by kj lewis
“Yes, Emelia. I’m positive.”
“What time is it?” I sit back up, Graham reluctantly letting me.
“Six o’clock. You’ve been asleep almost seven hours.”
“I’m going to the hospital.”
“You need a doctor?”
“No. I want to check on him.”
“You can tomorrow. You need rest today.”
“I’ve been resting for seven hours.” I move out of the bed.
“Emelia,” he warns.
“Graham,” I counter as usual.
“God, you’re a smart ass. And thick headed,” he adds for good measure.
“I’m fine. Really.” I try to divert his concern with a sweetness that has no fight in it.
He ponders for a minute. “Fine. But I’m going with you.”
“Whatever, Trevor,” I say over my shoulder as I walk out of his room to get dressed.
“Can I drive?” He has opened the passenger door to one of the four cars lined up in the garage.
“It’s a manual,” he says like there’s no way I would know how to drive one. Like girls can’t.
“I know how to drive a stick,” I bristle.
“Get in the car, Emelia.”
“So that’s a no?” I ask for clarification.
“Do you know how to get to the hospital?”
“No.”
“Then. Get. In. The. Car.” He points to the seat of the passenger door he is still holding open.
“You. Don’t. Have. To. Speak. To. Me. Like. I. Am. A. Child.” I give it back to him. “It was just a question.”
I slide into the seat. He closes my door, mumbling, “I swear if you didn’t look so damn hot in my clothes…” and climbs in beside me. I am wearing the jeans I snagged from his closet the day before. I had to cuff the pant legs, they were so long. I’ve tucked in the front of the t-shirt he put me in the night before. His belts were too big for me, so I had to grab a tie and pull it through the belt loops knotting it to make sure my pants don’t fall down. My hair falls over to one side, curling over his cardigan.
The seat of the car encases me with luxurious leather. He pushes a button on the dash that opens the garage door and starts the car. The sound of the engine is impressive. This is not a car to be messed with. Another button raises the convertible top. Putting the car in gear we glide forward, making our way off the property.
“This car is amazing. What is it?” I run my fingers over the leather dashboard.
“An Aston Martin V12 Roadster”
“Of course it is,” I shake my head in response. It takes me a minute to figure out the sound system, but eventually I do and chose a station. I want to listen to whatever is on the radio. I’m too tired to choose a playlist.
When we get to the hospital, Graham parks and we walk into the main entrance. Either he’s familiar with this hospital or he knows the room number already, because he doesn’t stop at the information desk.
We make our way past a nurse’s station to a door with the number eighteen on the wall. He’s about to knock on the door when we hear his name called. We turn to see an older couple walking towards us. Graham shakes hands with the man, and his height changes by a good inch or two. This is CEO Graham. Dressed in jeans and a sweater.
“Richard, Jean,” he addresses them. “I’d like you to meet Emme James.” He introduces me, and I’m aware that they are, at the very least, acquaintances.
I’m engulfed into a Richard and Jean sandwich. Tears of gratitude flow as they thank me for saving their son. Uncomfortable with the attention, I console them and put a little space between us.
“Emme, Richard and Jean Raines.” Graham looks at me to confirm I’ve made the connection. This is the man I was supposed to have met with last week.
“Ms. James…” Richard starts.
“Emme, please” I interject.
“Emme. We cannot begin to thank you for saving our son.”
“Please, no thanks necessary,” I say with sincerity. “How is he?”
“Sore. Tired. Cranky. They cleared him a few hours ago. He was extremely lucky. He wore a heavier suit than the one the water temperature called for. He’s under observation, but unless something unexpected happens, he should go home in a day or two.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“If you hadn’t been there and risked your own life, I would have lost a son today.” Richard says with a graveness only a parent could feel. “He’s had such a difficult year. He’s struggled to find his path and he’s been…” he pauses, searching for the right word, “angry. We told him not to go into the water today. He promised. What good that did him, or us.”
“I’m glad I was there. Honestly, I didn’t even see him in the water. I was looking through the photos I had taken and happened to catch sight of him being tossed in a wave. He’s very lucky. Blessed, actually. He was caught in a rip current.” I pause. “May I see him?”
“Please,” they motion to the door.
“What’s his name?”
“Holt,” they say in unison.
I knock on the door but enter before I am given permission. Holt is propped up watching a muted TV mounted high on the wall in front of him. He sees me and turns it off. He’s younger than I thought.
“Angel.”
“Emme.”
“I thought you were an angel. Right before I passed out, I was under the water and you were suddenly there with all this bright hair flowing around you. I thought I had died.”
“You almost did.” I tap his legs and he moves them to the side. I sit opposite him and I rest my feet near his shoulders. I grab a single-serve tub of Jell-O from his hospital tray and starting eating it.
“Do make yourself at home,” he chuckles.
“Want to tell me what happened?”
“I was kayaking and flipped. I guess I was caught in a riptide. It was like I was swimming but not going anywhere.” His answer sounds rehearsed.
“I don’t mean how you got into the water to begin with, I mean why you gave up. What happened?”
His eyes never leave mine. I wait him out.
“I didn’t give up,” he tries again.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He seems surprised by my reaction.
“Don’t play me. I was out there with you. I had your hand. You knew I was pulling you up and you let go. It felt deliberate.”
He moves his eyes off me. His hands move over his thighs in a manner that tells me he’s struggling with how to answer.
“I don’t know. It’s just hard sometimes, you know. And right then, letting go and resting seemed…easier.”
“What’s hard?” I ease up on him a bit, hoping he’ll open up a bit more to me.
“All of it. I’d been in the water a while and was exhausted.”
I take a minute to assess him. “You’re acting like a punk.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You’re acting like a punk. You broke your promise and went into the water, risking your life—and mine, for that matter. How old are you?”
“Seventeen.”
“Where do you go to school?”
“St. Andrews.”
“Are you depressed?”
“No.”
“Would you know it if you were?”
“Yes.”
“Your parents seem nice. Do they abuse you?”
“No.” He seems amused.
“Is someone abusing you?”
“No.” He looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
“Are you being bullied?”
“No, Jesus. Enough with the theatrics. I just didn’t feel like it anymore.”
“Language,” I chastise. “Are you trying to be someone you’re not?”
“I’m not gay, if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, it wasn’t what I was asking, but it would be ok if you were. I was really more trying to get to the reason you’re tired. I don’t know what your story is, and I won’t pretend to be a
counselor, but I do believe you’ve lost your way. We all do at some point or another. I don’t think you were trying to hurt yourself, but I do think you are struggling with something.”
We sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes.
“Ever wonder what you’re meant to do and if you are really making a difference?” he asks.
“Sure. But that’s on me. If I can’t list a way I am making a difference, then I know I need to make a change. Not give up. It’s not on anyone else to give me purpose. I have to seek it out. I have to know what that is for me.”
“What if you don’t know? What if you can’t figure it out?”
“Then you trust the ones around you, who love you, to help guide you until you know for yourself. You talk to a professional, you don’t give up. Especially someone as blessed as you. I’m not going to pretend your life is all rainbows and unicorns. I can tell you that, for me, when I can’t answer that question, it’s usually because I am too wrapped up in myself. I’m being selfish. You’re important. Here for a reason.”
“Who are you?” he asks with a smile. He’s a cute boy.
“Just a girl who’s known what it feels like to lose her way.” And who lost someone who lost hers. “Everyone does.” Leaning over him, I kiss his forehead. “Take care of yourself, Holt.” I turn and start to the door, surprised to find his parents and Graham are standing there. I hadn’t realized they were listening.
I face Graham with a look that lets him know that I’m ready to go. He takes my hand and squeezes it, tugging a line straight to my heart.
We leave the room. Once were in the hall way, Richard envelopes me into another hug. Graham doesn’t release my hand.
“Emme, we are indebted to you. While you were talking to Holt, I was trying to place where I know your name from, and I remembered. Adam set up a meeting for us. I had to cancel because we decided to leave earlier to come here. Can you meet this week?”
“Mr. Raines…”
“Richard,” Jean corrects.
Smiling at her, “Richard, these two things are not connected. You don’t owe me anything, not even a meeting. When you had to cancel, I emailed a proposal to you for your consideration. Read it at your convenience. If it interests you, we can meet then. If it’s not for you, then no worries. This is strictly business. Deal?”
“Deal,” he smiles. “I think you have me as smitten as my son.” He looks from Graham to me. “I’m not sure I remember the last time someone did something for us without an ulterior motive.”
“Then you need to expand your circle. Y’all are too sweet for that to be your story.” I smile and hug them both once more. It dawns on me that most of my clients who have the status the Raines’ have, probably feel the same way. What must it feel like to not know what people’s intentions are?
We say our good-byes and Graham and I walk hand-in-hand to the car. I think back to the things Colleen mentioned after we left the Huntington Room, about how Graham is with his women. Is it because he doesn’t trust them? He thinks they only want him for his money or status? I’m about to broach the subject when Graham tugs on my arm spinning me around to face him, pushing me up against the car. Before I can say a word, his mouth has covered mine. His hands moving to the sides of my face. I twine my fingers into his belt loops, pulling his hips to rest against me and return his kiss with as much passion as he’s giving. It’s more than a long moment. He finally breaks the kiss, needing a breath. He rests his forehead against mine, and I can feel his hardness against my stomach.
“Who are you?”
“Just a girl who likes a boy.” I lay my cards on the table. He pushes back and stares at me. His hands not leaving my face. I lean forward and give him a quick peck on the lips, letting him know that the moment has passed.
“Would you like to drive?” he asks with a smirk, opening the driver’s side door.
I can’t help but grin at his concession. “Thanks, but think I’ll ride.”
His look of complete confusion tickles me, and I giggle my way to the passenger’s side. He catches up as I reach for the handle and opens my door for me.
“You could feed me though. I’m starving”
“Have a taste for something in particular?”
“Anywhere I can go in looking like this,” I say, reminding him that I’m wearing his clothes.
After Graham’s order of melt-off-the-bone good ribs with fries and coleslaw at the East Hampton Grill, I, of course, order dessert. Between the excitement of the morning and my full belly, I’m exhausted. The soreness I felt before the shower has amplified, and I’m starting to realize what a beating I took today. When Graham asks what I’d like to do after dinner, I opt for home.
“Emme, baby.” His voice is as tender as he shakes me. “We’re here.”
I open my eyes to see we’re parked in the garage of his parents’ house. “Just let me sleep here.”
“Need me to carry you?”
“No, I just need to stop being a baby and suck it up,” I say climbing out of the car and yawning my way through the house and up the stairs. I run my hand over the railing, remembering.
I turn to my room, but Graham stops me and pulls me into his. Standing me by the bed, he undresses me, slowly and methodically. I get goose pimples as he pulls his clothes off me, piece by piece.
“Clever,” he says, untying his tie around my waist. He pulls his jeans down my hips and over my ass without unbuttoning them. He runs his fingers lightly over the outside of my sex and pulls the jeans all the way off. I know he means only to tease, not to start anything. I’m in only his t-shirt.
“Get in,” he orders, pulling back the covers.
“I have to pee first,” I say, turning to the bathroom. I sit down and he walks in, leans against the vanity, and looks at me.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“You’re not very modest are you?”
“I share one bathroom with six guys. I don’t have room for modesty.”
“A yes or no would have sufficed. I don’t like thinking that you are this open with someone else.”
“I’m not. There’s a difference between peeing in front of you, and peeing in a bathroom where someone is behind a shower curtain. But no, I’m not super modest. Does it bother you that I would pee in front of you?” I ask.
“Nope. It’s just different. That’s all”
I reach around him to wash my hands then make my way to the bed. Undressing, Graham climbs in behind me, his front to my back, rubbing his hand over my ass, eventually draping his arm around me to hold my hand.
“I almost died when I realized you were in the water.” He says this like he’s been holding it in all day.
“How did you know where I was?”
“I saw you from the balcony. You were taking pictures. I came down to walk with you and you were gone. All I found was your camera…”
“Oh no! My camera!”
“I got it while you were sleeping earlier.”
“Oh? Thank you. I’m sorry, I know that wasn’t the point to your story.”
“All I found,” he moves back into his thought, “was your camera and my sweater. I finally deducted you were in the water, but I didn’t know where. When I saw you coming to shore, I was so relieved. That’s when I ran up.”
“Thank you. Honestly, I don’t know if I would have been able to pull him up. I was so exhausted.”
“You could have. It took all I had to pull him out first. You know, on the one hand, I want to beat your delectable ass for going into the water like that, but on the other, I’m learning that is who you are to your core. Your impulse is to help someone when they need it. You confound me, Emelia. I’ve never met anyone as forthright as you. It unsettles me. I don’t know what to do with these feelings.”
His honesty surprises me. It conflicts with the mogul people have told me about. I realize maybe he’s not the only one passing judgement based on misguided assumptions. Turning to face him, I push my leg between his.
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“Why do you have to do something with them? Just take it one day at a time. We’ll figure it out together. No one has ever had this effect on me either. I’m working without a guide, too. I promise to forgive you your mistakes, if you promise to forgive me mine.”
We lay there for a while. I don’t want to end this connection between us, but I am exhausted.
“Thank you,” I run my hand across his chest, draping it over his waist.
“For what?”
“Being there today. Taking care of me. Mostly, thank you for holding my hand. It’s my most favorite,” I admit, snuggling my face into his chest. He wraps his arms around me tighter.
“You’re very kind,” I say with my eyes closed.
“That’s twice now you’ve called me ‘kind’. It’s not a word most people would use to describe me.”
Without opening my eyes, I reach my hand to his face, resting it against his cheek. “I’m sure it’s an oversight on their part.”
I can feel him leaning into my touch. Despite my own pleas to lock my shit down I know the damage is done. I have fallen hard for Graham Taylor.
I wake the next morning surrounded by Graham. He’s either trying to climb inside me or mount me, given the way he is draped over me. Actually, both of those things sound just fine to me. I run my hand over his happy trail and wrap my fingers around him, when he stirs and opens his eyes.
“Can I help you?” He raises an inquisitive eye-brow.
“No, but I think I can hel—is that bacon?”
“Yes.”
“Breakfast. I’m starved!” I move to get out of the bed, but my body protests the loss of Graham’s warmth.
“You’re kidding me, right?” he’s says nonplussed. “Talk about leaving someone hanging.”
Stretching and happy to find I feel like my normal self, I pull off the covers. “Get dressed. Someone’s cooking and it smells delicious.” I glance at my watch. It’s ten-thirty. I can’t believe we slept so late.
I open the balcony door to test the air. The storms have moved out. It’s sunny and warmer. I find a pair of pajama bottoms in Graham’s closet and slide them on, pulling the drawstring tight and folding them down over my hips before adding his cardigan. He follows me down the stairs in sweats and a t-shirt.