Page 27 of The Summer I Destroyed You

I fly into Austin for the opening of Damien Ellis’s new restaurant, in part to force Jeff to go take care of our mom for a few days—he hasn’t visited even once—but mostly because I need Damien Ellis to notice me.

Though Ellis is the kind of guy everyone wants to date, I’m not after him for his incredible investment portfolio and perfectly groomed scruff. I’m after him for his ability to buy out Inspired Building and put me in charge. I want Charles fired, of course, but I’ve got no doubt the company would fare far better under me than it does my boss, whose only successes have come at my hands.

My dress is red, meant to attract attention. Even if Ellis never meets me, he will definitely say, “Who was the woman in the red dress?” at some point, and that’s more than enough to make this trip worthwhile. The next time he hears my name, as the person who swooped up Elliott Springs while he wasn’t looking, he’ll sit up and take notice.

I get a martini at the bar. I hate martinis, but I don’t want to be seen drinking something girly when I catch his eye. From there I float around the room, smiling and socializing, two things I don’t do in real life. I ask people how they know Damien as if I know Damien, and when I tell them I’m Emerson Hughes with Inspired Building, they act as if they know who I am because I’ve behaved as if they should. They tell me what a great guy Damien is, which I doubt, and how impressed they are with the restaurant, though it’s like every other steakhouse that’s come up in the past four years. I stay until the moment I’ve been waiting for: the one where I look across the room and Damien Ellis is already looking at me. I give him a half smile and raise my glass. He raises his back and leans over to ask something of the guy beside him, watching me the entire time. He’s asking about me, and any minute now, someone will say, “Oh, that’s Emerson Hughes with Inspired Building—don’t you know her?”

I drain that martini—warm now and absolutely vile—and walk outside to the waiting car.

Everything went perfectly, but as is common when things have gone perfectly, a sort of emptiness descends in my gut. I always expect it to feel like more and it never does.

I return to my hotel room, and flop on the bed—physically drained, as if the pretense was a costume of immense weight. I kick off my shoes and stare at the ceiling, wishing my relief felt good rather than hollow.

This is normally the moment when I’d distract myself with work, but the thought of it drains me even more than I already was. I pick up my phone, scrolling past messages from Jeff and Charles and Stella and…

Liam. Liam has texted. I shoot upright, quietly thrilled. I can’t open the message fast enough.

Yard Boy

Is there any chance you can meet me to walk through the bookstore tomorrow?

I’m in Austin until Monday. And I thought you didn’t work on Saturdays.

I don’t, but I want to make sure that I’m still your favorite Construction Boy, or whatever it is you call me.

Yard Boy, and I don’t think I ever said you were my favorite in the first place.

You texted me for months. It was implied.

You were texting ME.

Yeah, there was something implied there too.

I’m smiling as I put the phone down. It no longer feels hollow, being in this hotel room alone.

* * *

It’s raining when my flight lands in San Francisco, and the drizzle is a downpour by the time I reach my mother’s house. Snowflake bounds for me the moment I walk through the door, running in excited circles. An unwilling smile tugs at my mouth. I’m sort of happy to see her too.

“You’re back,” my mother says, her unhappiness clear. She turns up the television, as if the sound of my quiet steps across the room makes it impossible to hear one reality TV mom accuse another of bad parenting.

I let Snowflake out and stand in the frame of the door as she runs to the bushes at the yard’s edge.

Liam and a few of his guys are securing a tarp over the frame of the screen porch. Liam yells something to one of them—it’s raining too hard to hear what he’s saying—and manages to catch a rope with one hand while holding the tarp with the other. I’m not sure I know a man anywhere who’d look as comfortable as Liam does now, balancing his entire weight on two posts. And I can’t imagine why being able to balance precariously in a rainstorm is suddenly such a desirable quality.

He looks me over, eyes catching for a moment on my soaked shirt and moving away just as quickly. He pulls a rope through the grommet of the tarp and ties it down. I’d always thought I was more of a Damien Ellis kind of girl, but no…I’m pretty sure there’s nothing hotter than a man standing in lashing rain, all lean muscle and determination, trying to make sure shit’s kept dry.

Snowflake returns and I reluctantly close the door to dry her off before I go upstairs to shower. When I emerge, there’s a text from Liam waiting.

Yard Boy

This rain is supposed to keep up and the roads are going to flood. Please stay put tomorrow. That little car of yours isn’t made for the kind of flooding we get here.

I think of a hundred ways I can reply, ways that criticize his work ethic, or the misogyny of suggesting that I, a female, need his guidance.

Instead, though, I just smile and scroll through our old texts. I thought what made me so happy those last few months in New York was the imminent vanquishing of my enemies.

Now I’m starting to wonder if it had a little to do with Liam as well.

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