Stepbrother Billionaire

by Colleen Masters

  I burst back out of the front doors, gulping down deep breaths as best I can. All around me, New Yorkers brush past, completely unaware that I’m having the strangest, most disorienting day of my life. But, that’s New York City for you—the best and worst place ever to have a panic attack. Struggling to regain a modicum of composure, I straighten myself up and make to book it away from the Bastian offices.

  I get about three steps, too, before I feel a strong hand catch mine.

  “Abby,” I hear Emerson say, “Abby, wait—”

  “What did you do, scurry down the drain pipe?” I breathe, spinning around to face him.

  “I prefer the stairs to the drainpipe, but thanks for the tip,” he replies, looking at me with dazed wonder. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I know. I’m sorry,” I say quickly, stepping out of the busy sidewalk traffic. “I had no idea you work here, Emerson. If I’d known, I never would have applied.”

  “What?” he says, taking a step toward me. “Why not?”

  “I didn’t mean to show up here, unannounced, and...you know. Crash your party,” I babble, unable to keep my eyes on his face for long. In the last eight years, his gorgeousness has solidified into sheer perfection. I can only hope that time has treated me half as well. “I promise, I’ll shoot Cooper an email this weekend and tell him I can’t accept the job.”

  “Abby, I don’t want you to do that,” Emerson says, his brow furrowing slightly. “If you’d just listen to me for a minute, I could tell you that I’m not mad about your being here.”

  “You’re not?” I ask, surprised, “But...why not?”

  “Because we’re not ten years old, and this isn’t a ‘no girls allowed’ clubhouse, for one,” Emerson laughs. “It’s...wonderful to see you, Abby. Seriously. I can’t quite believe that it’s happening, but...”

  “Yeah,” I laugh nervously, “I certainly wasn’t expecting to run into you, well...ever.”

  “How the hell have you been?” he asks, laying a hand on my shoulder. My skin sparks at his gentle, familiar touch. “You look amazing.”

  “Says you,” I chortle inelegantly.

  Nice one, Abby, I chide myself.

  “Yeah, says me,” Emerson smiles.

  We lapse into silence, staring at each other there on the sidewalk. My heart is still hammering against my ribcage, my knees shake uncontrollably. Seeing Emerson again is like a dream. A very sexy dream. But that said, I need to wake up, now. The sooner the better.

  “I really should go,” I insist, edging away, “This is wild and everything, but I don’t think we should draw it out, you know? I’ll just leave you to your company, and find some other agencies to apply to, and—”

  “I just told you I don’t want you to turn down the job,” Emerson says, with just the slightest note of hardness.

  “Yeah, well. I do want to turn it down,” I shoot back, a bit annoyed at his tone.

  “Why’s that?” he insists, crossing his arms.

  “Gee. I wonder,” I reply, rolling my eyes. “Working side-by-side with my estranged ex-stepbrother slash...”

  “Slash what?” Emerson asks, his eyes hard on my face.

  “I just think it would be a terrible idea,” I say flatly, “But, hey, maybe I’ll see you at a conference sometime, or—”

  “Or over drinks,” he cuts me off, the corner of his mouth twisting up into his signature, roguish grin.

  “Drinks?” I reply, raising an eyebrow. “What drinks are those?”

  “The drinks we’re going to have tomorrow night. I know a great martini bar around here. It’s not as good as champagne in a motel room...”

  My heart flips over as he immediately brings up our fated night as lovers. Christ, he knows how to go right for the jugular, doesn’t he?

  “Last time I checked, I hadn’t agreed to a drink,” I remind him.

  “True. But you know what tomorrow is, don’t you?” he grins.

  Of course. If Saturday is my birthday, then tomorrow is his.

  “You want to spend your birthday...with me?” I ask.

  “I do,” he replies.

  “Don’t you have some leggy, blonde supermodel to entertain?” I shoot back.

  “Several,” he says without missing a beat, “But I’d still rather hang out with you. Meet me at Clinton and Houston at eight. Wear something fancy.”

  I know that there’s no way he’s going to let me off the hook, here. The best I can do is say yes now and blow him off tomorrow.

  “Fine,” I say crisply, extending my hand for him to shake, “See you then.”

  I swallow a gasp as he scoops up my hand, draws it to his lips, and plants a kiss there. Someone turned into a gentlemen over the past eight years. I wonder how the hell that happened?

  “Looking forward to it,” he smiles, holding onto my hand for longer than is necessary. “And don’t you dare blow me off, Ab. It is my birthday, after all.”

  I turn on my heel and hurry away, feeling all the blood in my body rush to my head. It’s a good thing I’m familiar with this city by now, because I can’t pay a lick of attention to anything all the way home. In the blink of an eye I’m staggering, dazedly, back into my apartment. I drop my purse onto the floor and flop onto the couch, staring straight ahead of me, unseeing. Riley pokes her head out of her bedroom as she hears me enter.

  “Hey! How’d it go?” she asks.

  “I got the job,” I tell her, my voice flat.

  “That’s great, Abby!” she squeals, rushing out to join me on the couch. She stops short at my glazed expression. “Abby? Isn’t that great?”

  “Sure,” I tell her, “The job is great. It’s perfect, actually. Amazing company, good salary, nice benefits. Oh! And Emerson Sawyer happens to work there, too. So there’s that.”

  Riley stares at me blankly. I haven’t uttered Emerson’s name for years—well, not while sober, anyway.

  “Are you shitting me?” Riley hisses. “You saw Emerson today? At your new company?”

  “Oh yeah. He’s going to be showing me the ropes,” I tell her. “Or he would be, if I was going to take the job. Which I’m obviously not.”

  “Excuse me?” Riley exclaims. “Why the hell would you not take it?”

  “Did you miss the part about Emerson working there?” I shoot back. “As in my one-time brother, long-lost lover, walked out of my life forever and broke my heart into a million little pieces Emerson?”

  “No, I caught that loud and clear,” Riley replies, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “And there’s no way you’re passing up a dream job because he happens to be working at the same company. If anything, his working there should be a perk!”

  “What,” I say, narrowing my eyes.

  “Now you can rekindle your romance at last!” Riley exclaims, “It’s kismet!”

  “It’s a train wreck waiting to happen,” I correct her. “In case you’re forgetting, we didn’t exactly end on great footing, Emerson and I.”

  “So what? It was your parents who fucked everything up back then,” Riley presses, “You could totally hit it off now that you’re adults.”

  “God. Did you give him a pep talk too or something?” I ask, shaking my head, “He asked me out for a birthday drink about three seconds after we’d run into each other.”

  “What?!” Riley shrieks, pulling me to my feet. “He asked you out?! For when?!”

  “Tomorrow,” I tell her, wiggling out of her excited grasp. “But don’t get your hopes up, it’s not happening. No way. No how.”

  All at once, Riley snaps from giddy girlfriend to drill sergeant mode. Stepping into my path, she plants her hands on her hips and levels a glare at me that could cut through diamond.

  “Abigail Cecily Rowan,” she begins. “For the past eight years, I have watched you pine away for this person, miss him beyond all comprehension, and refuse to get serious with anyone else because no one could ever take his place in your heart. Now, all of a sudden, fate has deposited him back
into your lap, and you’re seriously thinking of bailing? That, my dear, just will not do. I am not going to stand by while you flip off destiny and forever ruin your happily-ever-after chances because you’re afraid of getting hurt again. You will take this job. You will let Emerson back into your life. And you will start tomorrow with a drink on his birthday. Do I make myself clear?”

  Looking into Riley’s furious face, I realize two things. First, I’ve been dying for someone to give me permission to see what happens from here with Emerson. I don’t know how to give it to myself, of course, so thank god she’s here. Second, even if I didn’t want to see him ever again, she would make me anyway. So, this is looking like a win-win.

  “Will you at least help me pick out something to wear?” I ask softly.

  “Please,” she scoffs, “As if I’d let you dress yourself for something this important.”

  And just like that, the matter is settled. I let myself consider the possibility that maybe running into Emerson today wasn’t a cruel joke from the universe, but a gift. A super sexy, super loaded, super intelligent gift wrapped up in an incredible person that I’ve loved since I was a kid, that is.

  Chapter Thirteen

  After trying on twenty outfits, getting in at least three fights with Riley, and nearly booking a plane ticket to Canada rather than going through with this evening, I make it out the door to meet Emerson. He’s asked me to meet him back on the Lower East Side, just a stone’s throw from the Bastian offices. I arrive a few minutes after eight and linger on the corner. The birthday boy is nowhere in sight.

  Riley dressed me up in a deep red dress with a low-cut back and tasteful scoop neckline. My blonde hair is arranged in a loose chignon, and the warm spring night doesn’t even require me to wear a jacket. My stomach is a little fluttery, and I’m still halfway convinced that I dreamed up seeing Emerson the other day, but I’m willing to stand here for another five seconds or so before I flee.

  Five...I count down in my head. Four...Three...

  I feel a hand on the small of my back and spin around sharply to find Emerson standing before me. And of course, he looks utterly fantastic. A gray blazer, light slacks, and trendy suede loafers have him looking right at home in this neighborhood. And he’s lost the glasses, too—the better for me to ogle his twenty-five-year-old—or rather, twenty-six-year-old face.

  “You showed up,” he grins, his eyes gleaming as he gives me a subtle once over.

  “Yeah, well,” I shrug, burning up under his gaze. “I can’t resist a martini, so.”

  “Hey, I’ll take it,” he replies. “Come on. The bar’s right over here.”

  I clutch onto my tiny black purse as Emerson leads us over to an unremarkable doorway embedded in the busy line of shops. He raps the door three times quickly, then twice at a slower pace. I cock an eyebrow at his antics, but before I can say anything, the door swings open for us.

  “It’s sort of a speakeasy type place,” he explains, nodding for me to follow him. “Just a little bit exclusive.”

  And he’s not kidding, either. As I step into the dimly lit bar after him, I feel my jaw drop. The place is elegant, impeccable, and super swanky. I almost laugh, remembering the little seafood shack we went to on his eighteenth birthday. How far we’ve come! There are only a dozen or so people in here, all of them looking perfect. This must be some elite, secret spot, known only to the rich and famous. Wait a minute...is Emerson rich and famous now himself?

  “This is my favorite table,” he tells me, sinking into a plush corner booth.

  “You have a favorite table here?” I breathe, sinking down beside him.

  “Sure,” he grins, “And a favorite drink too.”

  I gape as a martini appears on the table before Emerson. He winks at the server, who clearly knows Emerson’s usual order. The server, dressed in a finer suit than any of the men I’ve dated, asks me for my order.

  “I’ll...have what he’s having,” I say faintly.

  The man nods and hurries off to fix a drink for me. I look around at the exquisite room, the beautiful patrons, and the specter from my past sitting across the table from me.

  “OK,” I say at last, “This, my friend, is officially bizarre.”

  “I guess it sort of is,” Emerson laughs, more than happy to acknowledge the strangeness of our reunion. “But, what good thing in life isn’t a little surreal? I say we run with it.”

  A perfect martini materializes before me. I thank the server, pluck up the cocktail, and hold up my glass in a toast.

  “Well, happy birthday, Emerson,” I say, “I hope you enjoy your one night of being older than me as much as you did when we were kids.”

  “Oh, I think I will,” he smiles, clinking his glass to mine.

  I take a sip of my drink and freeze, savoring the mind-blowing deliciousness of it. This is top-shelf vodka. The kind that ought to be kept in a safe. A drink like this must cost a fortune. And this is Emerson’s usual?

  “So, I guess the past eight years have treated you well?” I ask, stunned by the fineness of the liquor.

  “I’ve done OK for myself,” Emerson nods.

  “Well, since there’s no elegant segue to be found here, start from the beginning,” I tell him, “How’s your life been, Tank?”

  “Oof,” he cringes, “Using my old lacrosse nickname? Harsh.”

  “Yeah, well. Old age has hardened me,” I say, trying to keep a straight face. “Now spill!”

  “OK, OK,” Emerson says, taking a sip of his drink. “Well, when we last saw each other, shit was going down in flames. Mom had just relapsed, obviously, and I had just...well...”

  “Kicked the shit out of grade-A douchebag and gotten expelled,” I finish his thought.

  “That would be correct,” Emerson nods. “Mom and I picked up and left. We landed at her sister’s place in Pennsylvania for a minute. We got Mom into rehab, and I found a little apartment outside of Philly. Nice town, you know. I didn’t do much for the next year except visit my mom, take odd jobs to pay rent, and tool around on the computer. I don’t think you knew this about me in high school, but I’ve always been kind of a tech nerd. I became fascinated with programming, data, building things that other people could use.

  I got my GED, and told myself I’d take a year to learn some more about programming before applying to college. I took some courses in the city, and found out that I was pretty damn good at the whole thing. The app craze was only just about to take off as I put together my first real project. With a little bit of luck, and a whole lot of venture capital backing, the thing took off. I sold my app, made a ton. Overnight, everything was different. So instead of going to college, I just kept building, and thinking, and meeting new people. Eventually, I ran into Cooper, and he all but handed the European offices of Bastian to me on a silver platter. I’ve been there for a couple of years, and it’s been amazing.”

  “So you’re telling me that you went from bad boy jock to tech millionaire?” I ask, staring at him across the table.

  “Close,” he says, unable to contain his proud but modest smile. “I went from bad boy jock to tech billionaire.”

  My eyes go wide as I try to comprehend the thing he’s just told me. Emerson’s smile fades as I sit silently beside him.

  “Sorry, was that a total asshole move?” he asks, frowning, “I don’t know what I was thinking, just bringing that up—”

  “No, Emerson,” I say quickly, reaching for his hand before I can stop myself. “It’s amazing. I’m just so, so proud of you.”

  In unison, we glance down at our now-clasped hands on the table. Bashful as ever, I lift my fingers away. My skin tingles where it glanced against his. As if I didn’t have enough reason to be nervous around him before, now it turns out that he’s not only my long-lost first love, but also a goddamn billionaire?

  This is shaping up to be quite a week, I’ll tell you.

  “But...what about you?” Emerson says, breaking the pointed silence, “How did things play
out for you?”

  “Well,” I begin, taking a nice big sip of my drink. “From the point of our parents’ disastrous one-day marriage, my dad totally wiped out. Relapsed harder than ever. Really just never recovered. My grandparents took me in until high school was over, and then I moved to the city to study at The New School with Riley. We’ve been living together ever since, in this great place my grandparents own...Ugh. Sorry. I sound like such a mooch.”

  “No, not at all,” Emerson assures me, “You’ve got to use the resources you have, right?”

  “I’ll take that,” I smile. “What else...I studied graphic design and digital media, got my masters, and voila! Here I am.”

  “Design, huh? So you still get to be an artist,” he says, his eyes resting warmly on my face. I smile, touched that he’s remembered my childhood passion.

  “In a way, yes,” I reply. “And I guess you’ll be seeing a lot more of my work soon, what with your kind of being my boss and all.”

  “I’m your colleague, not your boss,” Emerson insists.

  “Uh-huh. Sure,” I tease, “Whatever you say, boss.”

  “Careful, lackey,” he shoots back, jumping on my joke, “Or I’ll have to dock your pay.”

  “Ooh, I’m shaking in my panties,” I snicker. My cheeks flame red as I realize that it’s taken me all of five minutes to bring my panties into the conversation.

  “Relax,” Emerson chuckles, seeing my face. “This isn’t Courtney Haines’ house party. I’m not gonna make you hand them over or anything. Unless you really want to.”

  “Duly noted,” I tell him, all but swigging my martini.

  “I hear she’s on Broadway now,” Emerson goes on, glancing down at his drink.

  “Really,” I say, feeling an old trill of jealousy run through me as I remember the redheaded beauty who snagged Emerson’s attention all those years ago.

  “Yeah. Almost won a Tony and everything,” Emerson says, plucking up his olive and popping it into his mouth. “Maybe I should call her up and see how she’s doing?”

  I’m about to say something polite and change the subject, until I see the look in Emerson’s gorgeous blue eyes.