10. Emerson

The dripping of the tap seemed louder today. I'd tried to fix it on several occasions, but no matter what I did, the damn drip always came back. Just like the limescale on the bathroom tiles and the cockroaches that I was certain my neighbors were feeding like pets.

I was usually able to ignore these things, cutting corners and telling myself that it was worth it to keep my staff employed, but everything was grating on me today. The bed sheets were too scratchy, the mattress too lumpy. And this fucking sandwich was like paste in my mouth. I threw the half-eaten jam sandwich down on my plate. I used to have a nice place, an expensive place. At the time, I didn't even hesitate to let it go. It made sense when I thought it was temporary. Now, though? I was so sick of sacrificing for the hotel, paying the price for my grandfather's greed. Just once I wanted to collect a fair wage for the hours I was putting in. I wanted to be able to afford to eat a real meal, something with meat, for gods' sake!

Shit, the apartment wasn't even the real problem.

Dropping my head into my hands, I allowed myself to admit what I really wanted—Roland. I never should've allowed myself to give in to the temptation. Everything was harder now, knowing what I was missing. The memory of his taste still lingered on my tongue. But no matter how shitty things got, I would keep sacrificing—anything and everything—if it meant he was safe.

I stared down at the sandwich, and I swore it stared back. I couldn't force myself to take even one more bite today, so instead, I pushed away from the table. I didn't even have the luxury of throwing out the damn sandwich, so I wrapped it in plastic and tossed it in the fridge for later.

The shower was cold, big surprise, but at least it helped me make it fast. I had somewhere to be this morning. I quickly towel dried, with barely a glance at the mirror. Normally I would spend extra time on my appearance, aiming to impress, but I was having a hard time seeing the point anymore. Especially today. So instead of donning my uniform with its crisp creases, I dragged on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. It felt… wrong. But what the hell was right anymore?

The city's main library was an impressive building, with features of the original structure erected in 1884, but after some irreparable damage due simply to its age, they'd updated it, giving it a modern twist. The main entryway was glass and steel, but as I made my way through to the archives, the modern feel made way for creaky, stained hardwood floors and pressed-tin ceiling tiles. Even the smell of the place changed, and I felt myself relax. This was dangerous, because as soon as I let my guard down, hope began to creep through the cracks.

I was going to find an answer here, I just knew it.

I approached the librarian seated at the desk. "Excuse me, could you please help me get started? I need to look through the newspaper archives and cross-reference names."

She smiled at me warmly. "Of course. Come with me and we'll get you started on a computer over here." She led me toward a desk and signed me on. My fingers tingled with anticipation.

Hours later, however, the pleasant warm tingling sensation felt more like pins and needles jabbing at my insides. Nothing. There was fucking nothing! How was that possible?! I had dug up articles about Bruno Santana easily enough. His trial had been sensationalized, the details of his crimes so sordid that readers lapped it up. From there, I found articles about the accusations against Mayor Black, his ties to Santana, and his subsequent disappearance. But that was where my research seemed to end. When I tied the city's new mayor into the mix, there was nothing but praise for Eva Ward, touting her as a savior here to clean up the city's corruption. It was almost like she had wiped any dissent clean. Damn, she was good.

"This is such bullshit," I hissed, and the librarian turned in her chair to give me a sour glare. "Sorry," I mouthed at her, before logging out of the computer and shoving back my chair. This was what I got for allowing that tiny spark of hope in—crushing disappointment.

I was officially out of time.

I stopped by my apartment long enough to throw on a suit, but I left the wrinkles exactly where they were. It was the tiniest act of rebellion, and I doubted anyone would notice, but I would know. It was my whispered fuck-you to Eva and my father.

They were already there waiting for me when I stepped through the hotel's main doors. I hated seeing them here, like a stain on my pristine hotel. My father at least had a right to be here, as he technically owned the place, but Eva reminded me of an oil slick, choking and toxic.

"There you are," my father said with a frown as he spied me coming in. "You're late."

I made a point of looking at my watch. "Hmm, you said five, and it is precisely 4:59. You will find I am in fact one minute early." It wasn't my fault he'd shown up too early and had to entertain our guest.

My eyes flicked to the briefcase dangling from his left hand. He nodded, seeing where my gaze had gone. "Shall we?" he said, holding an arm out, indicating my office. As much as I didn't want them in there, it was better than doing this out in public where everyone could see.

I led the way across the lobby, and my father fell into step beside me. "I was glad you called. For a minute, I thought you were never going to come to your senses. It's a smart business transaction. You won't regret it."

"Right," I muttered.

As we came even with the front desk, I made the mistake of looking over at Emily, but she was staring off to her left, brow furrowed. When I followed her gaze, my breath caught. Roland? Shit, why was Roland here? He wasn't supposed to be here yet. His shift didn't start until ten. I specifically chose a time when he wasn't working because I didn't want him to witness this. I wasn't that cruel.

His eyes were frantic, his cheeks flushed as he stepped around the desk to head us off. "Emerson, we need to talk."

"Not now," I snapped, panic like a bitter tang at the back of my throat. He didn't understand the danger he was in by bringing attention to himself. Dammit, why was he here?! "You should watch yourself, Mr. Stohl. What makes you think you can be so casual with me? You will call me Monsieur Holland. Know your place." Even as the acidic words came out of my mouth, I tried to convey how I really felt with my eyes, but it seemed to go right over his head. His jaw dropped, shocked, like I'd slapped him, and his eyes grew glossy.

I needed to do whatever it took to keep Roland out of today's business dealings, even if it hurt his feelings, but no matter my cruelty, it was too late. My father's eyes flicked between us, realization dawning. It only got worse when Eva's focus turned to him, her shark's grin widening. She had a knack for sensing weakness.

The flare of protectiveness burned hot and seething. I wanted to wrap him up in my arms and tell him everything would be okay—but it was very, very clear that nothing was okay, and it might not be okay ever again.

I hated that I'd hurt him, but at least if he hated me, he would keep his distance.

I forced myself to march straight past him, spine rigid, my face a perfect mask, not showing a single ounce of emotion. I shoved my way into my office, holding the door open for Eva and my father, before closing it behind them. I allowed myself one last fleeting look at Roland and saw a single tear drip down his cheek, before I closed him out, once and for all.

Eva sat down on the low couch and dropped a folder on the table in front of her. "I brought all the paperwork that needs your signature, including our marriage license."

My father sat beside her, perched on the edge of the cushion as though ready to bolt as soon as the business was done. "I have as well. This will transfer ownership of the hotel to you, Emerson, and then once you're married, it will become half Miss Ward's." They both pulled out their contracts and set them out on the table, and my father reached into his inside pocket and withdrew a pen, clicking it once, then holding it out to me.

I stared at the pen, at the contracts, then at each of them in turn. Logically I knew that I'd exhausted my options. My heart, however, was nowhere in this office, and I couldn't bring myself to give up. Not yet. I cleared my throat, tucking my hands into my pockets instead of reaching for the pen. "Yes, thank you. Leave the contracts there and I'll have my lawyer look them over. I'll get back to you next week."

"Excuse me?" Eva drawled, raising an eyebrow as if she couldn't believe my audacity. My father sputtered, and I swore he was trying not to laugh.

I smiled grimly at her. "You understand, I'm sure. I'm a businessman, not a fool. You didn't really expect me to just sign this blindly, did you?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Oh, Emerson…" she said, rising from the couch. "That was precisely what I expected."

Refusing to flinch, I tipped my chin up and stared right back. "What's the rush, Madame Mayor? The hotel isn't going anywhere."

There was a flash of something in her eyes—doubt, maybe even a bit of fear—but before I could identify it, it was gone. "Very well," she said, smooth as could be. "You take your week. But if you think you can stall forever, you'll find you're mistaken. Don't make me push back." Her threats were becoming a little less veiled.

As we stepped back out into the lobby, I refused to look at Roland, but from the corner of my eye I saw that Emily had her arm around his shoulders, comforting him. This was my fault, she was comforting him because of me.

Eva paused, turning in a circle right there in front of the desk as she admired the high ceiling and reflected light. "Yes, I think the hotel will do nicely as a reception venue, don't you? And that way, all your employees can be there to witness your marriage. Isn't that just perfect, my love?"

My lip curled in a sneer, acid crawling up my throat at the pet name. I maneuvered myself to block her view of him, and she winked at me. "I'm thinking November 15th for the ceremony. Maybe young Mr. Stohl could be your best man? I know how much he means to you." She had no right to say his name. She knew exactly what she was doing, digging that knife into my chest and giving it a twist.

She could do whatever she wanted to me. I just wished she could leave him out of this.