Stepbrother Billionaire

by Colleen Masters

  “Hey honey!” Deb chirps happily as Emerson strolls in through the front door. I look up as he enters and tug out an earbud, in case we’re all about to have a family meeting.

  “Hi Mom,” he replies shortly. To my surprise, he makes a beeline to where I’m sitting on the couch and plops down next to me. I feel unaccountably nervous to be near him in our parents’ presence. What if they can sense what’s gone on between us?

  But of course, they’re oblivious to the end. For once, their narcissism is working in our favor.

  “Our Best Man and Maid of Honor, here together,” Deb goes on, clasping her manicured hands in elation.

  “When did that get decided?” I ask under my breath.

  “Don’t look at me,” Emerson replies, “It’s the first I’m hearing of it.”

  “We’ll need you kids up bright and early on Sunday morning,” my dad calls over to us. “We’ve got the justice of the peace booked from noon until half past. Gotta make it snappy.”

  “How romantic,” I observe.

  “And guess what else,” Dad goes on, his cheerfulness dwindling just a hair, “Grandma Jillian and Grandpa Frank are going to be here to celebrate.”

  “Really?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. My grandparents, Frank and Jillian Rowan, adore me, but their relationship with my dad is rather spotty. Grandpa Frank is pretty critical of my dad’s history of “freeloading” off their old money.

  “They insisted,” my dad smiles tightly.

  It’s actually something of a comfort that Dad doesn’t get along with his parents, either. Just goes to show that it runs in the family. Grandma and Grandpa have been supporting our little family since I was born. They really adored my mom, Sandy, and pretty clearly thought she was doing my dad a favor by sticking around. Most of the money for my schooling, clothing, and extracurriculars still comes from them. They’ve even offered to pay my way through college. Well, whatever I can’t cover with scholarships, that is.

  “Well. I’ll be sure to get to the church on time,” Emerson says with sarcastic enthusiasm. “But I won’t be around much beforehand.”

  “What?” I ask, whipping around to face him. What the hell is he talking about? He has to be around.

  “What do you mean, Emerson?” Deb presses her son.

  “A friend of mine is throwing me an eighteenth birthday party at his parents’ beach house this weekend. A whole bunch of people are going to be there,” Emerson says casually.

  “Is that so?” I whisper, my stomach flipping over. He’s ditching me, and our rather important plans, to hang out at the beach?

  “Oh...Well, that’s nice!” Deb smiles. “You’ve always been such a popular boy, Emerson. It’s good that you’ll be with your friends on your birthday.”

  “Uh-huh,” Emerson says, examining his fingernails.

  “Guess it’ll just be the three of us celebrating your birthday then, Abby,” my dad says.

  “So it would seem,” I reply, glaring at Emerson. I can feel a hard knot forming in my throat. Was he just messing with me last night, when he told me that he wanted me? Has he been telling all his friends about how his pervy almost-stepsister secretly wants to jump his bones? I can’t believe I let my guard down. I should know better than to trust anyone at all.

  “Actually, you know what?” Emerson says, finally shifting his gaze my way, “My friends probably wouldn’t mind too much if you tagged along, Abby. I’ve got a spare seat in the car.”

  “You...I...What?” I stammer, uncomprehendingly.

  “Oh, you should go, Abby!” Deb says enthusiastically, “You don’t want to hang out with us old farts on your birthday. Go have fun with Emerson and his friends! Don’t you think she should, Bob?”

  “Sure,” my dad says, “Sounds like it could be a fun time for you kids.”

  “What do you say, Abby?” Emerson asks. There’s a glint in his blue eyes, a spark of secrecy. I don’t quite know what he’s up to, or why he’s scrapped our plans for the weekend, but anything would be better than being stuck here alone with our parents on my birthday.

  “OK,” I say flatly, leaning back against the couch. “Sounds...great.”

  “As long as you’re on time for the wedding,” my dad reminds us warningly.

  “Super,” Emerson grins, snatching away the bag of Milano cookies I’ve been noshing on. “We’ll leave tomorrow after school. Get as much out of the weekend as we can.”

  “Sounds good, Bro,” I say, glowering at him as he steals my snack.

  “Oh, isn’t that just so precious?” Deb grins, as Emerson disappears upstairs.

  I watch his retreating back, my mind reeling. I’m hurt, and confused, and incredibly disappointed about our plans being scattered. How can he think it’s OK to just blow me off like this, after everything I shared with him last night? It doesn’t make any sense. He seemed just as eager to have some...alone time together as I did. What the hell gives?

  My concentration has been absolutely demolished. There’s no way I’m getting any more homework done today. Unwilling to listen to my parents’ sickly-sweet chatter, I head up to my own room, lock the door, and whip out my battery-operated boyfriend. If I’m not going to get any action this weekend after all, I’d better stock up on the self love every chance I get. I’m well accustomed to taking care of myself, anyway.

  Still smarting from Emerson’s dismissal, I leave for the school the next morning without even sticking around to wish him a happy birthday. I halfway expect the rest of the student body to burst out laughing as I hurry into school, convinced that Emerson will have spread the word about what a dramatic weirdo I am.

  But as usual, my entrance into homeroom goes unnoticed by all my peers save Riley. My best friend waves me over, noticing at once that I’m in a terrible mood.

  “What’s wrong?” she asks, as I sit down beside her.

  “Oh, you know,” I sigh, “Just everything in the entire world.”

  Without a word, she takes my hand and tows me toward the classroom door. Our teacher, a beleaguered, balding man in his forties, looks up from his game of computer solitaire as we march past.

  “Excuse me,” he says testily. “Where do you ladies think you’re going?”

  Without missing a beat, Riley spins around to face him, plants a hand on her hip, and says, “We both just got our periods simultaneously. They’re super heavy too. Like, horror-movie level. So we’re gonna go take care of our Woman Issues together. OK? Bye!”

  The teacher’s face drains of color as we traipse out of the room and slam the door behind us. The rest of our schoolmates are in their classrooms already, so we’re all alone as we beat a quick path through the halls and hole up in one of the girls’ bathrooms. We squeeze ourselves into one of the larger stalls and settle down for a good long talk. Riley cracks a window so that she can enjoy a gossip-session cigarette, and I tell her about Emerson’s surreptitious change of plans for the weekend.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” she says, putting her smoke out on the windowsill.

  “Tell me about it!” I exclaim, letting my head fall back against the tile wall.

  “There’s got to be more to it,” she says resolutely. “Why would he all but profess his love for you one night—?”

  “He professed his wanting to bone me,” I correct her, “Not his love.”

  “Right,” Riley says, rolling her eyes, “Why would he profess his whatever, only to leave you high and dry? Doesn’t follow.”

  “You’re the expert on man-brains,” I reply, “You tell me what I’m supposed to make of all this.”

  “Just wait it out,” she tells me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “I’m sure there’s an explanation, here.”

  Having unloaded some of my frustration, I feel like I can at least make it through the rest of the day without exploding. We’ll see how I feel once I’m cooped up in some beach house with a bunch of Emerson’s buddies. As I step out of the girl’s bathroom with Riley right behind me, I very nearly c
rash into a wall of person that appears out of nowhere.

  “Christ,” I mutter, stepping out of the way just in time. “Watch where you’re—”

  “There you are,” a very familiar voice says. “I was looking for you.”

  I glance up only to find Emerson’s blue eyes looking back at me. I do my best to tamp down my automatic excitement at seeing him. Can’t let him get me all riled up, now.

  “Oh?” I say, feigning indifference. “And why were you looking for me?”

  “Because we’re getting out of here,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Right now. Let’s go.”

  “I thought you said we were heading out after school?” I reply, even more confused.

  “I say a lot of things,” Emerson shrugs, “But right now, I’m saying that you and I are getting in my Chevy and blowing this pop stand. What, are you afraid to miss math class or something, Miss Rowan?”

  “Don’t be an ass,” I mutter. “If you’re so hell-bent on leaving now, fine. It’s your freakin’ birthday, after all.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he grins, turning on his heel. “Let’s go, Sis.”

  He walks away toward the student parking lot, and I turn to stare at Riley, bewildered.

  “What are you waiting for?” she whispers, giving me a little push, “Go with him!”

  “All right, all right,” I mutter, and set off after Emerson.

  I’ve never straight-up ditched school before, but I can’t let him see that I’m nervous about this little operation. Struggling to appear cool as a cucumber, I duck through the front doors on his heels and hurry over to his Chevy. Holding my breath as I slide into the passenger seat, it occurs to me as strange that there’s no one else hitching a ride with us. I thought we’d be transporting at least a couple of Emerson’s meat head friends to the beach with us.

  Emerson steers the Chevy out of the school parking lot, and for a moment it seems that we’re totally in the clear. That is, until the security guard at the front gates looks up from his crossword puzzle with a scowl.

  “You might want to duck down in your seat a little,” Emerson tells me.

  I obey, without daring to ask why. The security guard lumbers out of his hutch, signaling for us to stop. Emerson eases up on the gas as we approach, rolling toward the gates. But just as we’re coming up on the school guard, my reckless companion floors it. With a rabid whirr of the engine, we fly past the baffled guard and swing out onto the main road out of town. I swallow down a terrified yelp as I watch our school shrink behind us in the rearview mirror.

  “Desperate times, right?” Emerson laughs, slapping the steering wheel with his palms.

  “I don’t understand why you’re so desperate to get to some stupid house party,” I grumble, crossing my arms. “Even if it is in honor of your birthday.”

  Emerson raises an eyebrow at me, an amused grin spreading across his face. “Holy shit, Abby,” he crows, laughing at my surly expression. “You are, hands down, the most gullible person on the planet. Did you seriously think—?”

  “What?” I ask, sitting up a little straighter, “Did I think what?”

  “Did you seriously think I was going to blow off what we planned for some stupid birthday party? Damn. I must be a better liar than I thought,” he chuckles, pulling out a cigarette.

  My heart inflates like a helium balloon as I catch his drift. “You mean,” I breathe, “We’re still on? For...?”

  “Of course we’re still on,” he says, glancing my way. “You think I’d actually miss the chance to follow through on my promise to you? You must be out of your damn mind, lady.”

  “But then why—? What—?” I stammer, smiling despite myself.

  “I had to feed Bob and Deb that house party bullshit,” he explains, turning off onto the highway ramp. “They may be the two most oblivious, self-centered people on the continent, but even they would have been suspicious if their teenage son and daughter had announced they were going off on a romantic seaside retreat together.”

  “You know something Sawyer,” I say, beaming at his brilliance, “You’re a lot smarter than you look.”

  “Wish I could say the same for you,” he scoffs playfully. “I can’t believe you fell for that whole thing.”

  “Guess my heart is just too pure and wholesome for my own good,” I kid, fluttering my eyelashes daintily.

  “Or you’re just gullible as hell,” Emerson replies, cranking up the radio and laying on the speed as we soar along the highway.

  In a matter of minutes, my heart has been entirely mended. Emerson had no intention of abandoning me after all, and certainly didn’t run off and spread my secrets around the school behind my back. But as happy as I am to be back on track with him, a little part of me is worried about the intensity of my reaction to the mere idea of losing him. His smallest action has the power to send me soaring to new heights of bliss or drag me down to devastating lows. I’ve never intentionally let someone hold that much sway over my heart and mind. Never cared so much for someone to the point of trusting them so fully.

  I have every reason to think that I can trust Emerson not to hurt me. But clearly, I’m having trouble putting any weight on that faith in him. I can’t go into this half-heartedly. If I make the choice to trust him, be vulnerable and open with him, then I’ve got to charge full speed ahead. The quickest way to ruin this thing we’ve got is to hold back from each other. We both risked a lot even telling each other how we feel. We’ve come so close to breaking through each others’ iron-clad defenses. It’s time to lower the walls once and for all.

  As we race along in Emerson’s Chevy, I reach for his hand. Without missing a beat, he gives my hand a squeeze, letting me know that I’m safe and sound with him. If I’m honest with myself, I’ve known that all along.

  And that might be the scariest part of this whole thing.

  Chapter Seven

  At least one part of Emerson’s story was true—we are, in fact, spending the weekend at the beach. Only, instead of shacking up with a bunch of other kids in someone’s rich parents’ beach house, we’re staying in a tiny motel in a room of our own. I tease Emerson as we pull up to the place.

  “A motel? Seriously?” I smile, grabbing my backpack. “Bit of a cliché, isn’t it?”

  “I can set up a tent on the beach if you’d rather,” he shoots back, “But this place has HBO. So I hope you won’t mind if I don’t join you.”

  We get our keys from the front office, only drawing a slightly suspicious look from the man behind the desk. But hey, Emerson’s eighteen now, and has the ID to prove it. That’ll take a little getting used to—the whole being able to do whatever we please thing. It may not be a huge deal, booking a motel room of our own, but it’s cool all the same. It’s a taste of adult independence, and damn is it thrilling.

  Though not nearly as thrilling as what’s set to go down in said motel room, that’s for damn sure.

  We find our room at the end of a long line of doors. The motel sits right on the edge of the dunes overlooking the Long Island Sound. The spring air is just cool enough to be refreshing, and the sun is just beginning to set over the water. Emerson pushes open our door, and we step over the threshold together.

  My reservations about staying in a motel evaporate as I take in the space. It’s a quaint, simple room, well kept and cozy. I spot a deep bathtub through the open bathroom door, a huge window with a view of the sea...and a big queen bed right in the center of the room.

  Seeing that big-enough-for-two bed makes this whole thing real for me. I’m finally going to sleep with Emerson Sawyer. After all these years of wanting him from afar, he’s right here beside me. We’re here with each other. It’s almost too good to be true.

  Don’t think that, I chide myself, the second you think something’s too good to be true, it usually is.

  “Well,” Emerson says with a smile. “I’m starving. You gonna take me out for a birthday dinner or what?”

 
; “Since you asked so nicely,” I roll my eyes, “Sure. Where do you want to go?”

  He knows a place nearby, and drives us over to get some grub. It’s a tiny, seaside shack with maybe a dozen tables. The menu is heavy on seafood and regional staples. There’s a warmth to the place that can only be captured during the offseason at a sleepy beach town.

  In short, it’s perfect.

  We settle down into a table by the window and tuck into our complementary basket of biscuits. The buttery, flaky pastry makes my eyes flutter closed with pleasure. I haven’t eaten anything all day.

  “How’d you know about this place?” I ask Emerson, perusing the menu.

  “My dad used to take me here when I was little,” he replies, looking out the wide front windows toward the docks. “We’d come out fishing early in the morning, then stop here for lunch before driving home. It’s not fancy, but it’s one of my favorite places in the world.”

  His face takes on a cast of sadness as he talks about his dad. It occurs to me that I barely know anything about Emerson’s father, or what happened to him. I try to open up the conversation as delicately as possible.

  “Does he still live around here, your dad?” I ask carefully, reaching for another biscuit.

  “In a way,” Emerson laughs roughly. “I mean, he’s still in the state. Or should I say, In State.”

  “Your dad’s...incarcerated?” I ask, pausing in my one-woman biscuit-scarfing contest.

  “You don’t have to be so formal about it,” Emerson replies. “He’s locked up. Has been for most of my life.”

  “Wow...” I breathe, unsure of what to say. “That’s...so rough. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m pretty used to the arrangement by now,” he says. “But thanks.”