I take the last open seat and look at my friends. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long?”
“Thank you for pulling us together. It seems like it’s been ages since we’ve hung out,” Hadlee says.
CeCe calls the waiter over and he makes his way through the throng of people in our noisy restaurant. “What are we drinking, ladies?”
“Bourbon for me,” I say.
“I want a Manhattan,” Hadlee orders.
“I’ll drink a bourbon, too,” Greer tells him.
“Are we drinking them straight or over ice?” CeCe asks.
Greer and I both say in unison, “Over ice.”
“I guess it’s three bourbons over ice and a Manhattan,” CeCe recites.
“A round of ice water, too, please,” I add.
He disappears and we spend the evening chatting away. We talk about our jobs, the men in our lives, our families, and even touch on politics at one point. It’s fun going out with the girls on a school night. We’ve had little time to go out recently, so this is nice.
I take a Lyft home and call Dillon from the car, but my call goes straight to voice mail. I don’t remember him ever being so distant.
***
The week has flown by, and I haven’t talked to him. I don’t want to be needy, or high-maintenance. If I didn’t work with Dillon, I would guess he’s ghosting me. But really, how old are we?
I shoot him a text: Are we golfing tomorrow morning? And I hear nothing back. Crickets.
I share with my therapist how disappointed I am, but she doesn’t give me much in response. I let him in, and now he seems to have crushed me. I don’t know what to think.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Dillon
I see I missed another call from Emerson. I can’t deal with her right now. I wish she would just stop worrying about me. I’m old enough to worry about myself.
I run into some friends from my early days of living in The City. We drink too much and hang out, debating the stupidest things, like if NASCAR is a sport or if a woman should play professional football. It keeps us busy, and it keeps me out at night and my mind off how much I miss my dad.
When I’m home, I often find myself picking up the phone, wanting to call my dad to share something. It’s then that I struggle with his death the most. Occasionally I find company, or I call a friend to keep me company. But it’s never Emerson. She wants more from me and honestly, I don’t know what I want right now.
Siobhan calls my cell and leaves me a voice mail every day for a week. I can hear her anxiety increasing with each message. Finally, I call her back. I don’t want to, but I do anyway. “Hey, sis. What’s up?”
With the anger of a momma bear separated from her cubs, she roars, “Where the fuck have you been?”
I have a hangover from partying last night, and I don’t have the patience for this. “Calm down. What’s going on?”
“Mom got Dad’s ashes earlier this week. When can you plan on going home to spread them? I don’t own the school. I’m just a teacher, so I need to ask for time in advance.”
Trying to hold my irritation in check, I reply, “Why do we have to make that decision right away?”
I know she’s close to losing it when she explodes, “Are you kidding me? Have you talked to mom? She’s a mess. I’m flying up Friday after school and will spend the weekend with her.”
Great, that means I don’t have to go and deal with the ashes. Maybe they can spread them without me. “Okay. Let me know if you need anything.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? We need you, jackass!”
“To do what? I stayed after you left. I’m paying her bills. I talk to her regularly. I don’t know what you want from me, Siobhan, but tell me and I’ll make sure you get it.”
I hear a big sigh over the phone. “Never mind. I’ll let you know how it goes with Mom this weekend.”
“Great. Have fun,” I say to a dead phone line.
God! Everyone wants something from me. Why can’t anything be easy? I need to escape to where no one can bother me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Emerson
Dillon hasn’t been the same. The loss of a parent must be extremely difficult. He’s regularly late for work and often seems hungover, and he missed today’s partner meeting entirely. When he finally comes in, he’s dressed impeccably in his pressed khaki pants and a blue and white striped shirt. There’s not a hair out of place, but when he asks me to meet him in his office, I can smell the whiskey oozing from his pores.
“How are you doing?” I ask. He hasn’t returned any of my texts or phone calls, so I wouldn’t know.
“Fine.” Showing he’s all business and not personal, he asks, “How are things going with Accurate?” Before I can answer, he says, “I talked to Bob last night, and he’s having problems with the girl working his account.”
I’m surprised to hear this from Dillon and not Bob, “Really? He told me last week that he was thrilled with Marie. Let me find out what’s going on and I’ll follow up with you.”
He gives me a dismissal wave. I turn to leave when I hear him say, “If Marie can’t get this done, fire her and let’s move on.”
Stopping in my tracks, I turn back to face him. “Ooookay. We can do that. But what did Bob say, exactly?”
“Emerson, I don’t have the patience for this. Do your fucking job. Find out why she has him upset and get it fixed, or we’ll fire both of you.”
Too stunned to say anything, I simply tell him, “Of course.” Then I leave his office, fighting back the tears. I’ve never seen him like this. I don’t know how to handle him right now.
Mason follows right behind me. “What was that all about?”
“He’s unhappy with Marie on the Accurate account, and I need to get it taken care of. No worries.”
Scrutinizing me, Mason quietly asks so only I can hear, “Are you covering for him, Emerson?”
“No, not at all. I spoke with Bob last week, and he told me all was going well. Apparently last night he told Dillon something else. I need to get it fixed.”
Putting his hand on my shoulder, obviously trying to be reassuring, Mason tells me, “I still don’t like him barking at you, or anyone else.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let me see how I can fix it.”
I spend the afternoon trying to figure out what’s going on, and in the end, Marie is only asking for a lamp for one of Bob’s developers. The developer feels it’s dark in his office, and with all the coding he’s doing, it’s making his eyes tired.
I check with Bob and make sure he’s happy with Marie, stressing that we can replace her if he’d like. He’s quick to tell me that he’s thrilled with her and asks that we not make any changes.
“Emerson!” I hear yelled from Dillon’s office.
I excuse myself from my call and walk down to his office, going no farther than the doorway. “You rang?” Trying to put a smile on my face, I lean against the door jamb in a brown pencil skirt and pressed shirt with the sleeves rolled up to my elbows, a big wide belt, and Louboutin kitten heels.
Dillon’s sitting behind his big desk, papers spread everywhere. “What the fuck are you trying to do?”
Not sure what’s going on or what needs to be fixed, I remain at the door, just managing to keep my temper in check. “I need more information. What are you referring to?”
His hands are waving around like he’s trying to bring a plane into a gate. “I’m looking at this proposal for BetaWorks, and I see you have eight people attached. Are you
trying to bankrupt us? What the fuck?”
Taking a deep breath, I carefully outline why they need four people, which also includes my input. It isn’t eight people, and it isn’t extravagant. They have an aggressive business plan that will require recruiting help and operational support.
He hasn’t listened to one thing I’ve said. “No. It’s not acceptable. They don’t need any more than one person from your team. If they can’t do the j
ob, we’ll find someone who can.”
Still standing at his door, I tell him, “I understand you’re having a bad day. I’m sorry for whatever I did.” Then I turn to return to my own office and take a breath of air.
“Don’t you dare walk out on me!” he snarls.
Spinning around and looking at him, I say, “When you’re ready to have a reasonable conversation, let me know.” With that, I head back to my office, knowing every set of eyes are on me.
“Get back here!” he yells, and I start to turn back to his office.
“Emerson, can you excuse us?” Mason says from behind me. “I need to have a word with Dillon.”
“Of course.”
Everyone in the office is standing and watching the interaction, not sure what to do. I hold my head up high, push my shoulders back, and despite wanting to cry, I go into my office, shutting the door behind me. I hate the all-glass offices right now. I just want to find a place where I can cry in private.
My assistant knocks on my door and asks, “Emerson, I’m going downstairs to Starbucks. Can I get you anything?”
Grateful for the distraction, I tell her, “If you fly, I’ll buy.” I smile at the relieved look on her face. “I’d love a venti soy, no-water, no-foam chai,” I reach into my purse, pull out my Starbucks card, and hand it to her.
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
“Thank you.” She leaves and I shut the door behind her. Even so, I can still hear Mason and Dillon screaming at one another.
Sara knocks on my door a while later and walks in with my assistant behind her. “Here’s your Starbucks card and your chai.”
“That was fast. Thank you, Nadine.” Turning to Sara, I ask, “So, how are you today?”
“I think my day is going a bit better than yours. How are you?”
Fighting back the tears, I tell her, “I think tonight I’m going for a long run, and then I’m going to drink a bottle of wine all by myself.”
“I’m sorry. Dillon’s not the same guy he was before his dad passed.”
“I think I agree.”
As Sara leaves, Mason sticks his head in and asks, “Do you have a minute?”
I’m nervous about this conversation. I could hear the guys talking, though I couldn’t be one hundred percent sure what they were saying. But I did hear my name said with a lot of anger. I’m sure Dillon has requested I leave the company.
The knots in my stomach are tight, and I think I want to throw up. “Of course. Sit down.”
Looking out at the employees who are milling about and interested in the drama unfolding, Mason asks, “How about we go for a walk?”
Crap! This can’t be good.
“Sure.” I pick up my chai and grab my coat from the rack.
Mason doesn’t say anything until we’ve cleared the building. “Emerson, tell me what happened with Dillon this afternoon.”
I walk through our situation and share my version of what happened, Mason quiet and nodding in the appropriate places as I talk. He asks a few probing questions but doesn’t seem to express any opinion one way or the other. I finish with “If you think I should leave, let’s work out a plan.” And then I hold my breath, because his reply makes or breaks me professionally.
“Emerson, we have no intention of making any changes with you. I agree with you regarding the proposal. I’m not making excuses for Dillon, but this behavior is out of character for him. Please try to let it go. We love you and want you to stay. Our fear is you’ll leave us, and we certainly don’t want you to.”
I want so much to hug him and tell him he made my day. “I know he’s been dealing with a lot, so I’ll give him some more rope, but at some point, he’s going to hang himself.”
“I agree. Cameron and I are meeting for dinner tonight. I suppose you and Sara should officially join us, but if you don’t mind, the three of us were founders, and we need to figure out our next steps before we make a recommendation to the partners.”
“I understand. I can take the yelling as long as we all know it’s more Dillon’s frustration with his own personal situation and not with me.”
He gives me a hug. “Thank you, Emerson. I really needed to hear that.”
Dillon is sitting on my doorstep when I arrive home. Molly is playing with him and enjoying all the attention he’s lavishing on her. Traitor.
I’m angry with him. He mistreated me today, embarrassed me in front of people who work for us, and he embarrassed me in front of Mason. Not interested in any apology, I ask, “How did you get into my house?”
“I didn’t. Molly was in the backyard and I opened the gate. Can we talk?”
“As long as you’re going to be respectful and not yell at me.”
He tilts his head to the side, smiles, and says, “I promise. Can we go inside?”
I nod, though I’m nervous to let him in. Once the door is closed behind me, he kisses me deep and hard, aggressive. Much like when he fucks: hot, hard, feral, and at a pace that’s difficult to keep up with.
We tear our clothes off and his fingers deftly probe my core, the urgency making me orgasm quickly. We move to the bedroom, and I hand him a condom from the bedside table. He sheaths his erection and I hold on to him, showing how I want him deep inside me.
He dips his tongue past my lips and pushes against my soft core. God, how I’ve missed the feel of him. I smooth my hands up from his shoulders to find his neck, straining and tight under my fingers. He pulls me toward him, deepening his kiss, pressing my body to his and pushing his hardness against my stomach. I need him in every way, right here and now.
He circles his hips and then pulls his head back. “I’m sorry about today.”
“Shush. Fuck me already.”
He smiles and his cock pummels my sweet spot, riding me hard. I see the pain on his face, the anguish caused by his father's death.
All of a sudden, it’s crystal clear—all the emotions of the day have come crashing down because I’m trying to squash what we have together, what I feel for him. I’m in love with this man. The good-looking man who is above me, inside me.
When he’s done, I look up to him getting dressed. “Where are you headed?”
“I have dinner plans. See you tomorrow at work?”
I’m too stunned to even respond. What the hell just happened? Why did I let him into my home?
I’m left with the reality of what I am to him. Just another one of his fuck dolls.
I won’t be that. I won’t let him do that to me and my self-worth.
I spend the remainder of the week working on client sites, totally avoiding Dillon. He called last night, and I let it go to voice mail. I don’t want to be another name in his little black book, yet somehow that’s where I wound up.
Never again.
Saturday night I’m out with the girls. CeCe is aware of what happened with Dillon, both in the office and at my house. She’s my champion, actually angrier with him than I am. Loyalty at its finest.
We’re meeting at Farallon. I haven’t been back since Adam, but CeCe feels it’s crucial we have a good experience here. They’ve reserved us a perfect table, and we order a bottle of champagne.
CeCe raises her glass. “To girl power!”
We all clink our glasses and repeat, “To girl power!”
We have a great dinner and enjoy ourselves. Greer spends the evening telling us all about her recent escapades with her start-up company, which is close to being bought by Microsoft. It’s good news for her because she has stock options in the start-up, but also bad news because she won’t be part of the sale. Her stories about the antics of the company as they prepare to go big have us laughing until we’re crying and our sides hurt.
As we walk out, Greer and Hadlee tell us goodbye and head in one direction while CeCe talks me into going to Quince for drinks in their bar.
“I’ll go, but they’re a Michelin three-star-rated restaurant with a reservation list months long. Do you think we’ll be able to get a place at the
bar?”
Pulling at my arm, she starts to walk away. “Let’s try. I need to get you out of this funk with Dillon.”
Not allowing her to pull me along, I deadpan, “I’m out. Promise. I’m ignoring him—unless it’s work-related.”
Smiling and facing me, she says, “So now let’s talk about how we’re going to find you a new guy.”
I’m not over Dillon yet. He may have hurt me, but I’m not ready to open myself up again so soon to another man. “I’m off men for a while.”
She giggles. “You can’t want to go girl, do you?”
I smile. “No. But I love you, sweetheart, and if I were going to become a lesbian, you’d be at the top of the list. I need some time.”
We sidle up to the bar and CeCe talks her magic with the bartender. He makes us two Manhattans that we grab immediately. “Damn, these are good!”
I nod enthusiastically. “Absolutely.”
Cozying up and positioning herself where she can see every man in the bar, CeCe asks, “What are your plans for the rest of the weekend?”
“I’m playing golf at the Presidio tomorrow morning, and I have a bunch of work to get done.” My cell pings, signaling a text. I look at it and see it’s Dillon.
Hey.
I’m not planning to respond, but CeCe takes the phone from me and reads the message. “Are you kidding me? Who does he think he is?”
“Ignore it, CeCe. I am.”
“So what about your Sunday?” she asks. “I’m headed back to Mom and Dad’s. Sure you don’t want to join me for Sunday dinner?”
“What time are you going down to Hillsboro?”
“I’ll pick you up at your place tomorrow at four.”
My phone pings again: What’s up?
“Oh, that is it!” CeCe tells me. She grabs my phone and responds, Fuck Off.
Before I can stop her, she sends it.
“CeCe! I can take care of myself, and I can certainly handle Dillon.”
Forbidden Love (Venture Capitalist Book 1) Page 10