How do you know? And yes, I like a lot of cream in my coffee.”
“There was a time when Tremont used to intentionally ruin my beverages as payback for what he called Bitch Breakdowns. I got pretty adept at identifying foreign substances in my drinks.” She leaned back and reclined on the lounger again, her gaze out at the view in front of them.
Hayley’s brow furrowed at the comment as she turned the mug and drank from the clean side, sighing happily at the robust flavor. She typed into the tablet for a moment and looked up again. “So, how do you take your coffee?”
“You have unrestricted access to ask me anything you choose, with no chaperone to limit or accost you, and that’s your first question?” Emerson looked amused.
“It feels like a good place to start. We’re having coffee together, aren’t we?”
A slight smile settled on Emerson’s full lips. Hayley tried not to stare. “I don’t drink coffee. It makes me jumpy.”
“What’s in the mug then?” Hayley motioned to the cup by Emerson’s side.
“Vodka.”
Hayley’s fingers stopped typing. “Seriously?”
“No.” Emerson’s eyes twinkled, and Hayley’s heart skipped a beat. She liked playful Emerson.
Hayley shook her head and laughed, returning her fingers to the keyboard.
“What are you typing?” Emerson looked at her curiously as she sipped the unknown contents of her mug.
“Just little notes so that I remember what we talk about,” she said. Emerson’s camp had expressly requested that no audio or video would be used during the article writing process. Hayley could take as many notes as she’d like, but that was it.
“Can I see?” Emerson reached her hand out and waited.
“Uh”—Hayley glanced down at the blinking cursor in front of her and frowned—“I’m not sure that’s how this is supposed to work.”
Undeterred, Emerson extended her hand another inch in Hayley’s direction.
“Okay, but only if you promise not to laugh,” she said before relinquishing the tablet.
Emerson paused before looking at it. “I can’t make that promise.”
“Hey!”
Emerson replied with a smile, “You should learn to get confirmation on your conditions before you give up your power, Hayley.”
Hayley leaned back into the chair. “Who told you that?”
“My grandmother,” Emerson replied as she skimmed the tablet screen. She raised her eyebrow and pursed her lips. “Hayley, the only thing on the screen is a grocery list.”
Hayley smiled. “If your grandmother is anything like mine, then she also told you not to show your hand to your opponent.”
Emerson seemed to consider this. “Do you think of me as your opponent, Hayley?”
Hayley shrugged. “Not exactly. But I think you have a lot more to gain than I do in this relationship, so I’m being cautious.”
“Ooh, we’re in a relationship, are we? Do tell, what does that entail?” Emerson’s lips curved up slightly and Hayley warmed a bit.
Hayley narrowed her eyes at the playful grin on Emerson’s lips. “Emerson, this is only going to work if you are open and honest with me. I promise to be candid in my interpretation of our time together, but I can only work with what you give me.”
Emerson watched her for a moment. She maintained eye contact while her fingers moved quickly along the keys of Hayley’s tablet keyboard. “What’s it like having a brother?”
“What?” Hayley watched Emerson’s fingers continue their uninterrupted dance along her keys as those intense blue-green
eyes trapped her again.
“A brother. What’s it like?” Emerson repeated.
“It’s…fine. I don’t know, I’ve never known anything else. What’s it like having a sister?” Hayley considered the information she knew about Emerson. She was the youngest of two. She and her older sister were raised by a single mother in California. They moved around quite a bit, but it appeared as though she’d spent her childhood in and around LA. Her sister was quite a few years older, but they looked very much alike. Save for the fact that her sister had dark brown eyes and Emerson’s were that magical turquoise color. But both women were clearly blessed in the looks department, that was obvious.
“Lots of hair braiding and being a guinea pig for makeup disasters. I was never bored,” Emerson said.
Hayley nodded. “Do you—”
“Tell me about your summer vacations in Maine,” Emerson interrupted.
“My grandmother had a cottage on a lake. I spent my summers there…it was the best part of my childhood,” Hayley answered without hesitation. That was true. Maine was a big part of who she was. She felt as if she’d found her peace and true self during those Maine summers. It was the most comfortable she’d ever felt in her own skin. “Wait, who told you about Maine?”
Emerson ignored her question. “Did you have cats or dogs growing up?”
“Two cats, a brother and sister,” Hayley answered, unsure of why that mattered.
Emerson continued typing, her eyes never leaving Hayley’s face. “What’s your favorite color?”
“Purple. Aren’t I supposed to be asking you questions?”
Again, she was ignored. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.” Hayley settled back into her chair and let the irony of the situation wash over her. This was the first time in any of her interactions with Emerson that she felt like she had Emerson’s full attention. And somehow, she was the one in the hot seat.
“What’s your sign?” Emerson’s eye contact never waivered, which was both thrilling and intimidating. Hayley wasn’t sure which feeling was stronger.
“Libra,” she answered.
“Did you play softball in high school?”
“No.” That was sort of true. Kinda. The question was complicated, but she got the impression from the speed with which Emerson was firing the questions at her that the answers she wanted should be short and succinct, not drawn out and boring.
“How old were you when you lost your virginity?” Emerson’s expression remained unchanged, but the tone of her questioning appeared to have shifted.
“S-sixteen.” Hayley stuttered through her answer, unsure of why she’d responded at all. This line of questioning had moved into a level of personal that she wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Yet she couldn’t look away from Emerson either. It was like she had her under some kind of spell.
Emerson raised an eyebrow as she asked, “When did you first realize you were interested in women?”
“I never said I was.” Hayley was too shocked by the bluntness of the question to stop her automatic responses. The spell continued, it seemed.
“Why do you work for the Hollywood Sun?” Emerson’s questioning pace increased.
“I’m a writer,” Hayley replied.
“Is that what you think your Yale degree says about you? Or is that how you feel when you wake up in the morning?” Emerson blinked.
“Hey—” Hayley attempted to argue but was waved off again.
“What possessed you to pair that shirt with those pants today?”
Hayley snapped her mouth shut to stop from saying the angry comments that were mounting in her head.
Emerson’s blank expression changed into something darker as she fired off more questions without giving Hayley the chance to respond. “Why did you stay back in kindergarten? How do you still have your license after three citations for speeding in the last eleven months? Why didn’t you go to your senior prom? How long have you been exclusively dating women? Did you find it odd that I contacted you for this job considering you have no experience in this whatsoever? How many partners have you had? What makes you think you can hack it here in LA?”
“Emerson, I don’t know what it is you want from me.” Hayley crossed her arms and sat taller in her seat. She had no idea why their playful getting-to-know-you banter had suddenly changed, but the threatening glare Emerson was directing at her made her more angry than anxious. Hayley felt attacked and ambushed by the very specific and obviously researched questions being hurled at her in rapid-fire succession.
“I want you to answer me.” Emerson’s fingers halted on the keyboard. Her voice was low as she added, “Answer my questions or this ends here.”
“You can’t just demand me to answer shit that has nothing to do with this assignment,” Hayley scoffed, her anger bubbling over as she began to stand.
“Sit down.” Emerson’s voice was cold, but it didn’t compare to the iciness of her gaze. Hayley dropped back into her seat out of shock. What was wrong with this woman?
“Answer my questions, Hayley.” Emerson was clearly not going to budge on this. She had to decide to play along and give Emerson what she wanted or to stand up and walk out of here—and likely, her job. It was one or the other.
She took a deep breath and dived in. “I broke my arm and missed two months of kindergarten, so they held me back. My brother is a cop back home, so he called in a few favors to get me out of the tickets—I have a need for speed. I was suspended for a fight with another girl and not allowed to go to the prom even though she started it, but that’s another whole story entirely. I’ve been dating women since college. I have no idea why you want me here or what is going on in your head. I’ve had about eleven partners, maybe more? I never calculated a total, nor do I think that’s any of your fucking business, but…whatever. And as for hacking it in LA—I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Emerson resumed typing feverishly for a moment before she pushed the tablet off her lap and picked up her mug. She blinked once slowly. “Honey and warm water.”
Hayley was fuming. She felt like she had been shaken and dropped on her head by the sudden change in Emerson’s demeanor. “What are you talking about?”
Emerson nodded to her cup. “In my mug. I don’t drink coffee. But I start every morning with honey and warm water.”
Hayley looked at Emerson like she had ten heads. “What the hell was that?”
Emerson let out a tired sigh and looked at Hayley again. The intensity from before was present, but the darkness had retreated. “You were wrong before. I have more to lose than I have to gain from working with you. You may be cautious and feel like I’m an opponent, but you have all the power in this relationship. You’ve seen my hand. You know more about me than I will ever know about you because I have no privacy and everything that happens in my life—even the mundane way I take my morning beverage—is something for someone to write about and benefit from. So you’re wrong. I have more to lose than you do from this relationship. It’s a gamble for me to even try to make this work with you—or anyone, for that matter. But I’m going to try.”
She paused, her expression softening. “I just wanted you to know what it felt like to be under attack. For you to understand what it’s like to have your words twisted and misinterpreted and your actions second-guessed. Because for this to work”—she gestured between the two of them—“I need you to understand what you think you know isn’t all based in fact, and that’s why I need someone who is willing to really hear me out.”
Hayley’s head was swimming. She closed her eyes and considered everything Emerson said. Her heart was still thumping quickly in her chest, but her adrenaline was starting to slow as she realized she wasn’t in any real imminent danger. She paused for a second before opening her eyes and asking, “How did you know all that stuff about me?”
Emerson chuckled and reclined on the lounger again, her head turned to face Hayley. “I do my research on all projects I undertake. I like to be
prepared for everything. I don’t like surprises.”
Hayley nodded, her heart rate slowing a bit more. “Why did you pick me to do this, Emerson?”
Emerson’s expression became serious, but her voice was soft when she said, “Because you had the chance to exploit me when anyone else in your position would have, and you didn’t.”
Hayley thought back to that night and remembered her moral compass flashing red when Drake attempted to record the exchange between Emerson and Rachel. “It wouldn’t have been right. I couldn’t.”
Emerson nodded and sat up. She picked up Hayley’s tablet and handed it to her. “I’m going to trust you when you say that, Hayley, because my gut tells me you’re being honest, and even though everyone else may think I’m crazy, at the end of the day I have to be able to trust my intuition.”
Hayley took the tablet blindly and replied, “I’ll do my best, Emerson. That’s all I can promise you.”
“That’s all I ask.” Emerson smiled and adjusted her sunglasses over her eyes as she stood and stretched. “You’re a hell of a writer, Hayley.”
She tossed the bound stack of paper onto the chair next to Hayley and pointed to it before walking back inside. “I made some notes on my favorite parts—read them over before our next meeting. Tremont will give you the schedule.”
Hayley thumbed through the papers and noticed Emerson had assembled every article, story, blog entry, or essay that she had ever written. They were organized chronologically starting back from high school and ending with her tiny entertainment piece from the night she and Emerson first crossed paths. She noticed delicate slanting notes in the margins, and the highlighted portions she’d spied before.
Tremont clearing his throat drew her attention to his presence on the terrace. “Emerson has a meeting with her trainer now. I’ll show you out.”
Hayley just nodded, still unbelieving of what had transpired. She packed her bag and followed Tremont to the elevator, down through the lobby, to a car he had waiting for her.
“I’ll email you the schedule for this upcoming week,” he said.
