Page 16 of Hate the One You're With
“Even if it’s not to make him pay for being an asshole, know that I’m here for you,” she says, her tone shifting to something more serious, gentler.
“Thank you. I love you, Clarissa. I really don’t know what I’d do without you and all my friends,” I say, meaning every word.
“Love you more, and I’m sorry Gertrude left you in this predicament, but . . . maybe something good will come out of it,” she says, thinking with her heart and optimism.
Listen, I’m all about silver linings and all that, but myoptimism doesn’t even come close to Clarissa’s. She’s the kind of person who would find a rainbow in the middle of a hurricane—or convince herself that a coffee spill is just an excuse to buy a new shirt. Meanwhile, I’m over here, fully expecting the shirt to be sold out and the hurricane to come back even stronger. There are places and times to be sunshine and positive shit, but this is not it.
“Doubtful. This is going to be likeThe Hunger GamesorSurvivor—only with way less food and way more emotional landmines,” I reply, trying to inject some humor into the impending disaster.
Because this will be like navigating a minefield blindfolded—while juggling chainsaws. And let’s be real, I’m not exactly known for my coordination.
I can’t help but wish things were different, like when I first met Caleb. Back then, he was . . . less Caleb-y and more like a caring protective guy I could fall in love with. The one I could see myself marrying.
The kind of man who made my heart skip a beat with just a smile, who I could imagine building a life with—a life filled with laughter, late-night conversations, and the kind of love that makes everything else seem insignificant. But that version of him seems like a distant memory now, buried under layers of sarcasm and resentment.
Chapter Nine
Emmersyn
Eighteen-year-old Emmersyn. . .
Logan opens the car door. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Miss Em?” he asks for maybe the thousandth time since he picked me up from the penthouse, drove me to the hangar, and boarded the plane with me. I know I shouldn’tbe going to Boston alone.
“Probably not,” I admit, flashing him a small, reassuring smile. “But my friend needs me.”
Clarissa’s family has been dealing with a lot of changes lately—too many, and none of them good. First, her parents lost their jobs. There are other things she doesn’t fully understand because her parents prefer to shield her and her siblings from the adult conversations. And then, just a few days ago, her father had a heart attack and was rushed to the hospital. He had surgery earlier today and will need to stay for a week or two.
They don’t have the money to pay for the medical bills—or insurance—and the list of what they need is long. I offered my grandmother’s help, but Clarissa refused. Of course, I couldn’t just sit at home; I had to come and see what I could do for her. I even brought some cash with me that I “found” lying around the house.
Okay, it wasn’t just lying around. I grabbed it from the safe, but I did leave a note with an IOU in there.
“Your grandmother’s going to fire me for enabling you,” Logan mutters, shaking his head.
“She wouldn’t dare,” I reply with a grin as I step out of the car. We’re at Boston Memorial, and I suddenly realize I forgot to text Clarissa to find out which room her father is in and where we should meet. “You’re the only person who can keep up with me—her words, not mine.”
Not that I’m entirely sure what she means by that. She’s never happy when I leave the house and take the subway instead of asking Logan to drive me. It seems like a waste of fuel and his time. Except, whenever I do that, he somehow manages to track me down and keep mecompany, like I’m a toddler who might get lost in New York City.
But Mom taught me how to navigate not just the transportation system but the entire city when I was young. “Pay attention to the landmarks, Em. Memorize all the stops. This one will take you to Grandma and Grandpa’s house,” she would say as we went on adventures or she took me to school. I was nine when she finally let me use the train by myself.
My grandparents didn’t know any of that until after Mom died. They couldn’t understand why she raised me that way. If they had known, they would’ve bought her a car, hired me a nanny and a driver and . . . I hate to think how my life would’ve turned out if they’d had more influence when I was younger. At least the first fourteen years of my life were mildly normal. Then, I lost Mom and had to move in with my grandparents—and follow their rules.
Logan came into the picture too. He’s a former FBI agent—something about retiring early and wanting to do something different, like driving a teenager around and, let’s be honest, babysitting her because she can’t be contained in one place.
It’s so un-Langley of me. A Langley should behave in a totally different way. My grandmother makes it sound like being a Langley is like being part of a different species, like we’re technically royalty. Someone should really give her a reality check. We’re just people like everyone else.
Grandpa was at least less stuffy and more understanding of my ideals. He never tried to change me the way Grandma does. She wants me to be like her all the time. Hates my auburn hair—it’s not the “right” color. She also can’t stand the way I dress or the fact that I speak my mind instead of quietlynodding along. According to her, I’m a constant embarrassment to the Langley name.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Logan asks.
I shake my head. “No, I’ll be fine. The last thing I want is to draw attention. It’s Boston—no one’s going to think much of me if they see me.” I glance at myself. I dressed simply in ripped jeans, an old sweatshirt, and a pair of flats.
Grandma would hate this look, but that’s the beauty of being eighteen and finally living away from her judgmental grip. If only I could find a way to pay for my college tuition without having to use my trust fund.
Can I wait until I turn twenty-five? Plenty of people start college later in life. I could work in many places to keep up with the utilities of Mom’s apartment and . . . How many jobs would I need to have?
But if I do that, I’ll never learn how to handle Langley Media, and it was important to Grandpa that I take over. He always said Mom was a great candidate, but that I have as much, if not more, heart than she did.
I never really understood what heart has to do with the business world, but for the past four years, he took me to work whenever I wasn’t in school and introduced me to everyone—from the receptionists to the COO. He always told me that every single person there was important, that their stories mattered, and that they were what made Langley Media one of the best companies.
