Forever With You Page 10

  Negative impact on job performance and the workplace. Sounds like someone’s been reading his employee manual. It’s my first day on the job and I don’t want to argue with him so I try a different approach to make my point. “This non-fraternization policy, I assume it’s on the books?”

  How dare you question me. The words are there in the way his blue eyes narrow at me. “It doesn’t need to be.”

  Nope, that’s not going to work. “Really?” I ask, one eyebrow raised. “So does everyone get this speech?”

  His expression grows colder still, as if that were possible. His non-response is all the answer I need. Which is a big fat no.

  Instead of throwing my hand up in exasperation, I let out a sigh of resignation. “Can I just get my purse?”

  Disapproval is etched in every feature of his face. In the rigid way he holds himself. And in his tone when his accusation comes. “They were flirting with you all night. And Joe—who’s usually out the door the minute his shift ends—didn’t leave until your break ended because he was too busy chatting you up.”

  “And somehow that’s my fault?” Bitterness seeps into my voice. For a guy who was nowhere to be seen most of the night, he sure as hell knew what I was doing.

  His mouth curves into a derisive smile. Don’t play coy with me.

  He’s acting as if I set out to lure Milton and Joe into my spider web to do god knows what with them. That’s me, the black widow with a monstrous appetite for poor unsuspecting males.

  “You know what, you’re going to think what you want. I know different. Now can I have my purse.” My purse, which appears has been taken hostage.

  Without saying another word, Graham stands, circles the desk and retrieves my purse from the bottom drawer.

  Eager to get the hell away from him, I snatch it from his hand. But he doesn’t relinquish it, placing us in a momentary tug-of-war.

  Wide-eyed, my gaze flies to his and our eyes lock.

  “You know different, eh? Remember, little girl, I know you.”

  Little girl. One of the worst insults he can throw at me and he knows it.

  “No, you knew me four years ago. Don’t ever fool yourself into believing you know me now.”

  “You see, that’s the thing, Emily, I don’t care to know you now.”

  “I know. You’ve made that crystal clear.” I give my purse another tug and this time he lets it go.

  The burn of tears blur the edges of my vision as I hurry toward the door, determined to get out of there before my composure cracks.

  “Will you be back tomorrow?” His question is a gauntlet thrown down. A taunt. He’d like nothing better than for me to leave and never come back.

  “Six o’clock on the dot,” I reply stiffly, not bothering to look at him. Then I’m gone.

  Chapter 10

  I’m usually out the second my head hits the pillow after closing the bar. Not today. Today, I spent over an hour staring at the ceiling and didn’t fall asleep until nearly four in the morning.

  Fucking Emily.

  She’s not back in my life a full day, and it already feels like it’s upended.

  I’m not good on four hours of sleep but getting back to sleep is impossible. My body refuses to cooperate. I’m wide awake and thinking about her.

  Fucking Emily.

  This is her fault. My crappy mood and my lack of sleep. It’s her fault that I’m irritated with two guys I enjoy working with. It’s her fault I’m dreading going to work today.

  I drag myself out of bed and into the loo to take a piss. After I throw on a pair of sweat pants, I make my way to the kitchen. Breakfast is quick, a cup of Earl Grey and a buttered muffin with strawberry jam. Or what Americans call an English muffin.

  I notice Blake didn’t make it home last night. Whilst one-night stands are not my thing, Blake enjoys his fair share. I’m not aware he’s dating anyone right now, so I assume he hooked up last night. What else are long weekends for if not to destress in the most pleasurable way possible?

  My mood darkens. I haven’t destressed in over two weeks. I was supposed to drive down to Long Island to see Lee on my only weekend off last month but ended up cancelling when Ian asked me to switch shifts with him. I could have said no, but I didn’t.

  Fucking Emily.

  The ringing of my mobile pulls me out of my thoughts. I finish putting my dishes in the dishwasher and pick it up from the counter.

  The doorbell rings.

  Shit. I’m not exactly dressed for company, and I don’t want any right now. I swipe the screen of my phone to answer as I head to the door.

  “Hello.”

  “Graham, honey. It’s me.”

  My mum. She must have changed her number because I don’t recognize this one. “Hi, Mum.”

  “I hope it’s you I hear in there. I’m at the door.”

  What? But a quick look through the peephole confirms she’s my early morning visitor. I quickly disconnect the call and let her in.

  She greets me with a warm smile and a kiss on the cheek. “I was afraid you’d still be asleep.”

  “Why didn’t you call?” I ask as I follow her back into the flat.

  She stops in the small space that divides the dining area and living room and gives the place a thorough once-over. This is her second visit. The first was when I moved in and boxes had dominated the wood floors.

  The flat is more Blake’s style than mine and more within his pay grade. Lots of chrome lighting fixtures throughout. In the living room, a gray leather couch and armchair, and a geometrical burgundy and black rug. The bronze kitchen appliances are new and fancier than what I had in England. My best friend has expensive tastes, but he can afford to. When my parents were together, we were considered well-to-do. Blake’s family has vacationing in the Hamptons and Martha’s Vineyard type wealth.

  Turning to me, she says, “Of course I called. I left you two messages as a matter fact. Don’t tell me you didn’t get them?” She looks pointedly at the phone in my hand.

  I glance down at the unlocked screen and click the phone icon. Yeah, there it is, two messages from a number I didn’t recognize. “I didn’t know they were from you. Did you get a new number?”

  Her look is mildly censuring. “I told you last month I was getting a new number. I also texted it to you a week ago.”

  I flash her a grin that always has the effect of disarming her. Her only child. “And you expected me to do what? Not put it in my mobile?” I’d forgotten with all that’s been going on in my life.

  Fucking Emily.

  A reluctant smile lifts the corners of her mouth. “I’ll wait here if you’d like to put on some clothes.” She makes herself comfortable on the couch, crossing her legs and placing her handbag beside her.

  I translate that to mean she wants me to throw on a t-shirt or something. Petite and slim, my mum prides herself on her youthful appearance. She also doesn’t own a proper pair of jeans. Casual to her is anything without a lining.

  “Yes, mother,” I say, laughing. She hates when I call her that.

  “And put my new number in your phone,” she calls after me.

  In my bedroom, I tug on a freshly laundered t-shirt and change into a worn pair of jeans. I arrive back outside to find my mum in the kitchen wiping down the counters.

  “Mum, put the dishrag down.” It’s my best imitation of a police officer talking down a suspect armed with a deadly weapon.

  She laughingly obeys. “A little cleaning up can’t hurt.”

  I arch my brow. “I already cleaned up.”

  You missed a few spots. She doesn’t say it but I can read it on her face.

  And my friends accuse me of being a neat freak. Well where do you think I get it from? She’s one hundred times worse than me. She’s OCD with that shit.

  After rinsing out the dishrag, she returns it to its place at the sink and turns to me.

  “What are you doing here?” In her mint-green pantsuit, she looks as if she’s on her way to one
of her women empowerment conferences. Or a day of shopping at the mall, take your pick.

  “I wanted to see you before classes start.”

  “Where’s Alan?” Alan Collins is my stepfather and runs a business consulting firm. They started dating after I was out of the house and have been married for five years. I like him because he’s good to my mum.

  “In Seattle on business. He should be back after Labor Day.”

  I study my mum. She suddenly looks antsy. I get the feeling there’s more to her visit than a simple desire to see me.

  “Okay, Mum, what’s up? Does it have something to do with Alan?”

  “Alan? Oh no. Nothing like that at all.” She dismisses my suggestion with a brief flutter of her fingers.

  Okay, it’s not Alan but it’s something. “Then what?”

  “The lawyer in charge of your father’s affairs called yesterday. The sale of the pub went through,” she states solemnly.

  My father’s pub. The one I’d inherited when he’d died. It’d been in his family for generations and he’d wanted me to run it when he retired. I thought I’d wanted that too. Had resigned myself to it when I’d gone back to England. But after he’d been diagnosed with cancer and he knew his time was short, he’d convinced me that I should follow my own dreams. Carve my own path in life instead of following his.

  He’d said facing his mortality had given him that insight. The doctors had told him he had three to five years. But the cancer hadn’t killed him. It’d been a heart attack six months later.

  “Okay,” I say, nodding. The last bit of my dad is gone. He’s gone and it feels like his death all over again. I clear my throat and battle back tears.

  I look at my mum and see the pain in her eyes. I know she’s hurting for me, but she’s still mourning my dad’s death as well. Despite their divorce, they cared about each other until the end. Things just hadn’t worked out for them as a couple. They’d drifted apart and fallen out of love. It happens. Shit happens. That’s life.

  “He wanted you to sell it. He knew that wasn’t the life you wanted,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

  “I know. I know.” But that doesn’t rid me of the guilt of selling his pub. He always said I was his pride and joy but that pub was his baby. I wish to God I loved it as much as he did. More than anything, I hope it’s in good hands.

  “Mr. Wilson said the money from the sale should be in your account on Tuesday.”

  I bought my car and paid my tuition with part of my dad’s life insurance. The rest is collecting interest in the bank. I’m not sure what I’ll do with this lot. Buy a house when I’m ready, I guess. Or maybe I’ll go on to get my master’s. There’s no reason I can’t do both if I want.

  Summoning up a smile, she pats my arm and says, “Now that we’ve gotten that squared away, why don’t you tell me how things are going? How’s the job?”

  She’s a rock, my mum. My rock. She’s kind to a fault and as selfless as they come. Not many mothers would do what she did when I’d told her I was moving back to London. Instead of trying to talk me out of it, she’d helped me pack and her and Blake saw me off at the airport.

  “The job was going okay…until yesterday.”

  Concern clouds her blue eyes. “What happened yesterday?”

  I motion for us to go back to the living room and she silently follows me there. After we’re both seated on the couch, she presses for an answer. “Did something happen with John? Is he—”

  “No, Mum, John’s fine. Do you remember Emily? The girl I…”

  She saves me from finishing the sentence. “Of course, I remember her.”

  Right, how could she forget her.

  “She’s here. She goes to Warwick. And she just got a job at Zenith’s.”

  My mum’s eyes widen and her lips part. After a long pause, she visibly swallows before asking, “You’re working together?”

  I nod.

  Her expression goes from surprise to worry. “And how do you feel about that?”

  That’s all she has to say? I just dropped that bombshell and she wants to know how I feel? Can’t she tell?

  “How do you think I feel, Mum, having to work with the person who nearly got me put on the sex offenders’ registry?”

  A look of horror flashes across my mum’s face. I don’t mean to upset her but as hard as it is to imagine, it’s the truth. That could have easily been my reality. Hers and mine.

  “Yes, but you’re not and for that I’m eternally grateful,” she says, collecting her composure. “As for Emily, she was a teenager when it happened. I’m sure she’s changed…” Her voice trails off. It must be because I’m staring at her as if she’s lost her mind.

  “Are you defending her?” I cannot fucking believe this!

  “Darling, she was young. She didn’t intend for any of it to happen. Remember, it was her father who forced the issue,” she states with a note of pique.

  “Oh my God, you are defending her.” The words come out in a hush of stunned disbelief. Feelings of betrayal are inevitable considering the circumstances.

  “If I’m going to fault her for anything, it’s for lying to you. That was wrong and she shouldn’t have done it. But having you arrested and sent to jail? No, darling, that was her father’s doing. I refuse to hold her accountable for his actions and neither should you.”

  As many times as I try to wrap my brain around what’s happening, I can’t. My mum is still not making sense. I’m her son. She should be on my side. Defending me. Angry at Emily because of what she put me through. Instead, she’s empathetic to her. Excusing her actions because of her youth. What am I missing?

  “So what are you telling me? To suck it up? Deal with having to see her—having to work with her?”

  “Darling—”

  “God, Mum, I’m your son, and you don’t even know her.” The second the words are out, something flickers across her face. And that’s when it hits me. That’s when the puzzle pieces began to fit together and the whole picture starts making sense.

  “You know her, don’t you?” I ask softly.

  With a nod and a soft sigh of resignation, she crosses her legs and begins to twist her diamond wedding band around her finger. “She came to the house looking for you after you were released from jail. The poor thing was distraught. She was desperate to see you. I let her in—mostly to calm her down. She apologized and begged my forgiveness. When I told her you’d returned to England, she was beside herself, crying herself into a state of hysteria. I insisted she stay until I felt she’d be able to safely drive herself home. I didn’t want her to wrap her car around a tree. By the time she’d calmed down it was dark and she was completely exhausted so I insisted she spend the night.”

  Shit, I feel a headache coming on. I rub my temple with the tips of my fingers and inhale deeply through my nose. And just when I didn’t think things could possibly get worse, my mum hits me with this.

  “She was in our house? You actually let her sleep in one of the beds?”

  “Not your old room. She slept in the guest room,” she’s quick to reassure me.

  She needn’t have. Her judgment may be bad but she’s not insane.

  “And you never thought to mention her visit before?” I ask in a conversational tone.

  “You told me you didn’t want to talk about it or her. I certainly didn’t want to upset you by bringing it up.”

  Her expression challenges me to deny what I know is true. After I left, whenever we talked on the phone, we talked about everything but that. I just wanted to put the whole thing behind me. More than anything, I wanted to forget Emily and the hell being with her had put me through.

  “So you met her and you liked her?” I can only imagine how my mum handled it. She’d probably allowed Emily to cry on her shoulder and then forgiven her on the spot.

  “I was angry at her for what she did. But once I met her, once I heard what she had to say and saw how sorry she was, it was hard for me to remain angry
.”

  She liked her. Probably still does.

  “And that was it? The next day she drove off and you never heard from her again?”

  My mother glances off to the side. I go still, unable to believe what I’m not hearing. Then my anger starts to climb. Again. I narrow my eyes at her.

  “Now, Graham, don’t go jumping to conclusions. Yes, I will admit, we have kept in touch over the years. But it’s because she was having such a difficult time after you left. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  I bark out a mirthless laugh. My mother was concerned with the girl who had me arrested. It’s a comedy within a tragedy. I’m not sure what to make of it. Then a thought occurs and even the dark humor of it vanishes.

  “Did you tell her I was moving back?”

  “She always asked how you were doing,” she replies evasively.

  “Did you?”

  Guilt stains her cheeks a bright pink. “I might have mentioned something about it when I told her about your father’s death.”

  I love my mum. I really do. And there’s only been a few times in my life that I’ve wanted to strangle her. This is one of those times.

  With a feral growl, I bolt to my feet and run a hand through my hair, tugging hard on the strands. I’m too angry to say anything right now. If I do, I’m liable to say something I won’t be able to take back and that I’ll regret. But good God, my restraint is coming at a cost. Inside, I feel like I’m about to explode.

  My mum peers up at me, her expression calm. “Graham, I think you’re making more out of this than is warranted.”

  Slowly, I lower my gaze to hers. Is she serious?

  “Okay, Mum. Why don’t you tell me how big a deal I should make of it. I’ll wait.” She doesn’t know how to react when I’m like this. Derisive. Pissed the fuck off but in control of my emotions. She’d rather I yell and curse. That she understands. That she can respond to with parental reproach.

  She rises to her feet—all five feet three inches of her. “Look, darling, I know you’d like to blame her for everything that happened, that way it’s easier to see her as a horrible person. But the truth is she made a mistake. A terrible mistake and she’s been paying for it since. Just as you have. The problem is you’re so blinded by your hurt, you can’t see hers enough to acknowledge it exists. You’re my son and I love you, but you’re not the only victim in this. Have you once thought what she’s gone through? What she did to get the charges against you dropped? Her father didn’t make things easy for her.”