“I fucking love surprises.” I kiss him.
“Then Daddy’s got one for you. I think you’re going to love it.”
What could he possibly be planning?
Chapter 18
Rawley
Emmeline is working around the clock, forcing me to focus on my own work to fill the hours without her. And as I invest time and effort into my business, I find that I’m pretty damn good at the work.
My shoes debut in a blockbuster romantic comedy, Reaching for Lemons, the star a young heartthrob named Paul Reed, rocking a pair of brown suedes when he proposes to his girl and after that, we’re getting round the clock calls for orders. Then comes red carpet season and we snag several photos of celebrities wearing them as they strut down the carpet, showing off their fashions.
Rawley’s are ready to take on the world.
Our first worldwide campaign ad is my very own artistic project, a little switch up take on Cinderella.
It’s a photo of Miranda, dressing in an ice blue ball gown, her platinum hair pin straight and parted in the middle, cascading over her shoulders. She’s kneeling in front of her model husband slash Rawley’s spokesman, Gabriel, holding up a black suede Rawley, ready to slip it on his foot. He’s smiling into the camera, a thumb crooked in the lapel of his black tux, sparkly silver words scrolling across the bottom of the ad, that read, If the shoe fits.
The stay-at-home dad crowd went nuts for it in the US, and the Europeans loved our test ads.
I gifted Miranda a framed copy of it for her wall, signed by her husband—it cracks her up.
Emmeline’s caring nature has inspired me. She’s made me a kinder person, a gentler person, and a more empathetic man. She’s planted a seed in my heart, making me want to help our community and I make an enormous change to our business plans.
And profit margin.
She takes care of our community every day working tirelessly at the hospital, and I figure the least I can do is give back, too. We keep our shoes at the same affordable price, but start a new program, funding it with fifty percent of our business profits.
Every time you buy yourself or your man a pair of Rawley’s, one pair gets donated to an unemployed man who's looking for work, or a high schooler of a low income family. Our program quickly expands, hard working men needing a little help finding work begin lining up at our warehouses.
With Miranda’s experience and business degree, she’s the perfect partner. Before we even launch our European line, she’s got our US nonprofit off the ground, offering business casual clothing, interview suits, free resume building and Miranda herself runs fake interviews, helping the men polish their skills, and build confidence.
We manage to bring new jobs to the area with our shoe production, paying high wages and offering benefits. With my mind focused on work, I’ve had to put off my surprise plans for our upcoming nuptials. I was hoping to have a weekend getaway in Napa Valley, surrounded by our family and friends, for a two day wedding vacation, but between our two schedules, I just haven’t been able to make it happen.
Which means I’ve only been getting Emmeline at my place on weekends.
It sucks.
But I respect her wishes, living separately until we can get married.
Even though my cock hates me for it.
And so does Baskins.
He misses that damn grouchy tabby cat as much as I miss Emmeline.
I start to live for Friday nights. Our standing date. No matter what’s going on in our lives, we always have our Friday night Little Italy dates.
By four o’clock I can practically smell the basil and garlic, by six o’clock, I can practically taste Emmeline on my lips. I hit the gym for a quick weight session and shower, then head home to wait for her. I’m lounging on the couch when I realize the time.
Seven fifteen.
She’s always here by seven.
I shoot her a text.
No reply.
I give her a call.
No answer.
I stand from the couch, pacing the floor, Baskins on my heels pacing behind me. “Where could she be, Basks? Huh?”
He raises a floppy ear at me as if he can hear her car. I rush to the window. Nothing.
It’s not like Emmeline to not call. I give the hospital a ring, asking for Dr. Battaglia. After waiting almost ten minutes, they finally track him down. His gruff voice comes over the line. “Hello?” He sounds just as grumpy as she said he is.
“Dr. Battaglia, this is Emmeline’s fiancé. I’m having trouble tracking her down and I was wondering if she’d stayed there to work late.”
“No, son, she left at five. Same as always.”
Dread sinks in my stomach. “Thanks for letting me know.”
“Shoot me a call when you find her.”
“Will do.”
Now, I’m freaking.
I hit the parking garage, grab my car and drive as fast as I can to her place. I’ve got a key to her apartment on my ring, and when she doesn’t answer, I let myself in. It’s dark inside, not a light on in the place. “Hello?”