Tom
"Donations are steady, back to where they were before..." Cynthia's voice dipped as she scanned the remaining agenda items she had written down on her legal pad. "Name recognition for the Foundation has measurably increased—"
"Please don't tell me we actually paid for those measurements—" I cut in, but Cynthia tactfully continued on, ignoring me.
"As have positive associations of our brand within the public eye, isn't that lovely?"
I rolled my eyes and leaned farther back into my desk chair. "You know how I feel about polling."
"Which is why I never tell you about it before I arrange it," she retorted with a calculated grin.
"It's a waste of money!"
"It's concrete evidence against the board's worries—"
"Cynthia, for the hundredth time, I don't care about—"
"—and a way to get them to shut the hell up and let us get on with our bloody work."
My sister dropped the smile and instead arched a brow, daring me to contradict her. I didn't.
"We're going to be okay," she said after taking a deep breath. "The Foundation will be fine, many thanks to Emma. If it hadn't been for her filing that police report and making an effort at those events..." She shook her head as if to dismiss the idea and then continued. "Well, little brother, you may not care about optics but our bottom line sure as hell does."
"Duly noted," I grumbled, refusing to concede her the point.
Cynthia glanced down at her notepad before checking off a final agenda item and reaffixing her smile. "Speaking of the lovely, Emma Henderson..."
"We weren't—"
"I was."
"If this meeting's over, I have budgets to configure," I said, making a show of turning back to my computer and pulling up various documents.
The moment I had entered the office that morning, Cynthia had pounced. I'd come in late having slept over at Emma's. Between the intensity of our conversation and later our lovemaking—I had never understood that term before being with Emma—I had completely forgotten to set an alarm, and—being unemployed—Emma had fallen out of the habit.
"You two looked quite the lovely pair last night—"
"You hardly let us look a pair at all," I bit in.
Cynthia, I knew, was the one who had orchestrated my being pulled away to talk with investors. Whether to control the narrative surrounding Emma or to merely maximize the number of patrons we could kiss-up to, I wasn't sure. Either way, I didn't care for it.
"Well I couldn't let you have her all to yourself," she teased. "Could I?"
I began typing with added vigor but stayed silent.
Cynthia sighed heavily. "I was only going to ask..."
I glared up at my sister expectantly, only to see that I had lost her. She stared absently out the window for several moments before turning back to face me, all trace of her well-trained smile gone.
"Yes?"
Cynthia furrowed her brow with apparent renewed focus. "I was only going to ask if Emma had mentioned a stylist to you. I suggested she hire her friend, told her you would pay for it."
"She hasn't mentioned it," I said somewhat wearily. "Why?"
Cynthia's expression fell into a pout. "Nothing, it's only—"
The robotic ring of my office line interrupted her. I picked up the receiver and waited for the voice of my assistant, Walter.
"Course, send her up," I instructed him before replacing the phone in its cradle and standing up.
"It's the woman of the hour," I explained to Cynthia as I buttoned my suit jacket and walked out from behind my desk.
Cynthia nodded mutely as she gathered her things and stood. "I'll leave you to it then."
Emma appeared just as Cynthia slipped through the door. The two exchanged greetings and Cynthia, oddly, offered Emma a tight squeeze on the arm before letting her pass.
"Hey," I said somewhat breathlessly just as the door closed behind my sister's retreating figure.
"Hello," she murmured with a slight blush as she glanced around my office.
I fidgeted with my collar, feeling as though I was suddenly thrust back to our first date feeling nervous yet exhilarated.
"Would you like to go for lunch?" I asked, suddenly craving Italian food.
Emma's eyebrows rose. "It's barely half-past eleven. We were just..."
A blush consumed the rest of her words.
"In bed," I finished for her with a smirk. I stepped forward and took her hands in mine. "I remember," I murmured as my thumbs began to trace circles along her soft skin.
Emma lowered her gaze to her shoes. "A-as do I. It was lovely."
"Lovely?" I dropped my chin in hopes of catching her eye, but she avoided it expertly.
"You didn't think so?" She squeaked, her tense fingers slowly beginning to squeeze mine.
"Ems? Is something the matter?"
"Tom..."
"Look at me."
She shook her head adamantly. "I don't think I can."
"If you're doing what I think you're..." I swallowed painfully and cleared my throat. "At least do me the decency of looking at me."
My voice caught on the word and she flinched.
Emma drew a deep breath, and then straightened her shoulders first before slowly lifting her chin. Her eyes, when they finally met mine, were drowning in tears. "Tom," she said, with a forced calm. "I've decided to... move back to Kerry."
I took a step back, but immediately hated the slightest increase in distance between us and stepped swiftly back into her.
"Emma—"
"You know it isn't what I want," she said, her voice suddenly fraught with feeling. She squeezed my hands tighter. "But I don't have a choice."
"You'll find a job, Ems! You just have to keep trying!"
It was an idiotic thing for me to say, and it showed in her pained expression.
"You don't think I've been trying?"
I shook my head adamantly. "Of course, you've been trying! You just need to give it some time!"
"I've given it six weeks!" she exclaimed.
The room started to tilt then, or perhaps it was the world. My whole world. Standing right there in front of me, in my office, telling me she was leaving.
I pressed her hands imploringly. "Then give yourself time—you can move in with me and I can support you while you figure things out!"
Emma suddenly jolted back, just barely out of my reach. "I would never ask you to—"
"Of course, you wouldn't! You're too bloody stubborn to ever ask for help!" The words exploded from my mouth, and the second I heard their echo, I instantly regretted them.
"Nice, Tom."
I shut my eyes, not able to take in her scornful glare. "I didn't mean that."
"You didn't mean it or you didn't mean to say it?" Emma demanded.
"Both?" I tried.
I heard her snort and the jangle of her keys as she reached inside her purse for them. Every nerve in my body suddenly seized in panic.
"Emma, please don't walk out on me!"
It took me a moment to work up the courage to open my eyes. When I did, I saw her headed for the door, frozen in place with her keys jutting out between her clenched fingers.
It was a near minute until she spoke, and when she did it was hardly louder than a breath. "Tom..."
"All I'm asking," I pleaded as I gingerly took one step toward her and then another. "Is you give yourself some time."
Emma's hands flew into the air as she spun to face me. "To do what?"
"To give us a chance!"
She looked as desperate as I imagined myself to, but I couldn't figure out if Emma was desperate to find a way for us to stay together or merely desperate to escape to Kerry.
I had told her I loved her, and I had meant it.
And she hadn't said it back.
I'd told myself in her own way she had by opening up about her past experiences. But presently, I felt the ringing silence of those unspoken words.
"Tom, I want to but I can't just put my life on hold."
"I'm not asking you to!" I rebutted.
"Then what the hell are you asking?" Emma nearly shouted.
"One year," I blurted out before the thought even fully formed in my mind.
"A year?!" She repeated incredulously.
"One year to see if we can make this work."
Emma crossed her arms over her chest and huffed in disbelief. "And I would just move in and do what? I can't not work, Tom."
I merely stared at her, not comprehending: she said she wanted to stay in London, she said wanted to stay in a relationship with me, and here she could. "Why not?"
Emma's laugh cut straight through me knocking the air out of my lungs. They began to ache for oxygen, but I couldn't breathe.
I was losing her.
I could feel it in the air between us, in the pit of my stomach. Her keys were still in hand, her eyes were still watery, but she was closed. She had already considered her options, weighed her choices, and made her decision.
But she hadn't considered me, or better, hadn't considered what I was willing to put on the table to keep her in London, to keep her in my life.
I knew I loved her from the moment Emma started rattling off about Sophia Le Something or Other. The way her entire being lit up as she described the life of this strange woman... I'd just known.
And when I saw her again at the benefit the following week, I knew then that it had to be a sign. It didn't matter that Emma was less sure or hesitant to let her guard down because I knew. I knew it then and I knew it standing in the middle of my office as my brain spun and spun, searching for some way to convince her.
"You could write!" I finally managed.
Emma's mouth swung open, but I persisted on before she could speak.
"You could write! You could spend the year writing—write more short stories or try a novel!"
"But I wouldn't be making any money!"
"You wouldn't need to! I'd take care of everything. You could finally have the time to just focus on your writing."
"And you'd pay for everything?" She antagonized. "Enough people already think I'm a gold-digger."
"I don't give a damn what other people think!" I bellowed, no longer able to keep up the carefully maintained cap on my anger at the outside world for pitting us into this position.
"Well, you know what? I do! Call me shallow, but I care what they write about me online, what people gossip about me in the grocery waiting for the till!" She was screaming now with tears freely flowing down her face. "I care!"
I stared at her a moment and then swallowed the lump painfully expanding in my throat. "Emma, I'm so sorry," I croaked.
She sniffed back her tears and averted her gaze to the nearby window. "And what if we broke up, Tom? What the hell would I do then?"
"Look," I begged as I gently caught her chin in the crook of my finger and brought her face to mine. "I get it's a lot to ask—we could make it more official if that would make you more comfortable."
Her eyes quickly doubled in size.
"Like... marriage?" She asked, taking a step back.
"No like..." I glanced down at the newly created space between our feet, trying in vain to find the words to convince her. "A legal document that—that could outline the expectations for the arrangement and include insurances for any... less than desirable outcomes."
Emma continued to stare at me. "Like a prenup."
"Like a trial period," I offered as casually as I could manage.
"A trial marriage."
She stayed fixed, in apparent dismay, where she should. My teeth ground against one another.
"If it wasn't for your horror-stricken expression, Ems, I might think you were pressing for marriage."
"Tom," she said my name slowly. "Are you even hearing yourself?"
"I know I must sound nuts—"
"Just completely."
"And I don't know if this is the right thing to do," I conceded as my voice broke suddenly. In that moment, all I wanted was to be nearer to her, even if it were just half a step. "Or—or if it would even work, but all I do know is that you're my best friend and to be honest usually the best part of my day."
I shrugged helplessly, knowing as I did I risked a tear escaping from the solid damn I'd learned to build up behind my eyes. "And I don't want to lose you. I can't imagine losing you."
Emma looked as if she were in physical pain. "It's a beautiful offer, Tom," she whispered as she closed the distance between us and took my hand in hers. She stroked it gently and then squeezed it. "But I can't. You know I can't."
Just then it dawned on me. It didn't matter what I said when I was the only one fighting for us. My eyes dropped down to her shoes, for once practical flats.
"I know," I nodded.
"You're not losing me," she added with a gentle tug of my arm. "I just need some time to get my shit together—on my own terms."
"You're not going to fall back in love with your childhood sweetheart?" I asked rather pathetically.
Emma laughed—a full, throaty laugh—and with it, a slight twinkle returned to her eye. "I know you'll find this quite shocking, but when I was younger I preferred the company of books to other children."
I cracked a half a grin at that, which must have encouraged her to continue on.
"It won't be forever, just... for now." She assured me, her voice gone soft and quiet.
I merely nodded again.
"And maybe you could visit on the weekend if you're ever free?"
I squeezed her hand in mine. "I'd like that."
"And we'll talk on the phone, too," she added.
I glanced up at her then and prayed my expression didn't come off as pathetically desperate as I felt. "Not forever?"
Emma forced a brave smile across her lips and shook her head.
I leaned forward and met her lips with mine. I groaned inadvertently, my body already preparing itself for the impending drought of Emma's touch. She cupped my face in response and kissed me harder.
[A/N: Well, what do you think of Emma's choice? Would you have done the same or would you have stayed? Leave your answer in a comment below and please don't forget to vote!]