The Mixtape by Brittainy C. Cherry
10
EMERY
When morning came, I awakened to my doorbell ringing. My body ached from exhaustion, and my eyes were probably still swollen from the amount of crying I’d taken part in, but still, I was able to get out of bed. Silver lining.
I headed toward the front door and was shocked to see Oliver standing there when I opened it. He gave me a slight smile that looked more like a frown, and in his hands was a giant houseplant, along with a card.
“Hi,” he breathed out, making me confused as ever. His eyes were heavy, as if he hadn’t slept much the night prior, either.
“Hi?” I rubbed my hand up and down my arm, nerves rocking throughout my entire system. “What are you—”
“I owed you a houseplant,” he said, cutting in. He held the beauty in my direction, along with the card. “Figured I’d toss in a card too.”
“You didn’t have to do that, but she’s beautiful,” I said, smiling down at the new plant.
“She?”
I nodded. “Plants are alive, just like humans.”
“Do you name them, too?”
“No, I leave that up to Reese. That one on my coffee table is Bobby Flay. The spiky one in the bathroom is Guy Fieri.”
He gave me a half grin and nodded but didn’t say anything else. His brows pulled in as he rubbed his hand against his cheek.
“Is there . . . something else?” I asked, not sure what was keeping him standing in my doorway.
“No. I mean, yes. I actually heard the news that you lost your job.”
My mouth fell open as I winced. “Oh. Yeah.”
“I can’t stop thinking that it’s because of me. So . . .” He scratched at his neck and cleared his throat before raising an eyebrow. “I want to hire you?”
He said it like a question, as if he wasn’t completely sure of his statement.
I laughed because clearly, Oliver had lost his mind. The more I laughed, the more bewildered he appeared. “I’m sorry,” I chuckled, shaking my head. “Why are you really here?”
“I mean it, Emery. I want to hire you.”
“Hire me for what?”
His brows lowered and he pushed his thumb against his nose. “Well, what do you do?”
“What do I do?”
“Yes. Other than bartend.”
“I don’t know what you’re getting at.”
“You were fired because of me.”
“Not directly because of you—”
“I made a scene. You were let go because of me.”
“It’s okay,” I lied.
“It’s not.” His guilt didn’t fade away as he looked up toward me and locked his eyes with mine. “I want to fix this mistake. Therefore, I want to hire you for . . . whatever it is you do. Or like to do. Or want to do.”
I laughed. “Oliver, that really isn’t necessary. You don’t have to—”
“Please,”he begged, his voice cracking. “Let me help.”
“Why is this so important to you?”
His eyes flashed back to mine, and every ounce of hurting that lived within that man was staring back my way. I didn’t know why it was so important for him to hire me, but I could tell it was deeper than anything he was going to tell me.
He stood as if he was trying to get his thoughts out. As if his mind was running faster than he could handle. His hands were stuffed into his jeans pockets, making his toned arms flex slightly. His eyes blinked a few times as he took in a deep breath, yet still, no words.
I nuzzled my bottom lip. “I’m a chef. Well, kind of. I went to culinary school for a few years but had to stop when Reese was born.”
A flash of hope hit his stare. “You’re a chef.”
“Using the word loosely, yes.”
“That’s perfect. I need a chef.”
I doubted he needed a chef. “You honestly want me to work for you?”
“Yes.”
“To . . . cook for you?”
“Yes.”
“Again, I didn’t finish my culinary degree.”
His brows knitted as he fell into deep thought. I wondered if he knew how cute he was when he seemed so far away from reality.
“Does every chef need an education in order to make great meals?” he asked.
“Well, no, but . . . how do you know if you’d even like what I make?”
“I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything.”
“Should I submit a résumé?”
“No.”
“Do you want me to do a test run? To make sure that I’m good enough.”
“Emery.”
“Yes?”
“You’re good enough.”
“Oh.” I bit my bottom lip. “I just think there might be someone more qualified.”
“I don’t want someone more qualified. I want you.”
When he said that, butterflies fluttered in my stomach.
Oliver didn’t realize how hard it was for me to simply exist within his space. He was painfully handsome, to the point that whenever he was in close proximity to me, my cheeks felt a flash of heat. He looked so much like his brother, but also different in many ways. Alex was always smiling, from the interviews I’d seen between the two of them. Oliver was always the quiet one, with a somber stare. He didn’t look rude or cold to me, as so many people had stated about him—he simply looked to be in thought. As if his mind was always wandering deeper than the surface level.
I liked that about him—how he seemed to take everything in before adding his own thoughts.
Oliver rolled his shoulders back and stood tall. He had to be well over six two, because when I stood beside him, I felt extremely small in my five-six frame.
He flicked his finger against his neck a few times. “It’s a five-day-a-week position. You can have weekends off, of course, unless there’s some kind of event. I know you’re a mother, and those responsibilities always come first. Therefore, if there is any kind of conflict, we’ll shift. The position pays a hundred and fifty thousand a year, and—”
“What?” I gasped.
Surely he couldn’t have been serious. Was he drunk again?
He repeated the number, and I was certain I’d become Alice and I’d fallen deep down the rabbit’s hole.
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“What would make you think I was joking?”
“Uh, the one hundred and fifty thousand a year.”
“Is that not enough? Because we can work to find the right amount.”
I laughed. “Are you kidding? That’s more than enough. And I just have to prepare some meals for you and stuff?”
“That’s it.”
There was no way I could turn down an opportunity like that. That kind of money could change Reese’s and my life forever. I’d be able to provide for my daughter more than I’d ever been able to before. I could get her into a better school next year. We could move to a nicer apartment. I could start saving for her future and putting money toward mine.
He held his hand out toward me. “Deal?”
Butterflies fluttered in the pit of my stomach again as I placed my hand against his chilled palm. Was he always so cold? “Deal. When do we start?”
“Monday. You remember where I live?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“I’ll add you to the approval list for access to the community. What’s your last name?”
“Taylor.”
“Emery Taylor.”
Him saying my name sounded like a song that I’d wished he’d sing over and over again.
“In the card is the phone number to my assistant, Kelly. She’ll get you set up with everything before Monday. She’ll also let you know what’s needed. Just give her a call.”
“Thank you, Oliver. Truly. You just saved me more than you know.”
He nodded once, and only once. “I’ll see you Monday.”
He disappeared down the hallway, and then I raced over to my living room window to see him climb into his car. I watched that car until it faded away down the road. After that, I headed to the card he’d left for me, and I gasped when I opened it and saw hundred-dollar bills sitting by a simple note that read: Thanks for the ride—OS.
There was enough for me to go downstairs to pay Ed the rent. There was enough to get me through the weekend and to have food for Reese to not only eat, but to enjoy.
I quickly checked in on my sleeping daughter and allowed her to sleep in a little longer so I could rush downstairs to give Ed the rent that was behind. The moment I stepped into his office, he looked up, seemingly fifty million times calmer than he’d been when we’d run into one another the night before.
“Good morning, Emery,” he said, nodding my way with . . . was that a smile on his face? His desk was a complete mess, and he shuffled through the paperwork in front of him as if he was on a mission to make it neater.
“Hi, Ed. I just wanted to bring you the rent. I apologize for it being late, but it won’t happen again.”
“I know it won’t. Oliver Smith handled it for the rest of your lease.”
I cocked my head. “What?”
“Oliver Smith . . . you know . . . the Oliver Smith. The one you were running around with yesterday. He showed up a few minutes ago and paid for your rent for the next seven months. He wrote a check for each month. He even signed my notebook.” Ed gleamed, showing me his autographed paper pad. “Cool guy.”
The oddest thing about life was how something could show up out of nowhere and change everything in a split second of time.