Page 58 of Things I Overshared
He considers before he answers, as I’m learning he always does. I almost think he won’t answer, unwilling to share with me even though I’m constantly turning myself inside out around him. I sigh and start to give him an out, but he clears his throat.
“I was very young when my affinity for numbers became obvious.” He takes his time with each word, and I force myself to be patient. “Then it was as if I simply followed them.”
“The numbers?” I ask, and he shrugs, almost embarrassed. The vulnerability makes my chest tight. “That’s kind of poetic.” He gives me a look of confusion or maybe disgust? He is the hardest person to read on the entire planet. “I never had that—any poetry. Even when I thought I’d go into medicine, it wasn’t like I was great at science. You always hope some great passion or talent will reveal itself, some eureka moment where the clouds part and angels sing. But it never came. Just an internship at the company that became a sales job that . . . continued.”
“And what if you simply can’t see it?” His voice is soft, and he’s staring once again.
“What?”
“The clouds part, Miss Canton. Angels do sing. I just don’t think you can hear them.” He stands up immediately after the words tumble out. My mouth falls open, allowing me to start panting. Those may be the sweetest words anyone has ever said to me. And they came from the most surprising, gorgeous, quiet mouth.
It feels as if we’ve crossed a line and taken down many layers of the wall between us. He must sense it too, because he quickly mumbles good night and escapes to his room. I sit at the table, stunned.
Stunned isn’t the right word. I am completely ruined. There’s no coming back from tonight, from what’s building down deep in my soul, from these feelings.
Big, warm feelings for icy Emerson Clark.
Chapter 17
I am giddy today. And nervous for many reasons. One of which is our meeting this morning. Graham Roberts is the buyer for one of the UK’s biggest grocery chains. They’re about to expand their stores to include an in-house pharmacy, which will include a gifts, cards, and party section. It’s a huge opportunity for us. We need to wow them in the morning meeting.
Another reason I’m all fluttery is that after said meeting, we are setting off on a true adventure. Thanks to a wealth of insider information from his assistant, June, Mr. Roberts is in for a treat.
He doesn’t know the big surprise, just that he and a few members of his staff were invited for a “casual adventure.” Since Emerson and I are still the only Canton employees in London, I’ve invited Trina to come along as an unofficial third. It’s a tiny risk since I don’t know her that well, but I got such a great vibe from her. Plus, I was to be the only woman on the adventure, and I wanted a gal pal to break up all the testosterone.
The last reason I’m all twitchy is looking down at his phone as I approach him in the living room. I told myself last night, over and over, this cannot happen. Nothing will happen. The man can barely stand me. He is grumpy and standoffish. Cold and unfeeling. Blunt to the point of cruelty. And he has a posh English supermodel girlfriend.
Plus, I promised myself I wasn’t doing this again. Romanticizing, dreaming, painting a rosy picture of a future in my head, as I always do. A picture that is always quickly trashed by rejection after rejection, or as I’d learned this year, even worse.
There is nothing to be all fluttery about, I reminded myself.
Then he looked up at me from his phone with a tight, barely there grin and my hopeful-to-a-fault self flipped me the bird and proceeded to jump somersaults in my chest. Today he is wearing a light linen shirt untucked—untucked!—over khaki slacks and loafer-style boat shoes. The thin fabric pulls as he grabs his messenger bag from the entry table, pushing detailed images into my mind of the firm ridges that lie underneath. Cue additional somersaults.
As we make our way toward Mr. Robert’s office, the flips and skips in my heart go ahead and sit down in defeat. Emerson doesn’t look my way, doesn’t chat, doesn’t even grunt or scoff at my morning ramblings with Charlie. Had I imagined it all last night? The held eye contact? The sincerity in his encouragement? The gentle clutch of my wrist? I must have. That’s what I do, after all.
I focus on the meeting instead of those nagging questions. I use the drive to review stats and figures in my head, as well as reciting names of the men we’re meeting with, along with their wives and children, hobbies, and so on. I even went through some key terms and tidbits I’d picked up about soccer.
The meeting goes very well. It couldn’t have gone much better, actually, unless Emerson had maybe shown a bit more enthusiasm. He seemed more tense than usual, more reserved. He didn’t make any eye contact with me or engage with me in any way, other than our usual volleying in our meetings, so I had no idea what was going on with him. One guess was irritation with Mr. Roberts’s second, Damian Weiss.
The guy was attractive, energetic, and funny. He made eye contact, said our names often, even knew tidbits about us. He was like a male version of me . . . kind of. The problem was, he dominated the conversation, talking over others, laughing too loud to the point of seeming fake. Honestly, he was one of those sales guys I wish wasn’t in sales because he makes all of us look bad.
Am I like that? I am too loud sometimes, maybe, too excitable. But I never talk over other people intentionally, and I would never dole out big fake laughs. But what if this was how I come across? I could see Emerson’s distaste for Damian grow throughout the meeting. Does he see me the same way? Damn. I hope not.
“All right then!” Mr. Roberts stands and essentially ends our meeting. He’s a tall man with a serious face, nice-looking but starting to gray and to bald. He doesn’t have the frat-boy vibe of his salesmen, but it seems like they make a good team. “I’m very interested to see what this afternoon excursion is all about. June made quite a fuss—I hope she didn’t oversell whatever this is.” He gives us a sheepish eye, as if he’s prepared to be annoyed.
“Miss Canton never disappoints.” Emerson stares him down for a beat, then moves toward the door to lead everyone out. My heart drops down into my shoes for a second at his vote of confidence. So, maybe I didn’t imagine his walls crumbling the tiniest bit? But he avoids my gaze, which keeps finding him, as we walk and then load into a limo and head to our destination.
Mr. Roberts’s face lights up when we pull into the marina twenty minutes later. “Well, we’re off to a promising start!”
We unload out of the limo and join Trina, who’s waiting for us at the eighty-foot catamaran sailboat. Well, yacht is more accurate than sailboat. I do ramble through freak yacht death stats in my head. But I have a job to do, so I focus on my tasks.
“All right, Mr. Roberts, I know you’re a sailor, so I thought you’d enjoy taking us out for an afternoon on the water,” I say with excitement.
“Inthat?” His voice almost squeaks.
“Yes, I know it’s a bit bigger thanBelieve It or Knot, but she’s fully staffed with a crew and a backup captain, not that you’ll need him.” I am beaming at his obvious glee.Way to go, Sam!
Mr. Roberts lets out a huge laugh and turns to Emerson. “Well, you were quite right, after all. I am surprised to say I amnotdisappointed!” I look to Emerson too, but he nods without looking my way. I introduce Trina to everyone as one of our London team members, and the men are so excited about sailing, lunch, and beer that they couldn’t care less who she is or what she does.
