Emma

Emma knocked on the door again, louder this time. But still there was no answer. “Great. Just great,” she muttered. One Christmas in Boston and her father had forgotten about her. Emma heard the bitter words of her mother echoed in her subconscious. ‘He’s replaced us.’ Emma shuddered against the classic divorce cliché. She knew marriages fell apart, but parents didn’t replace their kids. Surely Emma’s father hadn’t replaced her. She’d always been his princess—a daddy’s girl to the core.

She knocked one more time before slumping to the floor. Leaning against the door, Emma released a frustrated breath. Where the hell was her father? They were supposed to spend Christmas break together, and Emma had been looking forward to it for months. Her last Christmas was awful. Her mother hadn’t even let the ink dry on her divorce settlement before hauling Emma to Boston, where they spent the holiday eating Chinese food in a cold, empty brownstone.

Emma hated everything about Boston. She got that her mother needed a fresh start, and if she were being honest, Emma had wanted one too. But trading Manhattan for Boston was a like going from couture to off-the-rack—depressing.

Emma’s parents were well known in the elite Manhattan social circles and their divorce had been a very public and nasty one when word of her father’s mistress got out. Even the students at Emma’s prep school, the prestigious St. James Academy, were whispering about her father’s affair with some gold-digging model from South Carolina. But that’s not why Emma had been eager to flee. She was running from a broken heart of her own, caused by her ex-best friend and debilitating crush, Will Taylor.

Emma was grateful when the ding of the elevator distracted her from her spiraling thoughts of Christmas past. She looked down the hall of the posh high-rise apartment sure she’d see her father rushing toward her, an apology gift in hand for his tardiness. But it was only a well-dressed elderly couple. Emma sighed, sinking further into her spot on the floor. She shrugged off her red Burberry peacoat and pulled her iPhone from her Louis Vuitton hoping for a Christmas miracle, but it was still dead, just like it had been thirty minutes ago. She’d been watching movies on the train from Boston and killed the battery. And of course, she’d forgotten to pack a charger.

Tapping her foot restlessly, Emma racked her brain trying to remember if she knew anyone that lived in this building. Her father had sold their palatial penthouse apartment right after he divorced her mother, claiming he could no longer afford it after, “the God damned settlement your mother clawed out of me.” Emma knew that wasn’t true. Her father was a Wall Street legend. He owned a rather prestigious investment firm and according to the press, was doing just fine. She figured the change of scenery was because he’d wanted a fresh start too. Emma wished he could have just admitted that. It would’ve made losing her childhood home a bit easier.

Emma used to be close to her father, but since the divorce they’d grown apart. This would be the first time she saw his new place. She’d wanted to come back over spring break, but her father said he was in the middle of moving. Then over summer break, his excuse was he’d just started dating someone and thought it was, “too soon,” to introduce her to Emma. Although, is there ever a good time to meet the woman wearing your mother’s Louboutins?

Emma hated thinking about her father’s new girlfriend, but the mystery woman seemed to keep finding a way into her thoughts. Especially now that Emma was back in New York. She was used to being the center of her father’s attention—learning to share the spotlight might be more difficult than she’d imagined. Particularly because Emma couldn’t help wondering if the other woman was the reason why her father was currently standing her up. Was he out wining and dining his new girlfriend somewhere? Or worse, were they in the middle of some romantic liaison?

Emma pressed her palms into her eyelids until she saw spots. She did not want to think about her father and some other woman. Gross! Old people romance gave Emma the creeps. Her father was fifty-seven. He was supposed to be collecting expensive cars, not notches on his bedpost.

The elevator dinged again. Emma didn’t bother looking up this time. It was probably just another stuffy old Manhattan couple. She closed her eyes and pretended to be sleeping to spare herself the pity from whoever walked by. Because no matter how fabulous Emma was dressed, there was no way to make looking abandoned before the holidays seem in style.

“Well, well. Looks like Christmas came early this year.”

Emma’s eyes flew open. She’d know that voice anywhere. And when she looked up, her heart stopped. There he was, staring at her with that irresistible smile and looking as alarmingly good-looking as she’d remembered—Will Taylor.