Stepbrother Billionaire

by Colleen Masters

  “Dad ruined his own life,” I tell them, “Deb did a terrible thing, taking advantage of him like that. But he’s a grown man. No one forced him to relapse. No one made him refuse to go to rehab and get his life together. He let himself go to pieces. And even if Deb and her husband did set him off, that has nothing to do with Emerson! He and I were just kids when Dad and Deb got together. We were innocent bystanders to that whole train wreck.”

  “I don’t accept that,” Grandpa sniffs, crossing his arms, “You can’t possibly think that the son of two lowlifes could be anything but a piece of garbage himself. The apple never falls far from the tree, dear.”

  “No?” I shoot back, “Well then what does that say about you, with everything Dad’s been through? What does it say about me, when he’s such a wreck? Terrible things can happen to good people, you know.”

  “You’d seriously have us believe that this Emerson is a good person?” Grandma scoffs.

  “I would,” I tell her, “If you’d just try and get to know him, you’d see—”

  “This is ridiculous,” Grandpa mutters, shaking his head, “I won’t hear another second of it. Jillian, don’t bother taking off your coat. We’re not staying.”

  “What?” I say, “I thought we were going to spend some time together? Get something to eat, and—”

  “I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite,” Grandpa says grimly. “Just seeing that boy, being reminded of everything this family has gone through...It’s too much. I won’t be subjected to this kind of nonsense. Especially not in an apartment I own myself!”

  “You mustn’t see that person again, Abby,” Grandma says sternly.

  I actually let out a laugh at this. “I mustn’t see him?” I reply, cackling at the absurdity of what she’s said, “Well, that’s not really an option, seeing as we work together, now.”

  “What?!” my grandparents gasp in unison.

  “I’ve just been hired by the creative agency Emerson works for,” I inform them, “I was going to tell you the good news over dinner, but. Well.”

  “For Christ’s sake,” Grandpa mutters, “What are you giving him in return for getting you this job? Do I even want to know?”

  I stare at my grandfather, gobsmacked. “You think I got the job by...what? Sleeping with Emerson?” I ask quietly. “You think that little of me? Of my abilities? I...I don’t even know what to say, Grandpa.”

  “Say that you won’t get involved with that man outside of work,” Grandma pleads, “Especially not here, under our roof.”

  “If you’re so concerned with Emerson not being under your roof, maybe I’d better move,” I say, exasperated.

  “If that’s what you want,” Grandpa says coldly, “You can carry on with that man all you like, but you’d best not expect to have anything to do with us if you choose to do so. If you keep on with your disgraceful little relationship with him, I’m afraid we won’t be able to continue being a part of your life, Abby. You’ll have to leave this apartment, of course. And be content with never seeing us again. If you can live with all that, go ahead.”

  “You’d cut me out of your lives?” I ask quietly, “Just for being with Emerson?”

  “We would,” my grandfather assures me.

  “We’d have no other choice,” my grandmother agrees with him. There’s a hint of sadness in her voice, but she’s always gone along with what Grandpa decides.

  “Well...” I say, my voice hollow, “You certainly have given me a lot to think about this evening. And would you look at that, my appetite seems to be gone, too.”

  “Why don’t you just call us when you’ve come to your senses,” Grandpa says, heading for the door, “Or at least call to let us know if we need to start looking for a new tenant. You have a couple of days to decide. If we don’t hear from you, we’ll assume you’ve made your decision and act accordingly.”

  “I don’t care what you decide to do about the apartment,” I tell him, “I’m more than happy to find a new place to live, I can pay rent now that my job is lined up. But cutting me out of your lives altogether? That’s what hurts. How can you be so mad at me, just for spending time with someone I care about?”

  “We aren’t mad at you, Abby,” Grandma says, following him out, “We’re just terribly, terribly disappointed.”

  “Yeah. I know the feeling,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my waist.

  They march off into the elevator, and I slam the door in their wake. Hot, angry tears course down my cheeks as I press my back to the door. How dare they say those horrible things about Emerson? They don’t even know him. And how could they threaten to cut me out of their lives, just for being with him? I can’t believe they’d disown their only granddaughter over something so petty as a grudge. Especially when that grudge is built on nothing but bullshit!

  The injustice of it all has me reeling. I feel the room spinning around me, and I know it’s not just the booze that’s knocking me off kilter. If my grandparents turn their backs on me, I’ll be officially without any family in this world. I haven’t really spoken to my dad for years, I have no aunts and uncles, no cousins. Frank and Jillian are it. And they’re ready to abandon me if I keep Emerson in my life.

  I stagger over to the couch, curling up into a ball and letting the tears come hard and fast. The very thought of losing what’s left of my family has me feeling unmoored, alone. It’s not just having to find a new place to live that scares me, I can take care of that in no time. It’s the idea of losing my history, my only real links back to my mother, my old life, that terrifies me the most.

  “What...” I mutter, as I feel something dig into my hip. I reach into my pocket and feel my fingers close around the ring box Emerson brought over tonight.

  I blink away my tears and open the box once more, staring down at the beautiful pearl ring. With trembling fingers, I carefully pluck the ring out of its cushioned bed and slip it onto my right hand. It fits perfectly. After all these years, I still love it. And if I’m being honest, I still love the person who gave it to me, too. Daringly, I slide the ring off and slip it, breathlessly, onto the other hand. I look down at the single pearl, glimmering on my left ring finger. I have to say, I like the look of it there.

  In that moment, I know that I can’t cut Emerson out of my life. Not again, No matter what it costs me in the end, he’s worth whatever price I have to pay.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I spend most of Sunday recovering from my less-than-ideal birthday. But before I know it, Monday morning has arrived; my first day on the job at Bastian Creative. My stomach is in knots as I get ready for the day. I was already nervous to begin my dream job, but this weekend only ramped up the pressure. With my cushy free housing likely to be yanked away, I need this first week at Bastian to go incredibly well. There’s sure to be a bit of a probation period where Cooper can let me go if I don’t fit in at Bastian. So I guess my only choice is to be the model employee, even with my one-day stepbrother and potential lover training me.

  Sure. No problem.

  Speaking of Emerson, he didn’t even try to get in touch with me after our roller coaster of a Saturday night. Between our steamy make out session, our tussle over money issues, and my grandparents’ atrocious behavior, I’m not really sure where we stand. And now, we’re going to spend this entire week in each others’ company as I learn the ropes of my new job. This should be interesting, that’s for sure.

  I arrive at the Bastian offices right on time, dressed in my best “professional hipster” office attire. But as I step out of the elevator, ready to dive into my training, I’m surprised to find myself alone in the communal workroom. Of the dozen or so other employees, no one else seems to be around.

  “Hello?” I call, glancing around in search of my coworkers. I check my phone and see that it is, indeed, 10 a.m. The start of the workday. What gives? For something to do, I head on over to the well-stocked bar and snack cart, where a fancy, gleaming espresso machine stands at the ready. As I set to work cra
fting myself an excellent cup of coffee, I hear footsteps behind me. Spinning around, I find myself face-to-face with the man I’ve been thinking of incessantly for the past two days.

  “Oh Abby, you shouldn’t have!” Emerson teases, eyeing my espresso, “It’s not your job to make me coffee in the morning.”

  “How convenient!” I chirp, playing along with his bit as I grab my mug, “Because this sucker is all mine.”

  “I’ll just have to join you, then,” Emerson smiles, stepping around me to get at the espresso machine. “Unless we’re still doing that not-talking thing that I hate so much.”

  “Not at all,” I reply, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. And not from the caffeine, either. “Provided that you don’t hate me after Saturday night.”

  “Please,” Emerson laughs, “I’ve long since stopped caring about what people think of me, Abby. And I certainly don’t make a habit of holding peoples’ families against them. I’m sorry that I said those shitty things about your grandparents. It’s not my place to judge them, even if they have no problem at all judging me.”

  “Man. How’s the weather up there on the high road?” I laugh, sipping my coffee.

  “What can I say? That charming temper of mine isn’t quite as hot as it was eight years ago,” he replies, picking up his own mug of joe. “Turns out that punching people is frowned upon in the tech industry. Who knew? So, what do you say? Are we all right?”

  “We’re all right,” I smile back.

  “I see you like your present,” he observes, looking down at my right hand.

  “Oh yeah,” I reply, admiring the silver ring once again. Thank god I remembered to put it back on the right hand, rather than the left. “It’s beautiful, Emerson.”

  “I’m glad you still think so, after all this time,” he says, “Still the same old Abby, huh?”

  “More or less,” I shrug, “Though I seem to be more obnoxiously punctual these days. Where is everyone?”

  “Oh, Cooper doesn’t usually roll in until noon or so, and the rest of the office has taken to his schedule,” Emerson tells me.

  “Jeez,” I say, “Just when I was thinking this job couldn’t get any better...”

  “It’s a pretty sweet gig,” Emerson agrees, “We work hard, but on our own terms. I’ve never been happier with any other company I’ve worked for. I figured I’d get here early to meet you today, show you the ropes before everyone gets here. Ready to start, protégé?”

  “All set,” I say, draining the rest of my coffee, “Teach me your ways, O’ Wise One.”

  The rest of the day unfolds before us as Emerson walks me through all the ins and outs of the agency. My job will mostly consist of brainstorming new ideas for marketing and branding before passing them along to different clients. I’ll get to execute my ideas using Bastian’s top-of-the-line design suite, too. I never thought that I’d get to have a job that I actually like, especially not this early on in my career. Between the new gig at Bastian and Emerson happening back into my life, 26 is shaping up to be a fine year, indeed...

  That is, as long as I don’t think of the whole grandparents-disowning-me-thing.

  Emerson and I are sitting together at one end of the communal desk as our coworkers begin to arrive a couple hours later. Everyone greets me in a cordial, if not chipper, way. But hey, we’re all millennials, that’s how we roll. I’d rather they be real with me than overly enthusiastic. I recognize a few people—Bradley, Tyler, and Emily—from the other night at the bar. They all smile politely at me as they settle down to work, but I can feel their eyes darting back and forth between Emerson and me.

  I’m sure they’re wondering what we were doing at the bar together, what the nature of our relationship is, all that. I almost laugh, thinking about how I’d explain our relationship these days: “Oh, you know, we were step-siblings for a day, slept together once, haven’t seen each other in ten years, but yeah—it’s totally chill!” I decide not to worry about what anyone else might be thinking and focus on learning the ropes. By the end of my first day, I feel like I’m starting to have an idea of all that the job will entail, and I’m more excited than ever to keep learning more. It turns out, Emerson is a great teacher.

  Cooper doesn’t roll into until after noon, just like Emerson said. He smiles around at his worker bees, and comes over to say hello to me and Emerson.

  “How’s your first day so far, Abby?” he asks jovially.

  “I haven’t broken anything yet,” I reply, “So I guess it’s all good!”

  “She’s a natural at this,” Emerson tells Cooper.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tyler nudge Bradley and shoot him a knowing look. I should remind Emerson not to praise me too vocally around the others. It might get people talking about us. Maybe even feeling a little jealous of my friendly relationship with one of the agency’s higher-ups. My grandfather’s quip about what I might have done with Emerson to get this job still stings. I don’t want anyone here getting the same idea. Though glancing around the communal workstation, it looks like it might be too late for that.

  I feel myself growing quiet as the day wears on, self-conscious of what my coworkers might be saying about my rather cozy relationship with the head of the company’s European branch. By the time we all start to clock out and head home once more, my jaw may as well be wired shut. My growing silence isn’t lost on Emerson, either.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in all at once,” he says, as we step into the elevator together with a few other coworkers, “But you really are doing a great job. You’re going to do so well here, Abby. I’m proud of you.”

  I bite my tongue until we reach the ground floor. As the other Bastian employees head off in their own directions, Emerson and I fall into step with each other out on the sidewalk. I feel like I can breathe again for the first time in hours. Never underestimate the stifling nature of coworkers’ judgey passive aggression.

  “How does it not bother you that people are clearly gossiping about us in there?” I ask Emerson, as we head for the subway.

  “What are you talking about?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow at me.

  “Our coworkers,” I spell it out, “They obviously know that something’s up between us.”

  “Well, something is up, isn’t it?” he asks, slipping an arm around my waist in his mischievous fashion.

  “Seriously Emerson,” I say, drawing to a stop beside the subway entrance, “Aren’t you worried that this could mess things up for us at work?”

  “No,” he says shortly, looking a bit irked. “I’m not worried about being fodder for the rumor mill for a week or two. This isn’t high school, Ab. Gossip can’t hurt you.”

  “It could be a bigger deal than that,” I reply anxiously, “I mean, what if Cooper doesn’t approve of us...being whatever we are?”

  “How can he disapprove of ‘whatever we are’ if we haven’t even decided what we are yet?” Emerson counters.

  “Oof. This is making my head hurt,” I laugh, the tension of the day dispelling now that we’re out of the office.

  “Bet I have the cure for what ails you,” he replies, taking my hand in his and tugging me down the block.

  “That’s my train,” I inform him, glancing back at the subway.

  “I know,” he says, “But my apartment is this way.”

  “Are you inviting me over?” I ask, trailing along behind him.

  “Obviously,” he laughs.

  “What...for?” I ask, digging my heels in ever-so-slightly.

  “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a pretty decent cook,” he replies, “Let me make you dinner. We can call it a belated double-birthday celebration, since our other attempts at celebrating got...derailed this weekend.”

  Dinner at Emerson’s apartment? That sounds an awful lot like a romantic evening to me. And though I know it would be wise to take this whole thing slow, I just can’t resist him tonight. Who am I kidding—when have I ever been able to resist Emerson Sawyer?

>   “OK,” I smile, “Lead on, Iron Chef.”

  We swing by a fancy high-end grocery store on the way to Emerson’s apartment so he can gather his ingredients. I can’t help but smile wistfully as I think of the last time he cooked for me. There was so much sweetness and sorrow wrapped up in those few fleeting weeks of our younger years that any thought of them is bursting with remembered sensation. Of course, it’s not like this reunion of ours has been without its emotional moments.

  “Here we are,” Emerson says, drawing to a stop on a gorgeous block lined with cozy cafes and classy boutiques. He leads me up a set of stone steps and unlocks a door there.

  “This is where you live?” I breathe, glancing over my shoulder at the cosmopolitan block.

  “Sure is,” he says, holding the door for me.

  I expect to walk into the lobby of an apartment building, a ground floor leading off to a bunch of different units. But as Emerson nudges open a second door and steps through, I feel my jaw drop. The entire space inside is an open, spacious loft. This entire building is his. I’ve watched enough house-hunting reality TV to know that this is easily a multi-million dollar property—and this isn’t even his only place!

  The impossibly high ceilings vault above a perfectly-arranged interior. There’s a huge, sparkling kitchen, a sunken living room, and an enclosed bedroom off the main space. Huge, towering windows take up the entire wall opposite us, and lead off onto a private terrace. The design is mostly minimal—white walls and hardwood floors—with purposeful touches of natural materials like wood and stone. The appliances and decor are an artful mix of new and vintage. Emerson’s home is utterly perfect. It could have been ripped right off my “dream home” Pinterest page. Amazing how our tastes are so aligned, even though we come from totally different backgrounds and have led completely different lives.