La Vie en Rose {Life in Pink}

  He frowned.

  She glanced at him, smirked, and continued to toss the berries in her sexy apron. “What’s the matter, Riley?”

  “I’m all turned on from strawberries.”

  “Then go take a shower, because I still have to do my hair and make the cranberry sauce.”

  He pouted. “You’re mean on Thanksgiving.”

  The elevator pinged in the hall. “And your sister’s back.”

  “Damn it.” He went to grab a towel.

  ****

  The closer they got to Emma’s parents’ house the more he fidgeted. He’d never met a girl’s parents before—not as the official boyfriend. He didn’t know what to expect and kept thinking of his parents—the people expected to unconditionally love and accept him—but they didn’t like him very much, so why would someone else’s parents like him at all?

  “Turn right at that stop sign.”

  He slowed and turned onto a street with small, two story homes that looked remarkably alike. Though they were in the suburbs, the houses were right on top of each other, providing minimal privacy between neighbors.

  “It’s that one there, with the blue door.”

  He parked in front of the mailbox since the driveway was full. The house was plain brick, but well kept. It wasn’t until they were walking up the path that he realized it was a duplex. The moment they stepped on the porch claustrophobia set in.

  Not giving him much time to prepare, Emma opened the door and walked in. “Mom? Dad? We’re here.”

  The house smelled like other people’s cooking and fake gingerbread. He was immediately homesick for the loft.

  “Emma? Oh, you made it!”

  Though he’d seen her parents in a sea of other parents years ago during school events, he never took the time to really look at them. Mrs. Sanders was Emma twenty years from now, but with straight hair and different laugh lines. She was younger than he expected.

  “You must be Riley. I know we’ve met before, but you were a boy the last time I saw you. My goodness you resemble your sister—in a handsome way of course.” She hugged him and he wasn’t sure where to put his hands.

  “Nice to see you again, Mrs. Sanders.”

  She tsked. “Call me Sarah. Emma’s dad’s around here somewhere.” She turned away from them. “Jim? Emma’s here.”

  A man, wearing dark jeans and a US Navy T-shirt, came in from the back door. “Hey, Emmy!” He hugged her and Riley stepped back, his confidence falling off kilter as Emma’s attention turned to her father.

  This was the man he needed to impress. Strangely, his casual appearance made him more intimidating, like they were closer to equals and he’d easily sniff out any bullshit regarding his daughter.

  “Dad, you know Riley. Riley, this is my dad.”

  “Hey there, Riley.” The man had a casual but firm shake.

  “How are you, sir?”

  “Good. That your DeVille out there?”

  God, he was sweating. “Yes, sir.”

  Mr. Sanders nodded and peeked out the front window. “What year’s that?”

  “Fifty-seven, sir. It was a gift from my grandfather.”

  “Nice. You want a beer?”

  Emma smiled at him and his apprehension somewhat eased, the day sliding into a place he hadn’t expected, yet her parents’ personable attitudes adding to his paranoia in a strange way. These people were nothing like the people who raised him—or paid nannies to do the job. These were just good old regular people, and he wasn’t used to that where parents were concerned.

  He smiled at Mr. Sanders. “A beer would be great.”

  The women went to the kitchen as he and Jim watched football in the living room. The furniture was dated and the décor was nothing his mother would approve or even sit on, but Riley absolutely loved it. He even adjusted to the gingerbread smell, which he discovered came from a plugin air freshener.

  The food was awesome, deep fried turkey, boxed mac and cheese, stuffing that tasted incredible, yams with melted marshmallows on top, and Emma’s sweet strawberry shortcake.

  After dinner Sarah brewed a pot of coffee and placed it on a stained potholder right on the dining room table. None of their mugs matched.

  Everything was so spectacularly different from what he’d known, he pitied Rarity for missing it. She was probably contemplating suicide as their mother passed around cordials.

  “Did you hear anything on the job front, Emma?” Sarah asked.

  “Nothing yet. I sent out four more resumes. For now I’m stuck at Phibbs & Grayson.”

  “I’d like to have an hour alone with that Grayson kid,” her dad mumbled.

  “You and me both,” Riley agreed.

  Jim eyed him for a moment and nodded. “I like you, Riley. I have a good feeling about you.”

  It was amazing how much weight he’d placed in her parents’ approval. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’ll have to come visit again sometime,” Sarah invited. “And bring this dog I keep hearing about.”

  “I think Marla’s a little too wild to travel, Mom.”

  “Nonsense. I miss having a dog. I’d love to meet her.”

  He spoke before giving his words a second thought. “You guys are always welcome at the loft.”

  Sarah and Jim shared a mutual look of surprise. “Well, that’s a first. We’d love to come for a visit, maybe see the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty.”

  He smiled, ignoring the look of panic Emma sent him. “It’ll be great. We’ll make a day of it, visit Central Park, have dinner at Peter Lugers. You’ll love it.”

  “What does a New York cut of beef sell for at a place like that?” Jim asked.

  “It would be my treat.”

  The energy at the table shifted. Shit. Had he insulted them? He was merely trying to be accommodating, polite. A New York steakhouse usually averaged a hundred dollars per person for dinner and he’d wanted to show them a nice time.

  “There are other places we could eat in the city too,” Emma chimed in. “Riley took me to this great food festival in Brooklyn and it was amazing.”

  “That sounds more our pace.” Sarah smiled.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  “It’s fine, hon,” she interrupted, patting his hand.

  “Well, we should get going. Marla’s been alone all day and she’s probably pacing by now.”

  They stood and Riley hated leaving things as they were. Everything had been going so smooth. He wasn’t a pretentious prick and he didn’t want them thinking he was.

  Emma hugged her mom at the door and Jim faced him. “Good seeing you again, Riley.”

  He shook his hand. “Nice seeing you too, sir.”

  He held out his arms and hugged his daughter. “Be safe, Emmy.”

  “I will, Dad. Love you.”

  Fascinated, Riley watched as her eyes closed and she hugged her father close. He’d never hugged either of his parents like that. He’d once had a nanny that liked to tousle his hair, but that wasn’t the same.

  The drive home was passed in quiet reflection. Emma seemed sad to leave her parents, but anxious to get back to Marla. Meeting her parents as more than an acquaintance and getting a glimpse of where she came from filled in a lot of gaps in the Emma puzzle.

  Although neither he nor Rarity was captivated by wealth, they’d grown up with a great deal of it and had an easy life by default. There were trusts and bonds they both had waiting, should they jump through the prerequisite hoops stipulated in their ancestor’s wills. As it were, they hardly needed to work, but found it rewarding and refreshingly normal in comparison to what they grew up around.

  Emma, on the other hand, absolutely needed to work. According to his sister, Emma’s grandparents had sent her to private schools and left a supplemental income for books, boarding, and transportation, but that money was long gone, skipping right over her parents as a direct investment in their only child’s future.

  As well intentioned as it wa
s, they hadn’t planned nearly enough, because once Emma finished her first year of college that money was gone, which was how she’d ended up working at Grayson’s dad’s firm—something that really needed to end. After their date the other night, he didn’t like the chance of her running into that guy again.

  When they got home there was a note on the fridge from Rarity saying she was spending the night at Lexi’s.

  “I’m going to walk Marla,” Emma announced as the dog wagged wildly at the door.

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “That’s okay. I won’t be long.”

  When she left he changed into lounge pants and grabbed his copy of As the Great World Turns. The peaceful apartment made an easy escape from the day left behind. Settling onto his bed, he opened the book.

  Deep into the chapter, Marla greeted him, having returned from their walk then disappeared—probably to lie on Rarity’s bed. He was just falling asleep when Emma cleared her throat.

  Unhurriedly glancing to the door he—sweet mother of sex.

  She was holding a bowl of strawberries, wearing nothing but the apron. He tossed the book to the floor and scooted back. “Come to poppa.”

  Her lips pursed in a flirty smile as she sauntered inside, bumping the door shut with her hip. God, he loved her and her sexy ass fruit.

  “I have some berries I’d like you to taste.”

  He tugged her to his lap and she giggled. Biting her lips, he untied the neck of the apron and sung, “Let me pull this down cause I’m going to... your strawberry fields.” His mouth found hers, sweeter than any berry.

  Dirty, dirty girl.

  ****

  The door slammed and he jolted awake. Emma tossed her coat on the floor by the pile of wrapped Christmas presents and kicked a box of ribbons. Shit. She didn’t get the job.

  Scrubbing his face with his hands he sat up. “How did the interview go?”

  “Horrible. What a joke! By the time it was my turn they’d already given the job to the guy’s niece. If people are going to practice nepotism they should at least own it and not waste everyone else’s time making them think there’s an actual shot!”

  “I’m sorry, cakes.”

  She tugged the pins out of her hair and kicked off her shoes, growling as she untwisted her bun. “I’m going to be stuck at Phibbs & Grayson for the rest of my freaking life!”

  “No, you’re not. Eventually something will pan out.”

  She dropped on the bed and fisted her hands in her lap. “Becket starts his internship this spring. I cannot work there with him, Riley.”

  “So quit.”

  She laughed without humor. “Oh, okay.” Shaking her head she sighed. “I never should’ve taken this stupid job.”

  Truthfully, he didn’t want her working with her ex either. “If you could be anything in the world, what would it be?”

  Her shoulders drooped. “Happy.”

  Was it wrong he found her pathetic pout adorable? “Aw, look at you. That’s the cutest answer ever.”

  “Yeah, well I can’t pay the rent with smiles, so I still need another goal.”

  He pulled her to the pillows. “Do you like being a personal assistant?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s a fun job in a way, different every day, fast paced. I like keeping things organized and planning events.”

  She really was organized. If not for her, the loft would be a dump. She always had handy ideas, like using the tabs from bread bags to label the cluster fuck of extension cords behind the television.

  “Maybe you could be an independent organizer.”

  Her mouth twisted. “That’s not a real job.”

  “Sure it is. There are always those people on those shows with the hoarders. There’s the host, the carpenter, the designer, and the organizational chick. Sometimes it’s a gay guy.”

  “That’s on TV.”

  When she adopted a stubborn attitude he found it difficult to talk to her. “Fine. Go back to working with your ex in-laws.” He pulled a pillow over his head and shut his eyes.

  She was quiet for a few minutes. “Do you really think there’s work out there for people like that?”

  Without moving, he said, “I think we live in a city of millions where people want to maximize every expensive square inch they’re paying top dollar for, so yes, I think there’s a demand for organization.”

  “But would someone actually hire someone to do that for them?”

  “Why not?” He removed the pillow from his face. “Alicia Keys said it’s a concrete jungle dreams are made of. Listen to the woman.”

  She swatted him. “I’m being serious.”

  He grinned, seeing a bit of her tension slip away. “New York’s a costly place to live, Emma. People have to work in order to stay here. People who have demanding jobs often contract out the maintenance stuff.”

  “Yeah, but that would require running a business. I don’t know how to do that.”

  “You run everything for the CEO of a major law firm. I’m sure you could figure it out. You could build a webpage, have Rarity take some pictures, create a brand, and market your services toward Manhattan clientele. I bet you could make a killing. The thing about New York real estate is there’s a fast turnover rate of residents. Once you get your name out there, who knows what could happen?”

  Her eyes widened at the possibility. “Did you just think of all that?”

  He shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “You’re a genius, Riley. Thank you.” She kissed his head. “I gotta go talk to Rarity.” She jumped off the bed and raced out of the room.

  “I also work for blowjobs,” he yelled.

  She peeked back into the room, a wide grin spread across her face. “Tonight.” And she, again, disappeared.

  “Anything for that smile,” he mumbled and curled back into the pillows, happy to have helped.

  ****

  “So I was thinking some dirty Disney sex tonight, hmm? Maybe some Little Mermaid post-fin fun? I could show you how to use those new legs and you could try to communicate using only your eyes and body.” He was already getting a semi.

  Without glancing away from the laptop, her hand jotted down notes on a post-it as she asked, “What are you saying?”

  He nudged her with his hip. “I wanna have sex.”

  She still didn’t look at him. “I don’t know where I put it.”

  He huffed. “You aren’t even listening to me.”

  She made another note. “Sorry. I’m just trying to figure out these codes for this website host. Do you know what a widget is?”

  “I think it’s that little nub above your hoo-ha that makes you squeal and call my name.”

  She laughed and rolled her eyes. At least she heard him that time. “You know, if I make flyers and put them by the mailboxes of high rises, all I’d need is one client and then tenants would talk and my name would be passed around. I need all of this stuff to match. The cards, the flyers, the website. If I could just get this stupid widget coding figured out.”

  “Emma,” he whined. “Come on, you’ve been staring at that computer for days. I wanna play with your widget! You’re wearing your glasses and your hair’s all sloppy. You know what that does to me! I need attention.”

  She sighed. “If you can be quiet for thirty minutes so I can figure this out I’ll give you a blowjob.”

  He sat up. “Really?”

  “Yes. Shh.”

  Buttoning his lips tight, he waited. How did he want to do this? Should he be standing or on his back? Maybe on his knees with her on her back? There were so many options and he was already hard. Twenty-nine minutes to go.

  His toes twitched as he tried to pass the time. Steve Miller Band sung in his head. Emma didn’t move. She just stared at the computer and clicked and made notes and did that adorable squish thing her nose did when she got frustrated.

  Twenty-seven minutes.

  He quietly whistled. She could at least work naked. Glasses on,
panties off...

  “You’re the cutest thing I—”

  “Shhh...”

  Twenty-three minutes. “Really love your peaches—”

  “Come on, Riley!”

  He held out his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m ready.”

  She slapped down her pen. “It hasn’t even been ten minutes.”

  “You know I can’t be silent. It’s torture.”

  “I need to get this done. My business cards are coming in two days and I can’t hand them out until the website’s finished.”

  “I don’t know why you insist on doing all this by yourself. There are people that can design that stuff for you.”

  “I can’t afford a web designer at this stage. It’s not in my budget plan.”

  “I’ll get one for you. We’ll pretend it’s a Christmas present.”

  “Riley.” That was her serious voice.

  “Fine.” Clearly there was no persuading her away from that computer. She was really excited about this new venture and he was excited she’d soon be leaving her crappy job. “I’m going to find food.”

  He left her alone to finish her work and ended up getting wrapped up in some reality show with Rarity and passing out on the couch. When he finally made it to bed it was after four in the morning.

  Grabbing a bottle of water, he staggered down the hall. Just about to fall into bed, he stopped when he found Emma still hunched over the computer. “You’re still up?”

  Her eyes were frantic and there were coffee cups all over the vanity, which was now her workstation. “Yeah. I just read this article about holding a virtual campaign. I don’t have any of this done. I need a mailing list, a uniformed font to brand my company, a mission statement—”

  He shut her laptop.

  “Hey!”

  “You need sleep.” Picking her up, he carried her to the bed and pulled off her pants. Stripping, he climbed under the covers and pulled her close.

  “I have so much to do if I want to open for business by the New Year.”

  He leaned over and shut off the lamp. “Go to sleep, Emma.”

  Wrapping his body around hers, he hugged her like a pillow and shut his eyes, already half-asleep. She’d be up, stressing, for at least another hour, but he wasn’t letting her out of bed. Everything else could wait. It was his time now and she was putting herself under way too much stress. It would all be there in the morning.