Rumors: Emerson & Ryder Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Rumors

  Emerson & Ryder

  Rachael Brownell

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Imperfect Love Story

  About the Author

  Also by Rachael Brownell

  Chapter One

  “Did you hear?” Justine asks as I take the seat across from her.

  Allison, who is sitting next to her, nods her head in acknowledgment. I have no idea what they’re talking about, but I can only imagine that it’s someone else. That seems to be their “thing” from what I can tell. Gossip.

  So far, my new co-workers have been welcoming and helpful. With my boss taking an unscheduled vacation on my first day, they’ve been my saving grace. I was lost until they found me. I’ve learned a lot from them, including who’s dating who and the latest gossip going around the office.

  That’s not normally my thing. I’ve listened, but that’s as far as I’ve gone with it. They state the rumors as facts, engrossing each other in conversation about anyone and everyone who works with us. Some days it feels like high school all over again. It’s hard to tune out.

  For instance, I know that Justine used to date a guy in accounting. It ended suddenly when he started seeing one of her friends. The moment they broke up, which was only last week, Justine had nothing but bad things to say about the both of them. I let her vent, listening intently as she berated him for having a tiny penis and not knowing how to use it.

  Allison encouraged her. Prodded her for more information. Wanted to know everything there was about him. That’s when I realized that she was the hub of information. She knows everything before anyone else. She’s also not afraid to share anything she hears. My second day, she told me that someone commented on the length of my dress and that I needed to dress more appropriately for the office.

  It hung past my knees.

  Apparently, that meant it needed to be shorter judging by the outfit she was sporting that day. I’ve been wearing pantsuits since then. I’m sure they have an opinion on that too. She hasn’t shared hers with me, but I’m sure it’ll come in time.

  With my boss gone for the last ten days, I’ve been as bored as one can be with little to no work on their plate. I’ve scheduled appointments for him in the coming weeks, answered phone calls, and organized my desk. His first scheduled appointment is Monday afternoon. If he’s not back in town by then, I’ll have to call and cancel it. For the third time. Aside from that, I’ve spent most of my days playing games on my phone.

  Hopefully he comes back soon. The problem is, no one knows when he’s coming back.

  “Yeah, I overheard him on the phone with Hunter this morning. Hunter sounded angry, started to yell, so of course I moved closer to the door,” Allison says, popping the tab on her Diet Cherry Coke.

  “I can’t believe it. Why didn’t she call us?” Justine asks, frowning as she takes a bit of her salad.

  “I’m not sure he’s told her yet. I’m guessing that’s why he took her on vacation, so he could end things on a high note. I doubt she’s going to go down without a fight. I can hear her now, screaming at him. Threatening to take him for everything he’s worth. There’s no prenup, you know?”

  Listening intently to their back and forth, I attempt to figure out exactly what they’re talking about. As soon as they mentioned vacation, I knew it was my boss, Ryder Dixon. The fact that they’re discussing his lack of a prenuptial agreement can only mean—

  “He’ll be back tomorrow,” Allison says, grabbing my attention.

  “Tomorrow?” I ask, needing confirmation.

  “Yeah. They fly back tonight. I guess he has a meeting with his father in the morning. Probably with his lawyer too,” she chuckles.

  Not wanting to get involved with their gossip, I finish my lunch quickly and head back to my desk. If I’m going to meet my boss for the first time tomorrow morning, I want to make a great first impression. For that, I require a little assistance.

  Shooting Angela a text, I ask her to come over tonight to help me pick out an outfit.

  ANGELA: Can Ian help you? Tyler and I are having dinner with his parents.

  Tyler Dixon. My boss’ brother. The middle Dixon brother. Angela’s boyfriend of almost two years. He’s the reason I have this job. I’ve met him a handful of times since moving home to Sunnyside, and I couldn’t be happier for Angela. She’s found herself a keeper. I just hope that Ryder is as nice as his brother. Knowing my luck, he’s going to be a dick. A big one.

  ME: I’m sure he’ll be delighted.

  Knowing Ian, he’ll roll his eyes when I ask for his opinion and tell me everything looks great and to wear what I want. He’s not happy with my decision to take this job and hasn’t let me forget it. The fight might be over, but it’s still nagging at me that he doesn’t support my career choices.

  That’s the problem, though.

  He wants to support me. He wants to provide for us. He doesn’t want me to work. Dare I say, he wants me barefoot in the kitchen, pregnant, dinner on the table when he comes home from a long day? That’s not what he said, but that’s the image that popped into my head when he was trying to convince me not to take the job.

  ANGELA: Sorry. Shoot me pics and maybe I can help.

  ME: Deal.

  I’ll take any help I can get.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon picking up Ryder’s office. I’ve only been in there twice since I started, not wanting to disrupt the organized chaos. Knowing he’ll be here in the morning and his office is still a mess has my OCD alarms blaring.

  Cans of both Coke and Diet Coke are littered around the room. There’s a pile of mail on the coffee table in front of the leather couch by the windows. I weed out the junk mail and leave the rest where I found it. Running my finger across the glass, I notice it’s dusty so I head into his private bathroom to look for a cloth.

  Happy with the improvement so far, I wince as I stare at the one place I have yet to clean. His desk. It’s a disaster. Every available surface is covered. I’m not sure what needs to be kept and what can be tossed. Better to keep it all.

  Stacking papers neatly on his desk, my eyes are drawn to a mahogany picture frame centered on his desk. It’s the only picture he has in his office. An adorable little brunette is watching me as I clea
n. It has to be his daughter, Amara. She’s smiling in her pink tutu, curtsying.

  It’s after six o’clock when I finally pack up and head out for the night. The only person left in the office is Helen. She’s always the last to leave, which surprised me at first. She’s the receptionist. Why would she be here later than anyone else?

  “Goodnight, Helen,” I say as I head to the elevators.

  “Goodnight, Miss Emerson. Mr. Dixon will be here at seven tomorrow morning. Will you be coming in early?” she asks, standing so she can see me over the desk. She’s a stout woman, no more than five feet tall. She stands any time the elevator dings so she can greet people face to face.

  When I first started, she was calling me Miss Hastings which made me feel old. My mother is Mrs. Hastings. I wasn’t ready to be address so formally. She finally agreed to call me by my first name, but still refused to not call me Miss. It bothered me at first but now that I know her better, I think it’s actually cute.

  “I suppose I will.”

  “Very good, Miss. See you then,” she says as the elevator doors slide open and I slip inside.

  Ian isn’t home when I arrive. There’s a note on the counter that he’s down the street at a bar with friends. He wants me to join him but I’m not in the mood. I shoot him a text, asking him to bring me food, and head to sort through my clothes.

  My options are limited. Until Dixon and Sons hired me two weeks ago, I was broke. I’m still broke, actually. I get my first paycheck next week and until then, I can’t go shopping for anything. I’m stuck with what I have, most of which are too big on me.

  When Ian and I started dating two years ago, I was twenty pounds heavier and bordering on overweight. So was he. Together we joined a gym and have spent the last couple of years not only losing weight but getting healthier. It’s hard sometimes, especially since I sit on my ass most days, but I’m still working hard. Trying to eat better and work out when I have the time.

  The nicer, professional clothes I own are all from before I lost weight, back when I first started interviewing for internships in college. When I graduated, my parents bought me two new suits so I looked presentable when I started looking for a “real” job.

  That’s been six months.

  This is the first break I’ve had since then.

  No one is hiring in the advertising world. Not new graduates, even with my exceptional portfolio. They want experienced professionals. Five years or more in the corporate world. I was even turned down for two entry-level positions. When I asked why, they told me someone with more experience was a better fit for their needs.

  Laying all my options out on my bed, I match blouses with skirts and shoes. Nothing seems to work just right. Taking a few pictures, I send them to Angela and pour myself a glass of wine while I wait patiently for her reply.

  ANGELA: Try them on!

  Ugh! I was trying to avoid that. I’m going to look frumpy.

  Snapping a few full-length selfies, I’m pleasantly surprised that the clothes don’t look as sloppy as I assumed they would. I send Angela my favorite three options and she replies instantly.

  ANGELA: Burgundy blouse from the first pic with the skirt and shoes from the third pic. Pull your hair to the side in a braid and put on bright red lipstick.

  ME: I don’t own red lipstick.

  ANGELA: Invest in some. It will look great on you. Lunch tomorrow?

  ME: As long as I can sneak away.

  ANGELA: Ryder has a meeting with his dad in the morning and legal in the afternoon. You should be able to unless there’s anything else on his schedule.

  ME: Not that I know of, but I wasn’t aware of those meetings.

  ANGELA: He sounds busy so he won’t even notice if you’re gone. Remind me to never get divorced. It sounds like a pain in the ass.

  Divorced.

  Confirmation. That was what Justine and Allison were talking about earlier. I didn’t want to know or be involved in the gossip, but I can’t avoid it now.

  ME: Noon at the bistro in the lobby?

  ANGELA: Perfect. See you then.

  Snagging the pieces Angela picked for me, I iron my skirt and hang everything from the door of my closet. My nerves are on end wondering about tomorrow. I have no idea what to expect from him or what he expects from me. It’s like my first day all over again.

  Not to mention, if he’s getting divorced, what will his mood be like?

  Will he be pleasant?

  Angry? Indifferent?

  Should I stay out of his way or offer to help? I’m supposed to be his left hand according to his father. At least that’s what I was told during the interview. But this seems like a personal matter that he may want to handle himself. Honestly, I don’t want any involvement in his divorce. That seems outside my job description.

  “Emerson!” Ian shouts, slamming the front door. “I have food.”

  Yum. I’m starved. My stomach grumbles in protest as I walk into the kitchen. I’m hungry and I need to eat, but my mind is running a million miles an hour in anticipation of tomorrow. The last time I had this problem, my food didn’t stay down.

  “How was your day?” I ask, unpacking the takeout boxes, popping the lid on each to see what he brought home.

  “Fine. Another new account and a few potentials to look into tomorrow,” he replies, making it sound like his achievements are no big deal

  Of course he has another new client. He’s a damn magician. People flock to him for some reason. He can convince anyone to sign a contract. That’s why he was sought after before he even graduated. We received the same education and worked the same internships. He was a year ahead of me and was offered multiple jobs before he received his diploma.

  I did not.

  No offers. No recruiters blowing up my phone with offers. Not until a month after graduation when I received one call, for a marketing position. I was so excited about the interview until I looked into the company.

  Telemarketing.

  Not my thing. Sure, I can talk to anyone about anything as long as I’m knowledgeable. Cold calling innocent people to get them to purchase items they don’t want or need? Getting hung up on or sent to voicemail? Nope. I can’t do that all day.

  As much as I love Ian, when he brags, even if he’s being modest about it, it’s aggravating. He knows this, yet it doesn’t stop him. I’m not even sure he realizes how often it happens or how much it bothers me.

  “That’s good,” I say, biting my tongue.

  “What about you? How was your day?” he asks, taking a bite of his spicy noodles.

  “Good. My boss comes back tomorrow, finally.”

  “Really?” he asks, intrigued.

  With Ian working for a competing advertising firm, he claims to know all about Ryder and the rest of the Dixon family. He won’t tell me anything he’s heard. He wants me to form my own opinion. When I asked him what he thought of Ryder, he said he’s only met him once. “Pompous ass” was the way he described him.

  Funny, that’s how I would describe Ian sometimes. Especially where his work is concerned.

  “That’s what I’ve heard. He has meetings scheduled off the books for a few things, so I’m not really sure. I’ll find out when I get there, I guess. I’m going in early, by the way,” I say as I shove a bite of chicken and rice in my mouth, hoping he won’t catch the last few words.

  “Why?”

  “Because if he’s there, I need to be there,” I reply, taking a more defensive tone than I had planned.

  I can feel the tension between us growing. It was bound to happen. Any time we talk about my job, there’s a thickness in the air. I hold my tongue most of the time. I hate fighting with him, but he seems to be unable to filter his thoughts.

  “You’re just his assistant, Em.”

  And there it is. It’s funny how three little words can cause such a dramatic shift.

  Just. His. Assistant.

  I’ve been waiting for him to say something along those lines. He’s come
close more than once but stopped himself. For as much as he claims he didn’t want me to work, that he wanted to take care of me, I have a feeling it’s more about who I’m working for. Who I’ll be working with.

  His competition.

  If I succeed, I’m the enemy.

  If I fail… well, that’s not going to happen. I’m determined to work my way up with this company. I may only be an assistant right now, but I don’t plan to stay an executive assistant forever.

  “I’m sure once he gets settled, I’ll be able to help in other ways. I plan to ask for more responsibility. I mean, I have a degree. I want to put it to good use.” My tone doesn’t hide the anger I’m attempting to keep at bay. I’m not sure anything could right now. I can feel it pulsating through my veins.

  “That’s not what you were hired to do. Your job is to answer phones and schedule appointments,” he says dismissively with the wave of his hand.

  “You’re right,” I reply, pushing my barely touched food aside. I’m done with this conversation. No matter what I say, he won’t change the way he sees my opportunity. “I am just his assistant, but if that’s all I can be right now, I’m going to be the best damn assistant he’s ever had. So, I’m going to bed since I plan to go in early tomorrow. Is that okay with you?”

  Without waiting for a response, I leave Ian in the kitchen and head to our room, closing the door behind me. The urge to lock it is strong, but I resist. Knowing Ian, he’ll be right behind me. He’ll attempt to apologize and hopefully mean it.

  Five minutes later, I realize I’m watching the door, waiting for it to open. Why? If he hasn’t come after me yet, he’s not going to. Slipping into an oversized t-shirt and shorts, I crawl under the covers and curl toward the outside of the bed. Closing my eyes, I focus on my breathing in an attempt to calm down.