Page 20 of Hate the One You're With
“So, marry Caleb,” she suggests.
“Even if your brother seems . . .” I trail off, unsure how to finish that thought.
He’s sweet and probably caring. Funny and smart. Also, pretty hot. I wouldn’t mind him kissing me with that mouth. “I can’t marry a stranger. I’ll probably just move to the apartment in Brooklyn and work until I can save enough money to pay my tuition—or until my trust becomes available.”
Mom was a wise woman. There has to be a good reasonwhy she decided to leave me all her money and property in a trust, to be used only after my twenty-fifth birthday. She probably didn’t know that one morning, she would cross the road, and some drunk asshole would crush her skull because he didn’t see the red light.
He’s in jail paying for what he did. And I’m in hell living without the only person who ever loved me unconditionally. How fair is that? Probably not much, but Mom always said things happened for a reason. I have to find the silver lining, and maybe soon, I’ll find one for this dilemma. Just not now, of course.
“It’s up to you, but I really think you should consider my brother. You can’t become the CEO of your company if you don’t have a degree,” Clarissa insists. “Also, my parents are desperate.”
“Ugh, stop using logic on me,” I complain. “By the way, I’ll try to send you more money in a week or so.”
“You don’t have to. What you left is plenty to cover the bills for a couple of months, according to Mom. I just didn’t tell her where I got it from,” she replies.
“Which is totally fine,” I say, relieved.
Not having to figure out how to come up with more money is a small victory. Duncan, the family butler, wasn’t too happy when he found out I took the money without permission. He accused me of stealing it to buy drugs and dragged me to the doctor to prove I’m an addict—I’m not. The only time I almost tried pot was with Clarissa, and that was a total fail. Duncan’s never going to know what I did with that money. I told him it might be hidden in the house or burned in the fireplace.
Poor Duncan, he really hates dealing with what he calls my smart mouth, but at least I keep his life interesting. He’ll be bored without me.
“Em, you really should think about my plan,” Clarissa insists. “I think he liked you, you know.”
“What?”
“Cal,” she responds. “He seemed fond of you. You could propose this to him and everyone will be happy.”
I can’t focus on whatever she’s saying because all I can think about is Caleb, his mouth, and the things I doubt we’ll ever get to do, like kiss. Which, of course, is absolutely off-limits because of the bestie code.
Rule number one: Thou shalt not kiss thy best friend’s brother. Even if he has lips that look like they were handcrafted by the romance gods.
Chapter Twelve
Caleb: Were you the one who lent the money to my sister?
Emmersyn: What?
Caleb: That was a lot of money. Why would you do that?
Emmersyn: My mom taught me to give a hand to those we love. Your sister is one of my closest friends.
Caleb: Again, that was a lot of money. Your family . . . did they just give it to you?
Emmersyn: I took it from the safe. No one was using it.
Caleb: You’re goingto get in trouble.
Emmersyn: My grandma will be away until the end of the month—grief vacation, remember?
Caleb: Oh right, who died?
Emmersyn: My grandfather.
Caleb: Sorry for your loss.
Emmersyn: Thank you.
Caleb: How about your parents? Will they care about the money?
