Emmett
–two weeks later
The entire mansion is spotless, scrubbed and buffed and waxed until you could run your tongue all over the floor. The air smells fresh with flowers, and sunlight comes in through windows so clear it seems like the panes are gone.
I hired a huge cleaning crew. Amy’s father is coming to L.A. to see Amy—and meet me for the first time. I plan to make an excellent impression.
And I want to meet him as well. He turned down my offer to send a private jet and opted for driving. Said it would be more comfortable for him that way.
“He should be here any minute,” Amy says, checking her phone.
Just then, the intercom buzzes, and I have the security system open the gates immediately.
Here we go. I inhale, readying myself mentally to meet the man who means the world to Amy.
We go out and wait at the main entrance. Amy’s beaming, and I have on a patented warm and friendly smile that never fails to charm.
A slightly dusty Camry pulls up, and a tall man of impressive width steps out of the car. A pale blue shirt stretches over thick muscles, and his jeans are worn but clean. Silver streaks his tightly cropped hair, and his eyes are warm as he hugs Amy.
“Sweetie pie!” he says.
“Dad!” She hugs him tightly. “So good to see you! How was the drive?”
“Not bad. Not bad at all.” He grins. His gaze cools a few degrees, sharpening and more observant as he turns his attention to me. “I take it you’re Emmett?”
“Yes, sir.” I extend a hand, disguising my nerves as best I can. No man wants a nervous wreck for a son-in-law. “Nice to meet you.”
The man crushes my hand—or tries to. I’m ready for the move, and make sure to get a deep grip and rotate my wrist upward slightly. Then I just smile as he squeezes away.
His eyebrow quirks. “Mac,” he says. “Nice to meet you as well. I heard you’re my girl’s boss, too.”
“Was,” I say with a that’s-been-taken-care-of smile. “Please, this way.” I indicate the house. “Do you have any bags?”
“Just this.” He takes a small duffel bag from the trunk. “I thought you were still working at the firm,” he says to Amy as we walk inside together.
“I am, but not under Emmett. It’s better that way.”
Amy and I agreed that we should compartmentalize our personal and professional lives, but not so much that she works elsewhere. Mostly I don’t want her working for some other asshole in finance. They might not be as nice as I am.
But Amy thought it’d be awkward for her husband to give her professional feedback. So we compromised, and Grant and I swapped—Sasha for Amy.
“She won’t think it’s weird to get feedback from her brother-in-law?” Grant asked.
“You probably don’t feel like a real brother-in-law to her. Just look at me and you. Who’s going to believe we’re related?” I gave him a superior shrug.
To be honest, I think he got the best of the deal, since Amy does better work. Not that I’m biased.
Mac doesn’t look at the soaring ceiling, slick and expensive interior or the contemporary paintings hanging on the walls with the awe of somebody overwhelmed by material opulence. He also doesn’t dismiss it like someone who shrugs off anything they don’t understand. His attitude is more like somebody sizing the place up for an estate sale. The man probably needs to reassure himself his princess isn’t going to be living in a hovel by marrying me.
“Let us show you to your room,” Amy says.
Mac gives a frown. “The task isn’t so complicated we need two Ivy League-educated people for it. Why don’t you just take me there and let Emmett get to whatever he has to do?”
“Sure.” He probably just wants a moment alone with her. Maybe examine the ring I gave her more closely, measure my worthiness.
Good thing I bought the biggest non-vulgar rock I could find in SoCal.
As they go upstairs, I check my phone, which keeps pinging.