9. Emmett

9

EMMETT

I didn't know if I wanted to laugh or run for the hills.

Storm looked better than ever tonight, still in the nice button-up shirt that he'd been wearing earlier today. He'd undone the top few buttons, and the slight amount of chest hair that was showing kept distracting me.

His forearms on the railing of the deck, too, so perfectly chiseled.

"What I want is to do my job well," I told Storm. "So, again, thank you. For being kind to Tad at the meeting, regardless of whatever you wished you could say to him."

"I wished I could tell him that his company is the reason people buy a bunch of shit they don't need, and that the amount of unnecessary pollution caused by companies like his is ruining the world."

I widened my eyes. "Since when are you an environmentalist?" I asked.

He lifted an eyebrow. "I've always been one. I give a million dollars a year, minimum, to environmental charities."

I whistled. "Want a gold star?" I asked, but honestly, I was pleasantly surprised to hear that.

He shrugged. "No. I just give a fuck about the planet, and I think more people in my position should, too."

"You're right about that."

He shook his head, looking out at the trees. "A guy on the team in Texas called me a nerd once because I talked about giving money to environmental causes. Guys want to act so tough, when in reality, they're just selfish."

"Someone gave you shit about that?" I asked. "What an asshole."

Storm nodded. "He was an asshole. I made a donation of a hundred thousand bucks in his name later that year, just to spite him."

A laugh bubbled up inside me, and Storm met my gaze, smiling too.

I liked him when he was like this.

"Hey, boys," Shawn said from behind us, coming out from the bar and giving us a wave. "Nice night out here. Don't get too crazy on those Shirley Temples, Storm."

Sawyer, Nathan, and Charlie soon followed after Shawn, and the four of them took a table on the opposite end of the patio, leaving me and Storm to ourselves.

"Anyway," I said, "thank you for being kind to the guy from Racks, regardless."

"It was what I wanted to do."

"Really?"

A little dimpled half-smile appeared on Storm's face. "I mean, not exactly. But I wanted you to feel okay, and you did look pretty freaked out in that meeting room, so… it was what I wanted to do, for you ."

I narrowed my eyes at him.

He'd wanted to do something against his own wishes, purely for me? That didn't sound like the Storm Rosling I knew. But I wasn't going to complain.

His grey-blue eyes were on me, peering straight through to my soul, as they had the tendency to do.

"God, how do you do that?" I asked, barely aware I was saying it out loud.

"Hmm?"

I cleared my throat.

"Your eyes," I said. "It's not fair. They make you seem like a nice guy, when in reality you probably want to toss a dozen eggs on my Porsche, or something."

He smiled and it only made the skin around his eyes crinkle up even more, hypnotizing me against my will.

"That sounds really fun," he murmured, "and I do fucking hate Porsches. But I wouldn't do it to yours. Glad you like my eyes, though. Thanks, Fancy Pants."

"I never said I liked them. I just said they make you seem nice."

"So you don't like them? They don't have you under my spell? "

"Ugh. Fuck you," I said, giving him a little shove as a deeply satisfied expression came over his face. He loved it when I told him off.

Even the small amount of touch when I shoved him made me crave more. My own body betraying me again around Storm, wanting things that I wished it didn't.

"You're fun when you're pissed off," he told me.

"I don't remember when I approved of you calling me Fancy Pants, either," I said. "Why are you still over here with me? What do you want?"

"I want to talk about when we kissed."

I nearly choked on my sip of beer. I stole a glance toward the Fixer Brothers over at their table.

"Jesus, Storm."

"What?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes. "I don't give a fuck who knows. Hey, guys! " he called over to their table, and for a split second I was so mortified I hoped the Earth might open up and swallow me whole.

"Don't—" I tried to say, reaching out to grip Storm's arm.

"I kissed a guy once," Storm shouted over toward them, "when I was drunk."

My heart was suddenly beating twice as fast. I gripped Storm's arm harder, and he didn't try to stop me.

"Nice, man," Shawn yelled back. The rest of the guys at the table were totally unfazed, nibbling at a plate of nachos and sipping their drinks. "Did he taste like Cherry Chapstick?"

Storm laughed. "No. He tasted like good whiskey, actually. I kind of liked it."

My cock stirred. He'd liked how I tasted that night?

"I hate you," I muttered under my breath.

"You're the best, Storm," Shawn said, already turning back toward his table and waving Storm off. "Don't give Emmett too much of a hard time over there."

Storm gave them a little salute. "No problem, boys." He turned back to me, his mischievous smile on his face. "See? It's fine. You're adorable when you're embarrassed, by the way."

I released my grip on his arm, pulling back and scrubbing a palm over my face. "I cannot handle you."

"I think you can," he said in a velvety voice that was too appealing right now. He was looking at me— really looking at me, and in moments like these, I was reminded that I was standing across from a true superstar.

All of his attention was focused on me. Like somewhere in the stormy blue of his eyes, I could tell that he loved making me squirm. Why was I enjoying it, too? My cock had already perked up and the last thing I needed was to add completely fucking turned on to the mix of emotions running through me.

I breathed evenly. I closed my eyes for a second and re-centered myself. The air smelled amazing. My beer was delicious. There was no reason this should be any different than any other fall evening.

Other than the fact that I couldn't stop thinking about how good his arm had felt under my hand. How good it felt to have his eyes on me now. Or, for Christ's sake, that he'd called me adorable. Had I heard that correctly?

"Can I ask you something?" Storm said.

I pulled in a long breath. "I'm already afraid of what it's going to be," I said. "But yes. Lay it on me."

His eyes danced across my face. "Why does it upset you so badly when I say that you just want money?"

"It doesn't tick me off that badly," I said.

"Bullshit."

I paused for a moment, already feeling my guard go up. "Okay, it does. For personal reasons."

"And those personal reasons are…"

"You think I'm going to tell you?" I challenged him. "They're personal for a reason."

He watched me close. "You don't have to tell me," he said. "You don't have to tell me a damn thing. But I'm allowed to ask. Right?"

"I guess so," I said.

I let my words hang in the air, expecting Storm to bite back with some quick comment. Instead we lapsed into silence, with only the sound of faint music in the air and the occasional laughter coming over from the Fixer Brothers' table.

After a minute, it seemed like Storm had just accepted that I wasn't going to answer his question, and he'd respectfully not pushed it any further. I really hadn't been planning on answering it. It was personal, and it wasn't the kind of thing I talked about with anyone other than Landry.

I swallowed hard, watching a small bird fluttering from one pine tree to the next, noticing emotion rise up in me again.

"I was dating a guy named Sam," I finally said, breaking the silence. "For a long time. Sam was… great, to be honest. Graduated from Princeton the same year I graduated from Harvard. He was handsome. Considerate. Husband material, you know?"

I looked over at Storm. I was surprised to find he was listening intently, watching me with those annoyingly soulful eyes. Eyes that could make anyone's guard go down.

"And then… you two lived happily ever after?" he asked gently.

"Not exactly," I said, shifting on my feet. "Well, I'd bought him a ring. I was ready to propose. Then my dad died. Then Sam ended up leaving me anyway, a couple of months later."

Something twinged in my chest. I was really doing it. I was telling someone the sad little story about my ex, something I wasn't even a little bit prepared for.

Storm furrowed his brow. "I'm sorry, Emmett. That sounds shitty beyond belief."

"It wasn't a good time," I said. "The reason I don't like you saying I only care about money is because it's something Sam told me a few times, too. He really saw me as a millionaire first, and a person second, I think."

His gaze hardened. "Nothing pisses me off more than that."

"And then he never paid me back for the fifty grand I lent him, but that's not the important part."

"Fuck that," Storm said. "Want me to go find him and beat him up? I will, you know—"

"Thanks, but no thanks," I said. "I'd rather leave him in the past."

Storm reached out a hand and brushed a lock of my hair to the side on my forehead. It was the smallest gesture, but it struck me like lightning.

Storm could be sweet .

Actually sweet.

The same guy who wanted to fight all the time, who wanted to fuck with me at every moment, was being tender with me.

"You wouldn't believe how many people from back in school tried to contact me once I was drafted," Storm said. "People who literally told me I was trash, suddenly acting fake-friendly. A girl who asked me out on a date in high school, but then showed up at the restaurant with another guy, pranked me, and told me she'd never be caught dead with me. All these people, finding me online and trying to act like we were friends, now that I have money."

I winced. "I'm sorry, but a girl in high school said she wouldn't want to be seen with you? Was she out of her mind? Even back then, you must have been one of the most attractive guys there."

"Not really," he said. "I had a lot of acne at the time. My hair was always fucked up, with terrible haircuts my mom would do at home. Bless her heart, she really tried, but some of the haircuts were crimes against humanity."

"Wow," I said. "I figured you must always have been… like you are now."

"And what's that?" he teased.

"Shut up," I said, looking back toward the pine trees. "You know you're handsome, Storm."

Heat crept up into my chest again. It wasn't like it should have been a big deal. It was pretty much an objective truth that Storm Rosling was about as handsome as a man could be.

"Shucks," he said, still teasing me. "You're not so bad yourself."

"Anyway," I said, rapidly changing the subject. "Hearing my ex say I only cared about money when the only thing in the world I cared about was grieving my father… it hurt so badly. Storm, I do not give a fuck how much the Racks deal makes me. I would do it for free, and I mean that. I just cannot accept a future where Walter Cutmore takes over my dad's company."

Storm hummed. "Who's Walter Cutmore? Another ex of yours, Mr. Heartbreaker?"

"The boss from hell."

"Oh, shit," Storm said. "Let me guess. He's set in his ways, and thinks he knows better than everyone else in the company?"

I clicked my tongue. "He thinks he's the fucking king of Lux Marketing, and he's dead wrong," I said, bitterness creeping into my tone.

"You've got a rival," Storm asked. "Other than me, of course."

"I wouldn't call him a rival. He actually is a homophobic asshole."

Storm lifted his eyebrows. "You work for a homophobe?"

"Unfortunately," I said. "You can see why I want any chance I can to take the company back. My dad hated him, too. He's gotten a lot worse in the last decade."

Storm got a look in his eyes and I knew he wished he could start a fight with Cutmore. "Well, lucky for you, I care about you enough not to immediately ruin that guy's life on social media. But God, I want to. What's his first name, again?"

"I'm not giving you any more information about him," I said. "Last thing I need is to add more fuel to his fire. I just want to keep my head down, do good work, and hopefully outplay him. Outperform him."

"You deserve better than that," Storm said firmly. "You're nobody's bitch."

I puffed out a laugh. "I'm not Cutmore's bitch. I just don't think picking fights with him would get me anywhere good."

"Mmm," Storm hummed, watching me again.

"Are you thinking about how to somehow get back at Cutmore even though you barely know him?"

"I'm thinking about kissing you, actually."

My heart skipped a beat.

I waited for Storm to play it off as a joke, but instead, he just let his gaze linger on my lips before meeting my eyes again.

The Fixer Brothers were over at their table still and distracted enough, fixated on some video Shawn was showing the others on his phone.

Tension bloomed inside me. My heart rate was rapidly increasing.

I was sick of this.

Sick of Storm holding this over me like some teasing little carrot. He thought he could get to me by dangling that kiss over my head for the rest of the time we were going to work together?

Screw that.

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his before he could do it first.

Stealing a kiss. Stealing the moment. I kissed him gently, but I let a little of my tongue slide over his lips, calling his bluff. My cock hardened again, and I vowed to ignore it.

"There," I said, pulling back quickly. "Are you over it, yet? Can we get back to hating each other in peace?"

But his eyelids had dropped halfway. His lips were slick from the kiss, and instead of looking like he was messing around, he looked…

Hungry. Needy. Really fucking hot.

"Sure," he said, his voice low. "We can hate each other as long as you keep kissing me like that."