Page 38 of The Fake Out

Emerson’s hand found the small of my back as he guided me toward his teammates. We’d barely said hi before Hannah Erickson, ever on the job, asked Emerson to help her with content for the Revs’ social media.

Without hesitation, he jumped in, and the next thing I knew, he and Puff were doing a choreographed dance. Two head nods, a shake back and forth, and three spins.

A laugh bubbled out of me as I watched. It may have been the cutest moment I’d ever witnessed.

“Wait, the beginning glitched. Can you do it again?” Hannah asked, her blue eyes focused on the screen of her phone as she tapped one black stiletto on the bricks below her feet.

“Anything you need, bebé,” Emerson assured.

That one word had my spine snapping straight. How was it that two tiny syllables could cause so much annoyance?

The team’s head of PR was beautiful. There was no denying that. Tight black dress that ended just above the knee. Brown hair in a high ponytail. She looked buttoned-up and professional, yet also elegant. I hated that I felt jealous. And I couldn’t help but be reminded of another buttoned-up professional who was always dressed in black. It was dumb. I wasn’t dating Emerson, and he wasn’t Jake. Not to mention, Hannah seemed nice. Nothing like Libby. I shook it off and scanned the tables again, eager to take my mind off the situation.

“Em, I’m going to look at the baskets.” I nodded toward the far side of the room and stepped that way.

“I’ll just be a sec,” he assured me before turning back to once again dance with the bird.

It blew me away that he hadn’t originally been invited to this event. If he weren’t here, who would have danced with Puff for the Revs social media? Chris sure as shit wouldn’t have done it. And although Kyle Bosco was known for his antics, he looked pretty content where he was cozied up to the gorgeous blond I was pretty sure was a model I’d seen on a magazine cover or two. From what I knew of the guy, I couldn’t see him leaving his date for a bird.

I glanced back at Hannah again, who was barking out orders. Did she have the first clue just how incredible Emerson was? I hoped so.

Giving him his space to be the Boston Rev goofball everyone knew and loved, I scanned the baskets and tickets for a variety of sporting events and shows. But nothing really caught my eye.

A few members of the zoo’s board mingled nearby, as well as a few people from the zoo’s marketing team I’d worked with. Before long, Emerson appeared at my side, and instantly, he was chatting up anyone who came our way. We wandered from one table to the next, bidding on a couple of items that jumped out at him, before he ushered me over to our assigned table. After dinner, the president of the zoo stood up to give a quick call for donations. He even thanked the firm for the amazing job on the rebranding.

“He should have fucking thanked you by name,” Chris muttered from my left side.

“They said they wouldn’t name people for fear of missing someone.” That’s just how things were done at these events. And plenty of people had come over to thank me and praise my work already.

“That’s bullshit.” Chris shook his head and glared at the zoo president, who was still yammering on.

“Agreed,” Emerson whispered.

“We should say something.” With a grunt, Chris pushed his chair back.

My heart skipped. I absolutely didn’t want them to make a scene.

“Didn’t Walter come talk to you?” Avery asked, peeking around my brother.

“He did,” I assured her, grasping Chris’s arm to keep him from standing.

She whacked his other arm. “It’s the way her company does this stuff. Don’t be difficult.”

Scooting his chair in again, he slumped. He meant well, and I appreciated the support. As annoying as Chris was, he was also my biggest champion.

And having an ally in Avery was a relief. If she didn’t approve of my brother stepping out of line, then he wouldn’t say a word. Avery was the only person in the world who could truly control him.

“You going to dance with me?” Emerson gently bumped me with his shoulder.

“Not likely,” I joked. “But I’ll grab refills for both of us.”

“Want me to get it?” he offered, brows lifted high.

I shook him off with a smile. He’d gotten the last one, but he’d had to go back again after he dropped my drink halfway back when someone pushed their chair out quickly and Emerson bumped into it. It was easier if I did it myself. So, with a small, reassuring squeeze to his arm, I stood and headed to the bar. As I stepped up, I recognized Jake’s boss waiting for the bartender.

“Hello, Mr. Whittemore,” I said, stepping up to the bar next to the president of Doucette Designs.

He turned away from the liquor, scanning my face with a polite, impersonal smile, clearly not recognizing me.

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