Billionaire in Rehab: The Complete Series

by Claire Adams

“True,” I agreed.

  “Well, let's get you home. You’ve got work to do,” he said.

  The drive home was pretty relaxed. Garrett and I had a good chat, but I could tell he was turning on the charm. I had mixed feelings about that. I was still kind of up in the air over the whole Emerson issue. In fact, as much as I didn’t like it, Emerson had been running through my thoughts all evening. There was no way I should or could get into anything with Garrett, even though it was becoming fairly obvious he might want me to.

  We pulled up outside my apartment building, and I unclipped my seatbelt.

  “Thanks so much for a wonderful evening, Garrett. I enjoyed it.”

  The blue backlight from his radio lit up the smile on his face. “It really has been a great night,” he said. And then he leaned across the seat and tried to kiss me.

  I pulled back and placed a hand on his chest to keep him at a bit of a safe distance. “I'm…I'm sorry, I'm not ready for this right now.”

  Again, that look from earlier briefly flashed across his eyes, a look that was almost rage, but again he quickly concealed it.

  “I'm sorry,” he apologized. “I couldn't help it. I mean, we had such a great time together tonight, and you're just so beautiful, Brooke. I couldn't stop myself.”

  “No, it's uh, it's okay,” I stammered. “Let's just take things slowly, alright? I mean, really slowly. Okay?”

  He smiled. “Of course. Slow. I'll take it as slow as you'd like me to.”

  “Thank you, Garrett. That means a lot.”

  “Whatever you need. I guess I should bit you a goodnight, Brooke. But before I do, do you mind if I come with you to the bachelor auction tomorrow?”

  “I think that can be arranged,” I said.

  “Great,” he responded as he jumped out of his side of the car and rushed around to open my door. “I guess I’ll see ya tomorrow!”

  “It would appear so,” I agreed.

  “Well, then, goodnight, Brooke.”

  “Goodnight, Garrett.”

  He waited until I was opening my apartment door before he put his car in gear. I watched him roar off into the night, and an eerie sensation told me that I'd just dodged a bullet of some sort.

  I made quick work of getting undressed as soon as I dropped my purse off in my room. I was on my way to the shower when my phone buzzed. I guessed it would be Garrett, sending a good night message or something of the sort, so I waited until I had taken off my makeup and had a shower before I even checked it.

  It was a good thing I was sitting on my bed when I opened the message app, because I probably would have lost my balance from shock if I'd have been standing when I saw who it was from.

  Emerson.

  My pulse instantly began to race. After everything that had happened in recent days, how could it not?

  I paused for a moment, trying to decide if opening the message was even the right thing to do. I wasn’t convinced he deserved even the time of day. However, I had more questions than answers and Emerson was the only place I was going to get those answers. Granted, there was a chance he was merely going to spout a pack of lies and excuses. Or not.

  An array of emotions whirled through my mind as I sat staring at the little green unread message icon next to his name — fear, anger, hope, excitement, suspicion. Each one spinning in a madly-shaken cocktail.

  There were only two options: delete the message without even reading it and never speak to Emerson again or give him the benefit of the doubt and see what he had to say for himself.

  It was a battle of heart versus head. In the past, I’ve always lead with my head rather than my heart. And, I knew what my head was telling me to do.

  I hovered my thumb over the little red delete option and then quickly tapped it. A message appeared on the screen: Delete message. Are you sure? OK or Cancel.

  My head was still in charge here. It had to be for my heart’s sake.

  To my head’s surprise, my heart still had some fight left in it; it wasn't going to give up so easily. My thumb shifted toward OK but then suddenly stopped, suspended just above the screen for what felt like an eternity, paralyzed with indecision as my heart and head battled it out in a ferocious duel.

  The heart won.

  I pressed cancel instead and opened the text. A very long message scrolled down my phone screen.

  Dear Brooke,

  I know you must hate me right now. And you're totally justified in feeling that way. I admit it, I messed up. I messed up bad. But please just hear me out. I've realized there has been a gigantic misunderstanding and not getting back to you sooner might have been the biggest mistake I've ever made in my life.

  I only hope it’s a mistake I can fix and not one that’s going to have permanent consequences.

  Let me start by explaining why I didn't contact you during the two days I was at my dad's. My phone fell out of my pocket somewhere on the highway on my way there. I didn’t get a new phone, or any of the messages you sent, until a couple of days ago.

  I'm so sorry. I wish I could've somehow gotten word to you that Monday that I’d lost my phone. I thought about you the whole ride to dad’s. And, I was missing you. Just so you know, Dad's surgery was successful, and he's going to make a full recovery. But back to you and me.

  I drove back the next day fairly late after Dad’s surgery.

  When I arrived & walked into my apartment, I was promptly arrested because the cops had been called on Chris for the noise and of course, they found all the alcohol.

  Now here's where I really messed up.

  First, I wasn’t upfront with you. I didn't tell you my mom is Dean of Faculty. It's not something I tell many people because I feel like they'll just assume I got into this college because of her or that she's doctoring my grades or something. You know how people jump to assumptions. Assumptions I really don't want people making about me. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I know you're not the kind of person who would’ve judged me based on who my mom is.

  My second major mess up was making assumptions myself. And this was the WORST mistake I made. I assumed that you were the one who called the cops. Please let me explain why I thought that.

  One day in chemistry class, I overheard you and that Garrett guy talking about the noise from my place. He recommended you call the cops on us and you seemed to agree. Then Chris said he saw Leslie leave that night, so he was sure it was you who called the cops since Leslie wasn’t home.

  I’m sorry I jumped to that conclusion. I should have talked to you, but I was pretty upset about that, because of…well, because of what had been going on between us. I had grown to trust you and thought you trusted me, too. I thought maybe you cared about me as much as I do you, and then that happened. I know I was wrong to assume you called. I can't believe I was so stupid and made such an epic error in judgment.

  I know you didn’t call the cops on us and-

  A sound I hadn't heard for a while interrupted my reading.

  Grunting, groaning, moaning. A headboard pounding against the other side of my bedroom wall.

  My blood began to heat. Anger, jealousy, and the bitter feeling of betrayal began rising in me. He had some serious nerve sending me an apology message, and yet right next door, just on the other side of the wall, he was back in bed with another woman, his hands and lips all over her, his beautiful body smothering hers, his cock-

  No. Just, hell no.

  I put my phone down and closed the message. I wasn't going to bother with him anymore. He was showing me exactly what kind of person he really was and there was no way he was going to sweet-talk his way around that. All the proof I needed was echoing through the wall.

  “Sorry, Emerson,” I said to the phone, “but you've blown your cover. I hear you loud and clear. I hear you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Emerson

  I sat in the emptiness of my new apartment amidst the minimal furniture and still-unpacked boxes and stared at my phone. As soon as I sent the message, my hea
rt started to race. Would Brooke read it? Would she respond? What would she say? Did she feel the same way about me as I felt about her?

  I hit the “send” button with my heart in my throat. I had considered sending it in an email, but I wanted to know when or if Brooke had even read the message. So, I sent her a text instead. At least I could get a confirmation using a text message. And considering it was the first communication I'd had with Brooke since the night we’d been together, I needed to know where I stood. If she wouldn’t even read it, that would tell me loud and clear.

  My message confessed everything — the loss of my phone, my foolishness, jumping to conclusions, and why I hadn’t told her everything. I'd laid it all on the line, opening myself up and telling her how much I cared about her.

  I couldn’t deny how I felt about her anymore; that had become clear in the light of possibly losing her. I had to let her know how I felt.

  After nearly ten minutes of pacing from one room to another and literally checking the phone every thirty seconds, I picked up my guitar and turned on the amplifier I had brought over from my mom's place. I plugged it in, turned it down low so I wouldn’t upset my new neighbors before I even had a chance to meet them, sat down, and started to play. The gentle sound reverberated through the room, emphasizing how empty it was.

  I played a song, then checked my phone only to find the message I’d sent remained unread. I did this three more times. About half an hour later, there was a notification the message had been read.

  My heart started to pound. I imagined her reading it line by line, word by word. I waited with bated breath as I stared at the message and waited desperately to see her name switch to “Brooke is typing a message” — it didn't happen. She’d had to have finished reading it; five minutes had passed, at least. That was plenty of time to read it.

  And then, finally, it happened. She started typing.

  The suspense was killing me. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was going to say. What she was going to tell me. And as if the universe wanted to torture me, my phone's screen went black.

  “What?!” I yelled, my voice echoing around the empty room. “No! No, no, no, no, no. Not now, not now!”

  I ran around trying to locate my phone charger. When I did, I quickly plugged it in thinking the battery had died. However, instead of the “charging” icon that should have shown up on the screen when I plugged in the charger, the screen simply remained black.

  With desperate, fumbling fingers I opened the back of the phone and pulled the battery out, checking for something…anything. Wondering if maybe there was some sort of obvious problem with the way it was plugged in. Everything seemed fine. I cursed under my breath and put the battery back in, then tried the charger again.

  It was still dead.

  The timing sucked and the scenario was maddening, infuriating, and frustrating. Brooke had typed out a reply, but I couldn’t access it! What the hell!? The cellphone store where I'd gotten the phone wasn’t open at this time on a Friday night.

  What options did that leave me? None. At least, not until the next morning when the phone store opened its doors. I leaned against the wall and slid to the floor, my hands running roughly through my hair.

  It was going to be a long night.

  ***

  I’d hardly slept all night. I was feeling pretty haggard as I stood outside the phone store, checking my watch, waiting for the associate to open the doors. Finally, the shop associate showed up and unlocked the door, giving me a strange look as he did. The plump, computer nerd kind of a guy with thick glasses and expressionless face shuffled in, taking his sweet time as he went over and started unlocking counters, drawers, and things while I stood around tapping my foot impatiently.

  “Alright sir,” he said eventually. “How can I help you?”

  I took my phone and charger out and put it on the counter. “I bought this from you guys just a few days ago and it suddenly won’t turn on or charge. I have a twenty-four month warranty.”

  The guy remained expressionless as he picked up my phone and looked it over. “Yeah, we've been having a few problems with this model. One of the battery connecting wires on the circuit board-”

  “Look, I don't need to know all the technical stuff. Can you fix it or not?”

  “It'll take about half an hour. I'll have to open it up and do some soldering.”

  “Okay, can you like, get on that now?”

  “Uh, alright. You wanna have a seat? Or maybe go walk around the mall or something while I fix this?”

  “I'll go get a coffee,” I informed him.

  “Cool. Like I said, it'll probably take me about half an hour to sort this out.”

  I nodded and walked briskly out of the store. My ability to maintain patience was at an all-time low. I'd waited all night to get the phone sorted out and having to wait another half an hour. It seemed everything was working against me.

  I ambled through the mall in a trance-like state. Time itself seemed to have slowed down. I wandered along halfway looking for a place to get coffee, but also kind of walking just for the sake of walking. Eventually, I came across a place and ambled to the counter to order a cup of coffee, checking my watch every few minutes to see when the half hour would be up.

  When my thirty minutes was nearly up, I practically ran to the phone store hoping there hadn’t been any setbacks in repairing my phone. I was greatly relieved when I realized the shop assistant did, in fact, have my phone waiting for me.

  “Here you go,” he said as he handed it to me already turned on. “I even out a fresh battery in it for you so you wouldn’t have to wait for it to charge. Shouldn't give you any more problems. If it does, just bring it back.”

  “Thanks so much,” I said as I rushed out of the shop and headed straight for a quiet alcove to sit and check my texts. Sure enough, the message Brooke had sent me the night before was there just waiting to be read. With trembling fingers, I opened it.

  Hey, Emerson. I'm glad to hear your dad is better and going to make a full recovery. That's great news. However, regarding the other stuff you messaged me… I'm sorry, but I couldn't even get through all of it. First of all, I can't believe you genuinely thought I’d have called the cops on you guys. Seriously?! I’m actually insulted.

  But that’s not what has me so heartbroken. That would be your lying to me this whole time. And not about who your mom is. That’s understandable. What isn’t understandable is you trying to play me. And you did a pretty damn good job. But I’m done.

  I know what's been going on with you and Melissa. Or is it her and multiple other girls? Whatever. The point is I can hear you and whoever when you're participating in your extra-curricular activities. Yes. I can hear you through the wall into my room. And just let me say how classy it was that you started going at it with some bimbo only a few minutes after sending me this message. Just classy, Emerson, real classy.

  Also, you’re gonna need a new lab partner. I've arranged with our professor for Garrett to be my new partner. I cited “irreconcilable differences” as the reason I needed a change.

  The saddest thing about all of this is I had genuinely changed my mind about you and thought you were different. Thought you were actually a decent guy that I could see myself with. Shame on me for actually let down my walls for you, for believing I could trust you.

  Thanks though, for showing me the real you – through my bedroom wall.

  Please don't ever speak to me again.

  Goodbye, Emerson.

  Brooke

  I wanted to throw up. Emotions I couldn’t describe if I wanted to rolled through me. I wanted to punch something. Someone.

  Chris.

  I jumped up and almost fell over I was so frustrated and angry. All that time, I hadn't given much thought to the fact that Chris' bedroom was next to Brooke's. Knowing that every time Chris had brought a girl home, Brooke had thought it had been me getting it on with the girl made me sick.

  It was a disaster, a
n absolute disaster. If she stopped reading my text before the end, the odds are she probably hadn't even read the part of my message where I had poured out my heart. Not that it would have mattered, considering what she thought of me. Considering she imagined I was a womanizer like Chris.

  And, what was even worse, that scumbag Garrett seemed to be weaseling his way in.

  “Alright, Emerson, take a breath. Calm down. There has to be a way to make this right, to clear up this mess. There has to be!” I said to myself.

  Then an idea hit me. There was only one way to do this. I took off at a sprint, almost knocking over a cluster of unsuspecting shoppers as I bolted to my car. After a sprint through the parking lot, I was out of breath. I jumped in my truck, hit the ignition, and took off with tires screaming. I was a man on a mission.

  I had somewhat regrouped by the time I knocked on the door.

  Leslie opened the door and her eyes widened with surprise as she saw me standing there. “Uh, hi, Emerson,” she said uneasily.

  “Hey, Leslie. Can I come in?” I asked.

  “Um, Brooke's not here, she's at her RAG meeting and-”

  “Yeah, I know. Her car isn’t here. Look, this is kind of an emergency. I've gotta talk to you. Please?”

  She nodded. “Alright. Come on in.”

  I stepped into the living room and immediately began to spill everything. I told her about what had happened with me and Brooke. Everything, from the beginning to the end. I told her how I felt about Brooke. The words just started tumbling out of my mouth like an avalanche — uncontrollable and with a great force — and I didn't stop until I'd brought every last detail out into the open.

  When I was done, Leslie sat there with a shocked expression on her face.

  “This is all true? All of it?” she asked.

  “Everything.”

  “And, you really feel that way about her?”

  “Absolutely. She's the most amazing woman I've ever met. Ever.”

  Leslie breathed in deeply and then nodded. “Well then, we've gotta fix this mess. I’m sorry I messed up by calling the cops and causing that whole misunderstanding, so I need to help you fix it.”