Bad Boy Rich

Emerson continues to tell us about a few more events, meetings and upcoming trips she had planned for the next few months. I take a sip of my coffee, welcoming the warm liquid while waiting impatiently for it to kick in and give me that much-needed boost. Last night took it out of me. So far, during this meeting, I managed to hold in every single yawn. I had no doubt I would sleep like a baby tonight and welcomed the solace to gain some perspective on the last twenty-four hours.

The day dragged on and every minute became harder to get through. Emerson had a ton of energy today; bouncing ideas and demanding some input. It was great, I shouldn’t complain, but the exhaustion became too much and by the time we called it a day—I wanted to cry with relief.

“Oh, one more thing,” she says while grabbing her keys. “I have a meeting with Wesley tomorrow. I would prefer it if you didn’t mention anything to Logan. It’s best that I keep it on the down low.”

Suddenly, my exhaustion disappears and I’m alert as anything.

“Why…I mean, you don’t have to go. I know you’re busy and all. Let me do this. I can take care of it…it’s why you pay me the big bucks.”

Emerson’s lips curl up in a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have thrown Wesley onto you in the first place. He’s my mess and besides, I just wanted to talk to him about a few private things.”

Logan’s warning echoes in my head, but more notably—my unbeknown jealousy—even louder.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Logan might get angry.”

“I can deal with Logan. I’m more worried about Wesley,” she tells me, obviously hiding something.

“I mean, I’m just saying as a friend more than your assistant. I’m here. Don’t feel like you’re burdening me.”

She places her hand on mine in an attempt to calm my anxiety.

“Milana, I got this. Relax.”

I had no words left without giving away my take on Emerson and Wesley being alone together. I didn’t like it. The thought made me ill. I had been his girlfriend for two seconds and had turned into this jealous beast. Women back home would often make advances at Liam while he worked on their cars and I barely batted an eyelash.

But this…this was something else.

We say our goodbyes, and the second I am alone in the car, I read through the messages from Wesley.

Miss me yet?

I can still smell you on my fingers.

Ready for round 3? Wait…or maybe it’s round 10?

I smile, unthinkingly, unable to contain the small amount of joy that creeped in when I read the texts. Though half way through a text I’m writing—encouraging his flirty behavior—my conversation with Emerson comes back to me like a tsunami; reminding me of this so-called ‘meeting’ tomorrow.

Resting my head against the driver’s chair, I close my eyes for a brief moment. The conversation between me and Phoebe replays in my head, over and over. We rarely argued. Only over petty things like the time she borrowed my favorite sweater and claimed the underarm pulled before I lent it to her. To the time she made me watch a midnight session of one of those Twilight movies only for me to fall asleep in the first scene.

Both times—we were mad at each other. The difference was, we made up within an hour. It was impossible to be mad at Phoebe yet this time was different. We were miles apart. She said words that could not easily be forgiven, and—she said I had changed.

I didn’t understand her defending Liam and making such a false statement on how much I had changed. I was living life the only way I knew how. Okay, so maybe I had to toughen up a bit, the LA crowd were sometimes heartless and unforgiving. You made one mistake and it would spread like fire. As far as my job was concerned, I seemed to be doing fine. Emerson often complimented my organization skills and talent to retain information.

And then there’s Wesley.

He wasn’t like any boyfriend I have had. Dangerously smart and equally as sexy. Something about him excited me, allowed me to live on the edge if only for this one moment. And then, out of the blue, I think about Mom.

I dial her number, realizing I hadn’t called her in a few days.

“Milly, is that you?”

“Yes Mom,” I croak.

The exhaustion—coupled with missing her—brings a tear to my eye. I manage to hold it back, widening my eyes in a failed attempt.

“I was wondering where you’ve been. Flynn says you’ve been busy with work. You know, Milly, I’m glad to hear that.”

“Work has been busy, Mom.” I pause, letting out a sigh. “So, what else has Flynn told you?”