Rumors: Emerson & Ryder

by Rachael Brownell

  When he reached over me suddenly, my body went on high alert. He was stretch across my lap, his chest brushing against my knees. I wonder if he felt me shudder or heard me inhale deeply, holding my breath until he was sitting next to me again.

  Doing the best I could to focus on our task, I took a huge bite of noodles, pulling them into my mouth slowly. Ryder made a noise, and as I looked over at him, I found him staring at me. At the noodle hanging from between my lips. I sucked it in and stared at him, unable to look away from his heated stare.

  Visions of him taking me right there, on top of the papers we’ve been working to sort. Passionate but rushed. Needy hands everywhere.

  Closing my eyes and shaking my head to clear away my dirty thoughts, I’m surprised to find Ryder only inches from me when I open them. Frozen in place, unable to move or speak, I watch as he raises his hand, taking my chin in his palm as he runs the pad of his thumb over the corner of my mouth.

  “There was sauce,” he explains breathlessly.

  What do I say to that? Thank you? Okay? Nope. I say nothing. I relish the feel of his hand against my face, resisting the urge to suck his thumb in my mouth. I want to, my body wants me to, and my thoughts run wild with possible outcomes.

  Before I can make up my mind, he moves back to his seat on the floor again, only inches away from me, and picks up a piece of paper, studying it.

  My thoughts are still focused on the way his thumb grazed my lips. The way my body reacted to his touch. The naughty ideas that were running through my head. In an attempt to keep my cool, I try to rationalize my thoughts.

  He’s my boss.

  That would be unprofessional.

  You have a boyfriend.

  It’s not really working, though, because for every rational thought I have, I have two dirty thoughts that revolve around him. Two naughty ideas that would be fun to act out with him. Here. In his office.

  We’re done now, thankfully. I’m not sure I could handle much more after that. Things were getting too intimate.

  The first stack is completely in her favor. He’s being generous in hopes that the custody battle is easily resolved. All he’s keeping is their home here in Sunnyside and his car. She gets their beach house, her car, a vacation home, all furnishings and possessions they obtained as a couple, and a shit ton of money. It appears he’s trying to pay her off, give her as much as he can live without. No matter what, he’s going to try not to pay alimony. She has a degree in accounting. She can find a good job and provide her own source of income. He also gets full custody of Amara with this option.

  The other stack is more balanced in my opinion. He keeps all the same things, plus part of their possessions, but she gets more money. A lot more money. I had no idea he was worth the numbers I was staring at.

  With this option, custody is split 50/50.

  The thought of him not being able to see his daughter half the time hurts my heart. Especially after hearing him on the phone with her yesterday. I know there need to be concessions when it comes to divorce, but this is a little girl we’re talking about. You can’t split her in half and call it fair.

  “Do you think she’ll agree to either option?” I ask as he continues to stare at the piles.

  “Probably not. We may have just wasted our time,” he confesses, stretching his arms over his head, giving me a better view of his tattoo.

  AMARA.

  His daughter's name, in Old English lettering, down his side.

  “It wasn’t for nothing,” I reply, nodding my head at his tattoo.

  “I know,” he starts, running his hand down it. “It just feels like if I don’t give her everything, she’ll take the one thing that matters most to me. My greatest fear is that she’ll disappear and make it impossible for me to have a relationship with her. She doesn’t realize that as much as that will hurt me, it will hurt Amara more.”

  “So how can you stop that from happening?”

  “I’m not sure that I can,” he admits in defeat. “Thank you, though. You were a huge help.”

  “How?” I ask in shock.

  “You were a fresh set of eyes. You have no stake in any of this, yet you shared your opinion with me. You helped me see exactly what I’m willing to part with for a chance to save the relationship I have with my daughter.”

  My opinion.

  I didn’t realize that I was sharing it with him. When he asked me questions, I answered them honestly, that’s all. I was trying to help in any way that I could. He seemed lost when I first walked in. Now he knows exactly what he wants, aside from the obvious.

  Ryder and I stare at each other for a moment without saying a word. It’s the first time it’s been quiet in here tonight. The shuffle of papers, the tapping of Ryder’s pen against the table, all silenced as we stare at each other.

  There’s a smile on his face and I can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking about. What’s on his mind? Who’s on his mind?

  “Well, I’m just glad you figured it all out.” My words are soft as I push myself off the floor.

  “We should probably close up shop,” he declares suddenly, grabbing his shirt off the arm of the couch and feverishly putting it on.

  “Oh, sure,” I say, looking around at the mess we’ve created. Reaching for the Thai containers, Ryder gently grabs my wrist and stops me before I can pick them up.

  “I got this. I’m sure you have better places to be on a Friday night than work.”

  I did. I don’t tell him that.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say, opening the door to leave.

  “Sure, shoot,” he replies, dropping the containers in the trash.

  “I know you two met when you were much younger, but why didn’t you have her sign a prenup?”

  Ryder cringes, his face contorting in a mix of regret and anger.

  “I should have, but I was so excited at the time it was the last thing on my mind. She was pregnant and we rushed things. Instead of planning a lavish wedding like I knew she wanted, we eloped to Vegas without telling anyone.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “No, it’s okay. My father was irate, but I was happy. I did love Megan, in many ways I still do. She gave me the greatest gift anyone ever could, our daughter. Do I wish I would have had her sign a prenup? Let’s just say I’ll never make that mistake again. No matter who comes along, no matter how much I love and trust them, I want to make sure I’m protected. That my daughter’s protected. Megan’s changed since we first started dating. She wasn’t always spiteful, and I’m sure she won’t always be.”

  “We all change,” I mumble, thinking of my own situation. Stepping into the hall, I turn and take one last look at my boss. Why would anyone treat him as poorly as Megan is right now?

  “Have a good night, Ryder.”

  “See you on Monday,” he calls out as I close the door behind me.

  Once I’m safely on the other side, I relax my body against it.

  Spending time with Ryder, alone in his office, was emotionally exhausting. My eyes wanted to wander, along with my thoughts. All of them dirty. My mind was in the gutter most of the time. As long as he kept me talking, I could focus. It was the moments in between, when he needed a moment to think or decide, that I would drift off to a place that only the two of us existed.

  No Ian.

  No Megan.

  No prying eyes or rumors.

  It was a nice place too. One where Ryder never put his shirt back on and I took mine off along with the rest of my clothes. Every surface of his office was christened. His desk. The couch. There was even one daydream of us on my desk, papers flying as he clears a spot to lay me down.

  His voice brought me out of those sexy places with questions about real estate and furniture. Asking me what was important to me. Wanting to know what I would want to keep if I were Megan. Generally interested in a female perspective on things.

  Reality is never as great as fantasy.

  Walking into my apartment, it’s appare
nt that Ian isn’t home, despite the fact that every light is on. It’s eerily silent, triggering my nerves.

  I used to spend a ton of time home alone. Before I was hired at Dixon and Sons, I was home all day, every day, searching for a job. I’d spend hours cooking a fantastic meal for the two of us, Ian always showing up just as it was done.

  There were nights he would work late, coming home well after ten or eleven o’clock. I was always comfortable here alone. Never once did I ever fear the silence.

  This is different.

  I actually feel alone. It’s not just the fact that Ian isn’t here. It’s in my heart and my mind.

  Tossing my purse on the couch, I plop down and pull out my phone to check for any new messages. It’s the fifth time since leaving the office. Either he’s ignoring me or he’s still angry.

  Rereading our conversation from earlier, I shake my head at his childish reaction. If the situation were reversed, I would try to understand. Yes, I would be upset by the fact he didn’t make the engagement with me. Yes, I would be angry that he had to work late, but I would try to be understanding that it was out of his control. At the end of the day, I want him to succeed as much as I want myself to succeed.

  It’s not always about what we want, though.

  Sometimes it’s about being an adult and doing things we don’t want to do. You have to suck it up. Life does not always go as planned.

  Nothing has ever gone as planned for us, and we’ve made it this far. He was supposed to take a job in Lansing until I graduated. Instead, he moved here, leaving me for an entire year. Not just leaving me alone but to pay the rent on our apartment by myself, depleting my savings account.

  He made that decision without consulting me. It was in his best interest to take the job, he said. It was a great opportunity for his career. I should understand. And I did, for the most part. I was supportive, at least. Angela was the only person I confided in that I wasn’t happy about it.

  Fast forward a year and a half and here we are. I’m making decisions that will be great for my career and he doesn’t understand. He’s not showing me even an ounce of the support I gave him back then. And I’m still here. It’s not like my job has taken me away from him.

  But that’s fine.

  I don’t need his support. I can make it on my own. That’s what I think bothers him the most. That I don’t need him to survive. I have a job. I can make ends meet. He liked it better when I relied on him for everything. That meant that I needed him and I wouldn’t leave. I was his, for as long as he wanted to keep me.

  The anger I’ve been keeping at bay for the last month is bubbling to the surface. I hate it. I hate feeling like this. I’m angry at him for his actions tonight, but more than anything, I’m angry at the way he’s been treating me. I’m done dealing with it, and it’s time I told him how I feel.

  Using words he can’t misinterpret.

  I can’t walk away from the conversation and expect him to change. He won’t, at least not right away. He needs to get it, to understand what I’m saying and why. Then he can decide if he wants to change. Not for me, or for him, but for us. To make it work between us. Because something has to change.

  Watching the clock, I wait up for Ian until almost one o’clock in the morning. Keeping my eyes open is becoming a challenge so I decide to talk with him in the morning after we’ve both had a good night’s sleep. Maybe my thoughts will be a little clearer.

  Ian’s hand moves across my stomach and down to my thigh. Turning toward him, I moan when he slides his hand inside my panties.

  Wait!

  My eyes pop open to find Ian completely naked, moving to straddle me. There’s a mischievous grin on his face. The same grin he gets when he’s two sheets to the wind.

  “Hey,” I say, placing my hand on top of his to stop him from moving any lower.

  “Hey, baby,” he slurs.

  “What time is it?” I ask, attempting to direct his attention elsewhere.

  “Late, baby. Real late.”

  The stench of whiskey assaults my nose as he leans down to kiss me. Turing my head, his lips fall to my cheek and it takes him a minute to realize that he’s missed his mark, his tongue leaving a giant wet spot behind.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you want some of this?” he asks, leaning back and grabbing his dick.

  He’s beyond wasted. I’ve never seen him like this. Ian’s not normally much of a drinker. Parties in college on occasion. A glass of wine with dinner or a beer if we go out with friends. Never hard liquor. I’m more of a drinker than he is and that’s only because we have girl’s night once a week.

  “Not tonight,” I say sternly, looking him dead in the eyes. I doubt he sees me. Aside from being dark in our room, he’s swaying from side to side. If he can focus long enough on my face to see my anger I would be surprised.

  “What the fuck ever,” he replies angrily, scrambling across the bed.

  As if he’s in slow motion, Ian swings his leg over the side of the bed and the rest of his body follows. He reaches his hand out in front of him to grab the wall, but he’s already on his way down, the weight of his body propelling him faster than he can react. The bed vibrates when his body lands on the floor.

  “Fuck!” he screams.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, not moving to help him.

  I was angry before, now I’m furious. He’s out of control. If he drove himself home, I’ll be irate. He knows how I feel about drinking and driving. It’s never about how great of a driver you are when impaired, it’s about the other assholes on the road.

  Did his boss see him like this?

  Was his boss the one that fed him drinks?

  Ian is full of himself most days, proud of his accomplishments and never afraid to talk about them. He has no filter and doesn’t realize how much of an asshole he sounds like. When he drinks, it’s worse. I sure hope, for his sake, that his boss didn’t see this side of him. Drunk Ian was a pain in my ass in college. The way he’s acting tonight is worse than any episode from college I remember.

  Ian doesn’t answer me. His head suddenly pops up and he pulls himself off the floor and rolls into bed. Ten seconds later, he’s snoring loudly. He’s going to feel like shit in the morning. He probably won’t remember this conversation or the fact that he’s mad at me because I wouldn’t have sex with his drunk ass.

  This is good since I plan to still talk to him in the morning, whether he wants to talk or not. I might even talk louder than normal just to get under his skin. He has a decision to make, one that affects both of us. Either he can change or I can walk away. It has to be one or the other because I can’t live like this. I’m tired of feeling like I don’t matter, what I want or feel or do, doesn’t matter. It’s the Ian show and I’m just a participant.

  No more.

  That’s not how a real relationship should be.

  Chapter Eight

  Ian is still snoring soundly when I crawl out of bed. Staring at him from the doorway, I try to remember why I fell in love with him years ago. I look for the man that used to make me laugh, who found a way to make me smile every day, no matter how stressed out or upset I was.

  There were days in college when I would stress over nothing. If I had a test or presentation coming up, I refused to leave my apartment until it was finished. Not only in the sense that it was complete, but that it was perfect. Ian would bring me food and keep me company while I worked. The downside to that was I didn’t get along with a few of my roommates and neither did Ian. There was always tension when they were home, especially if Ian was there with me.

  No matter how hard I tried, it was almost impossible to live with three other girls without fighting about something.

  Ian’s senior year, I spent a lot of nights at his apartment to get away from them. In the spring, before he graduated, we decided we would like together the next year to save money while he was looking for a job. What he didn’t tell me was he was being head-hunted. He received an offer before t
he ink on his diploma was dry and I was left all alone. Angela was the only person I had left, and she was living with a group of girls that she barely got along with.

  Ian asked me once why Angela and I didn’t live together, and I laughed.

  “Think about it,” I said. “If I can’t get along with a complete stranger because we live in close quarters, what makes you think Angela and I would be able to? Sure, we get along great, but part of that is that we have boundaries. Living together could ruin our friendship and we both know it.”

  “That’s such bullshit,” he replied, rolling his eyes at me.

  It was the first time I had ever noticed how flip he could be about things. He and Angela have never gotten along great, but for him to dismiss my logic because she was involved pissed me off. That conversation turned into the first fight we ever had. I thought about backing down after that first night. All I wanted was for him to understand my side of things and he refused. That made me even angrier, so we ended up spending the entire weekend at each other’s throats. When he left on Sunday morning, I felt relieved.

  Maybe we should have ended things that weekend. He showed me a side of himself that I didn’t like. A side that has made its appearance on more than one occasion recently. It’s like he has to be right. Since then, our fighting has only gotten worse. I’ve held out hope that things will go back to the way they used to be, but after the last few weeks, I’m not sure I even want that.

  Where did the man I fell in love with go?

  Is he still in there?

  Shaking my head, I leave him to sleep off the remaining alcohol in his body. If he feels half as bad as I think he’s going to when he wakes up, he’ll need coffee. Lots of it. The least I can do is start a fresh pot. The conversation that’s going to follow hopefully won’t be as difficult if he has caffeine.