Rascal

by Katie McCoy

  Until tonight. Tonight it was going to get it’s moment to shine.

  I slipped it on, pairing it with some extremely sparkly and dramatic earrings and equally fun, sexy heels. The dress was tighter than I remembered, but it looked good. I looked good. I looked hot.

  Emerson rapped on the doorjamb as he came back into the apartment.

  “Got some champagne,” he said. “Are you ready to—”

  His sentence stopped practically mid-sentence. I turned to find him standing in my apartment, staring, his mouth hanging open.

  “Wow,” he said, his eyes wide. “You look— I mean, that dress is—” He shook his head as if he needed to clear his thoughts. “Fuck,” he finally settled on.

  I laughed. “Does that mean you like it?” I asked.

  “Like it?” he crossed the room, putting his hands on my hips, looking me over. “I fucking love it.” He kissed me, deeply. “But I think I’d like it even better on the floor of my apartment.” He gave me an exaggerated leer.

  I winked at him. “Play your cards right and you might get exactly that.”

  He groaned. “Come on.” He took my hand. “We’d better get out of here before I’m tempted to scrap our romantic, celebratory plans in favor of a night of extremely hot sex.”

  “Why can’t we have both?” I asked as he practically dragged me out of my apartment.

  “We can,” he told me, his hands skimming my hips. “But only if we do the romantic celebratory plans first. If you let me take that dress off of you, we won’t be leaving my apartment for days.”

  My skin got hot imagining just that.

  “Well.” I locked my front door. “Let’s get the romantic, celebratory section of the evening started as soon as possible.”

  The dress rode up as I got into Emerson’s car, showing way more leg than I was used to showing. But Emerson didn’t mind at all, putting his hand on my bare knee as we pulled away from the building. There was a bottle of champagne at my feet, and two glasses.

  “Should I even bother asking where we’re going?” I wanted to know.

  Emerson smiled and shook his head. “Nope,” he said. “But I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will,” I told him, taking the opportunity to take him in.

  He looked good. Apparently, he was in the habit of stashing a pretty good, black suit in his office in the bar, because he looked just as polished and put together as he had for our first—fake—date. Though, he was sans tie and his hair was its usual messy style. Just the way I liked it. Just the way I liked him.

  I put my hand over his. Everything was already perfect.

  Emerson drove us to Lincoln Park. I had been meaning to go forever, but life and work always seemed to get in the way. He parked the car and gathered up the champagne, glasses, and a basket that he had stashed in the backseat of the car.

  The weather was perfect. Sunny, with just enough clouds in the sky to keep it from being too hot. Spring in Chicago was truly magnificent, and we were surrounded by couples and families that seemed to feel the same. Everyone was picnicking or taking a stroll or just enjoying themselves. I felt a little overdressed in my sexy red dress, but no one gave us a second glance as Emerson led me through the park.

  We ended up at the Lily Pool, another place I had always planned to visit. We entered through the prairie-style archway, where we could observe the limestone slabs stacked on top of each other, creating an organic, naturalistic style. There were circular benches and stepping stones, all of it seeming to blend into their surroundings seamlessly. It was beautiful—the lily pads resting along the surface of the still pond, their white, spiky flowers in bloom. It was so peaceful and tranquil, and much less crowded than the rest of the park.

  We set up our picnic near the water, Emerson opening the basket to reveal not just a delicious-smelling spread of food, but a blanket as well as plates and silverware.

  “This is the nicest picnic I’ve ever been on,” I told him as he loaded up my plate with cheese and fruit.

  “I’m afraid I can’t take credit for much of it,” he said with a smile. “The food is what I could find in the bar’s kitchen. I thought about making something, but you’ve already tasted my limited culinary experience, and I was pretty sure that grilled cheese sandwiches wouldn’t travel very well.”

  I laughed and took the plate of borrowed food. It was delicious. And so was the champagne, which Emerson neatly opened, surprising a few of the nearby birds with the popping of the cork. He poured us each a glass.

  “To Alex,” he said, raising his glass to mine. “The smartest, most driven, most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.” He kissed me. “I’m so proud of you, babe, and can’t wait to see what you accomplish next.”

  I was overwhelmed.

  And then he took a small box out of the pocket of his jacket.

  It was long, and thin, clearly not a ring box, but I realized, for the first time in my life, that this was a man I could see a future with. That I could see myself marrying him. Sharing a life with him. It was an amazing feeling.

  “I bought this when we first started seeing each other,” Emerson confessed, looking down in the box. “Even that early on, I knew we had something special, and I’m so grateful that you’re in my life. Especially after I fucked up so tremendously.” He opened the box. “I love you.”

  It was a sterling silver charm bracelet with a single charm. The scales of justice. It was so beautiful and wonderful that tears welled up in my eyes. I was overcome with emotion as I held out my hand so Emerson could fasten the bracelet to my wrist. It fit just right, the little silver charm jingling as I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.

  “Thank you,” I told him, my voice thick with tears. “It’s wonderful.”

  “You deserve it.” He took my hand. “And I will do everything I can to make sure that I deserve you.”

  “You do,” I told him. “And you already have.”

  I snuggled into his embrace, feeling such happiness that I thought I might burst. Everything was perfect.

  26

  Alex

  A Few Months Later…

  I was exhausted. I had never been foolish enough to expect that my workload would get lighter or easier once I became an associate, but I hadn’t fully prepared myself for exactly how much busier I would be. But I loved it. Now that I didn’t have the threat of getting let go, I found that I was much more confident and comfortable at work. I was able to speak my mind and let my opinion be heard. It didn’t always match with what the partners wanted, but Arthur kept assuring me that they appreciated having someone with a strong point of view.

  “It’s one of the reasons we chose you,” he told me during our monthly lunch. “You weren’t afraid to stand up for yourself, and that ended up being the best thing for you and for the client.”

  We were still embroiled in our client’s messy divorce, but we had finally reached a turning point, and the soon-to-be ex-husband had agreed to negotiate. I had a feeling that he was going to be settling on the original fifty-fifty split, just like I had promised Laney. She was thrilled with the work we were doing, and was not shy about attributing her happiness to the advice I had given her. Once I had become an associate, I had been officially added to her case, and she made it clear that she preferred communicating with me over everyone else at the firm. She had even confided in me that she had big plans once the divorce was finalized, plans that were going to require the regular services of our firm. And me.

  Arthur had been thrilled when I shared that news with him. He had become somewhat of an unofficial mentor to me, and it felt pretty fantastic knowing that he had my back when it came to the partners. And not because of my connection to Emerson and his family, but because of my own personal skills and abilities.

  “You got this job on your own,” he kept telling me. “Don’t forget that.”

  Work was hard but it was good. It was really good. And for the first time in my life, it wasn’t the only go
od thing I had going for me.

  Even though I still had plenty of work to do, I decided to call it a night. I was tired of sitting at my desk, and thought it would do me good to have a change of scenery. So I packed up my files and my work and headed to my favorite second office.

  My stool was empty and waiting for me when I arrived. It wasn’t officially my stool, but all the regulars knew where I liked to sit, and I got the feeling that Chase shooed people away if they sat there. He was behind the bar when I entered and waved at me. Before I had even unpacked my bag, he had slid a glass of merlot across the bar for me.

  “Thank you,” I told him, wondering how he could always tell what I wanted. “You must be psychic,” I observed, taking a long, much needed sip of wine.

  “Naw.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I’m just a good bartender.” He winked at me, but his attention had already begun to stray to the group of gorgeous women at the other end of the bar. Looked like a bachelorette party.

  “Don’t let me keep you,” I told him with a grin, knowing that a drunk group of single women celebrating their friend’s upcoming marriage was practically catnip to a guy like Chase, who was always on the prowl.

  “Much appreciated.” He gave me another wink and sauntered over to the other side of the bar. “Ladies,” he said. “Can I interest anyone in a Harvey Wallbanger? Or even better, a Sex on the Beach?”

  I knew for a fact that Chase hated making both of those drinks, but he would pretty much do anything for a good opening line.

  After a few moments of flirting, he was back.

  “How much did that cost you?” I teased him.

  He groaned, but was still smiling. “Two Sex on the Beaches,” he told me before pulling out some napkins from his pocket. “But three phone numbers.” He waved them at me. “Totally worth it.”

  “How do you do it?” I asked him.

  “It’s a hard job,” he admitted. “But someone has to entertain the single female population of Chicago. I’m only doing my duty as a citizen.”

  “Sure you are,” I laughed. “All out of the goodness of your heart, I bet.”

  “Damn right.” He refilled my merlot and set about making those Sex on the Beaches.

  “I’d be jealous if I didn’t know that you are way too good for a guy like Chase,” a familiar voice said behind me.

  I spun on my stool to find Emerson standing there, looking as cozy and gorgeous as always in a soft plaid shirt and well-worn jeans. My mouth watered just looking at him. I was a lucky woman.

  “Excuse me.” Chase took offense, putting his hand against his chest. “I’m pretty sure she’s too good for you too.”

  Emerson laughed. “Oh, I know she is.”

  “Boys, boys.” I held up my hand. “You can both buy me drinks.”

  “You’re already drinking us out of house and home,” Chase teased. “I’ll have to cut you off at some point.”

  “You wouldn’t dare.” I clutched my wine glass to my chest. “I need this to survive this.” I pointed at the stack of briefs on the bar.

  Emerson winced at the sight of them. “Long night ahead?” he asked sympathetically.

  “Shouldn’t be too bad,” I told him. “But I wanted to make sure I saw you for a little bit.”

  I slipped my fingers into his belt loop and pulled him close for a kiss. He kissed me deeply. So deeply that people at the bar began to hoot and holler.

  “Get a room,” Chase ordered.

  “You don’t have to tell me twice,” Emerson said, pulling me off the stool and slipping his hand into mine. “Do you have time for a break?” he asked, his voice low and sexy.

  “Always,” I told him, my skin already tingling.

  We hurried to his office, kissing before he had even shut and locked the door.

  “I missed you,” he told me, pulling my jacket off.

  “You just saw me this morning,” I reminded him, though I felt the same way. It felt like we had been a part for ages.

  I yanked his shirt up over his head, desperate to feel his bare skin beneath my palms. I dragged my hand down his stomach, finding the buckle of his belt and making quick work of his jeans, which I shoved down past his hips.

  He slipped a hand underneath my skirt, his fingers sliding up my thigh and finding my center, where I was already wet and ready for him.

  “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he told me, his mouth against mine.

  “Hurry,” I urged him, wanting him to be inside of me. Now.

  He didn’t hesitate, grabbing a condom from his pocket and sheathing himself in latex. Then, with one, smooth thrust, he was inside of me.

  My head fell back as he began to move. It felt so good. He felt so good. And I was starting to realize I’d never be able to get enough of him. He gripped my hips as he thrust into me, going deeper and deeper as I wrapped my legs around his waist, urging him to speed up. I was already so close, and then he slipped his hand down between my legs and found my clit. I came immediately, my cries swallowed by his mouth as he thrusted once more and then found his own release.

  I held him in my arms, never wanting to let him go.

  “God, you drive me to distraction,” he finally said, pressing his forehead against mine.

  “Good,” I said with a smile. “I’d hate to be the only one in this boat.”

  We kissed as we separated, taking our time as we pulled ourselves together. I knew Chase would make a big embarrassing scene when we returned as he always did—and we kind of deserved it, slipping off to the back office as often as we did—and I liked having a few more moments of privacy with Emerson.

  “How was work?” he asked as he pulled his jeans back on.

  “Good.” I told him about my lunch with Arthur as I buttoned my blouse. At least this one still had buttons on it. I couldn’t say the same for all of my shirts after they’d come into contact with Emerson and his eager hands.

  “Sounds like you’re making quite a name for yourself there,” he observed. “Shouldn’t be long until you’re up for partner.”

  I slapped his arm. “It’s a little early to be thinking about that,” I told him, even though I had been dreaming about the same thing now that my first goal had proven to be attainable.

  Why not continue to reach for the stars? Especially when I had such a wonderful and understanding boyfriend who provided me with booze and grilled cheese sandwiches.

  “Never too early to be making plans,” Emerson told me with a big smile on his face. “Speaking of which, I’ve been doing some thinking.”

  He sat down in his desk chair and pulled me into his lap. I wasn’t exactly sure where this conversation was going, but it sounded promising.

  “Your living upstairs from the bar has proven to be quite convenient for both of us,” he observed.

  “Especially when having sex on your desk results in me getting office supplies stuck to my butt,” I told him.

  “I thought you liked that,” he quipped before continuing. “But as nice as it is to have your place so close to the bar, I know that it’s not always the best place to get work done. Especially since your neighbors are such loud jerks.”

  “They are quite inconsiderate,” I teased. “But they ply me with free alcohol so I can’t complain.”

  “True,” Emerson agreed, but h had opened his desk drawer and was rooting around in it, clearly looking for something. “But I was wondering if you might consider giving up that apartment and relocating.” He pulled out a set of keys. “To my place.”

  He dropped the keys into my open palm, and all I could do was stare at them.

  “Move in with me, Alex,” he said. “We won’t be as close to the bar, but it’s more space, and we can turn the spare room into your office.”

  I didn’t know what to say. We had been spending a lot of time at Emerson’s apartment, and it was absolutely gorgeous. It wasn’t far from the bar and had an amazing view of Chicago. I could still walk to work, and the bar would still be an easy detour on my way home.
>
  Home.

  It was amazing how easy it was to think of Emerson’s apartment as home. I loved my studio, but it was too small and too noisy. And I had always considered it to be a temporary solution. A cheap place that I could afford while I worked my way up at the firm.

  And now I was on my way up. I didn’t need my little studio any more. I needed a home. I wanted a home.

  I stared at the keys in my hands.

  “You’re being very quiet. It’s starting to scare me,” Emerson observed.

  I snapped back to reality.

  “Yes,” I told him, shifting in his lap so I was facing him.

  “Yes?” he asked, his eyes wide. “You’ll move in with me?”

  “Yes.” I kissed him. “I would love to move in with you.”

  He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight as he kissed me back. Then he broke free and pulled me to my feet.

  “Let’s celebrate,” he told me.

  “Let me guess,” I teased him. “Champagne?”

  He winked at me. “You know me too well,” he said with a big smile before dragging me out of the office and back to the bar.

  “Champagne,” he told Chase, who rolled his eyes with a smile.

  “I’m guessing he asked you to move in with him, then,” Chase said to me as he placed two champagne flutes in front of us. “He’s only been talking about doing that for the past month or so.”

  Emerson threw a napkin at him.

  “Seriously, though,” Chase said, pouring us champagne. “I’m happy for you guys.”

  “Thank you,” I told him, snuggling into Emerson as he put his arm around me.

  “Thanks, dude,” Emerson told his friend.

  “What are we toasting to?” Sawyer seemed to appear out of nowhere.

  “Emerson finally asked Alex to move in with him,” Chase filled him in.