When it Raynes: A Dark Mafia Romance (Frost Industries Book 1)
When it Raynes: Chapter 4

Emerson is more complicated than I initially gave her credit for. I thought I had her pegged the moment I laid eyes on her, but there’s something about her I can’t quite put my finger on.

I’m still waiting on my profile on her, and I’m hoping once I can fill in the blanks, she will stop taking up so much space in my mind. She’s the real reason I was here before the sun came up. John had mentioned the breakfast program was understaffed and busier than ever, and I did want to help, but I also couldn’t sleep last night.

No, a certain redhead with emerald-green eyes appeared every time I closed my eyes, and it seems my cock has a mind of its fucking own when it comes to her. At three in the morning, I almost called one of my casual hook-ups, just to take the edge off, but something stopped me. I didn’t want them. I didn’t want a girl I could have any time I wanted, that I could call at any time of the day and she would drop what she was doing to fall at my feet.

There had been something missing in my life for a while, and it wasn’t until I laid eyes on Emerson that I realized what that was.

I wanted the chase. I wanted sweet and innocent, and then I wanted to defile it. And the object of my affections has no idea what she’s in for.

She seems to have a chip on her shoulder, almost as if I’ve done something to offend her, but I know I haven’t. I was the perfect gentleman when we met, I mean apart from the part after I left when I asked one of my oldest friends to dig up every single grain of dirt from her entire life. But she doesn’t know about that, and if she did, it wouldn’t be disdain filling her eyes, it would be fear.

My cock hardens at the thought of those pretty pools of green filling with fear. Despite my name, I’ve never claimed to be a saint. In fact, almost the opposite. I can relate much more with the devil himself.

“I’m not on court-ordered community service,” I tell her, and I’m not sure why. I have no reason to justify anything to her, but for some reason, I feel like I need to. “And I have the day free, so what can I help with?”

Emerson stares at me like she thinks there is something wrong with me, and hell, maybe there is. If Wynter saw me offering to help with paperwork, she would probably keel over and die. I’m the hands-on family member. The enforcer. The one that makes sure shit gets done, and when it doesn’t, I’m the one that breaks kneecaps until it is. But I’m also not a complete idiot. It’s not that I don’t know how to do these things, it’s that normally I have no incentive to do it. Now I do. If I help with the office work, I can spend more time with Emerson, and if I spend more time with her, maybe her Frosty the Snowman impression might melt so I can see what she tries to hide from the rest of the world.

She sighs and looks down at what appears to be a lengthy to-do list. “I’m waiting on a few RSVPs. Would you mind following up on those?” she asks.

“Sure.” I pull my phone out of the pocket of my jeans and wait for her to dig around one of the ten piles of papers I can see from where I’m sitting. A moment later she hands me a few sheets, and I’m honestly a little shocked she found what she was looking for so quickly.

“It’s organized chaos,” Emerson defends the endless piles.

“I’m sure it is.” A smirk tugs at my lips, and I don’t try to hide it. Emerson is an enigma to me. She’s not the kind of girl I would ever say is my type. She’s shy, and innocent, and more than a little awkward. She doesn’t wear a mountain of makeup, and she didn’t spend an hour this morning doing her hair. But she’s fucking stunning. Today her hair is thrown into some kind of knot on the top of her head, and it looks like she’s hastily swept on some mascara and lip gloss, but her skin is bare. The smudges under her eyes seem darker today, or perhaps I’m just looking at her closer, archiving everything I can to my memory for later when I will undoubtedly be thinking about her.

I finally drag my eyes away from Emerson to browse over the list of people they are still waiting for a response from. Politicians. Celebrities. Entrepreneurs. Most of which I’ve met a time or two. When I look up at Emerson, she’s reading something on the computer. How much trouble is this place in? It’s a charity, a youth center for kids. Surely the city funds it. But John’s eyes wouldn’t have lit up like a fucking Christmas tree when I told him I had the check this morning if there wasn’t more to the story.

“Is there a problem?” Emerson must feel my eyes on her. I’m not exactly being subtle with my stares, and I don’t intend to start. I’m not a subtle kind of guy, and if there’s anything she’s going to learn about me, it’s this.

I shake my head slowly. “No problem. Just this list, how did you put it together?”

She stares at me for a long moment, so long I start to think she isn’t going to answer, but when she sighs, I know I’ve got her. “Some are people who have attended our events before, donated in the past, those kinds of things. Others are politicians who we would like to see all the good this place does so we can get some of our funding back. And some are just a pipe dream, people we would love to support us but know there’s no way they will.” She smiles sadly.

“Does the city give this place any funding?” I ask, my fingers tightening around my phone.

Emerson shakes her head, and just for a moment, I see how hopeless that makes her feel. “No, they withdrew all their funding a few years ago. We barely survive off donations.”

I look back to the paper in my hand, the heart that up until this moment I was sure didn’t exist clenching. “I’ll make it happen,” I promise, because I damn well will. I know these people, I have more than a little bit of dirt on most of them, and if anyone can dig up dirt on the others it would be Everett, or Snow, who is the biggest gossip I know.

I saw the good this place does first-hand this morning. Kids who turned up with clothes so old I’m pretty sure their parents had worn the same outfit as a child. Others who looked afraid to take the food we were offering because they were only given rations at home. And John told me they only have the money for the program for another few months. What happens to these children when that time is up? Where will they go? Will they have someone else to feed them?

The breakfast program is only one of many great initiatives this place gives the kids in this neighborhood, and for some reason, I feel the pull to take it upon myself to help them. I have the money, I have the influence, and for once I’m not going to waste it.

Three hours and forty-five phone calls later, the guest list is finalized and full to the brim. When the first five people I called said they would be there, Emerson looked at me like I was an alien, like I couldn’t possibly populate the same earth she did.

Now she sits across the desk from me, staring like she’s not sure what to think of what she has just witnessed. Hell, if anyone I know had seen me for the last few hours, they probably would have rushed me to a fucking hospital. Like I said, I’m a selfish bastard, especially with my time. Money is one thing. I’m more than happy to throw money around to fix just about any problem, and honestly, I probably could just give the Center a chunk of change and set up one or two of these programs for the next few years, but there’s more that they can do, and other people need to see the great things they have already done, even with limited funds.

I’m tempted to ask if Emerson gets paid to do all the work she does here. Or John, for that matter. But I’m pretty sure I won’t like the answer she gives me, so I keep quiet. I’ll know soon enough anyway. Everett will get me everything I need, financial records included.

“Do I have something on my face?” I ask as I cross off the last name on the list and hand the piece of paper back across the desk.

“How did you do that?” Emerson asks incredulously.

For the first time in… ever, I don’t want to brag about how much money I have, or the connections my family has, because something tells me Emerson will not like that. She’s not that kind of girl. She won’t fall at my feet the moment I flash my wallet or buy her an expensive gift. If I want to impress her, I have to do shit I wouldn’t normally do, like corral a bunch of rich people to donate money for a more than worthy cause.

I shrug, deciding any answer I give will put the disdain I have only just managed to remove back into her gaze. Emerson doesn’t seem to like me much, and I’m not sure why. I think it could have something to do with my money, but I’m not sure. I know I haven’t done anything to piss her off. I have two sisters and I know exactly what makes women mad. “Is there anything else you want me to do?”

“Um…” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she looks over the list in front of her, and I have to shift in my seat because the sight has my cock as hard as a fucking rock. My hand itches to reach across the table and pop it out, because somehow, I’m jealous of her own teeth. I want my teeth to be the only ones clamping down on the soft pillow. “There’s a rogue caterer if you feel like working your voodoo.” She cracks a smile and it’s the first one to touch her eyes. It’s small, and still shrouded by what seems like the weight of the world, but it’s the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve seen in my life.

I hold my hand out for the number and she hands it over without question. Ten minutes later, the caterer, who frankly was the rudest bitch I’ve ever spoken to, has been dealt with. Only after I had to threaten that she would never work in this city again if she didn’t pull her head out of her ass and do the job she was being paid to do.

Emerson is wide eyed on the other side of the desk. She stopped working the moment I started raising my voice and has been staring at me ever since. She doesn’t know what to make of me, and truthfully, I’m not that sure either. I can’t even tell you the last time I made my own phone calls, I have a fucking personal assistant, for god’s sake. And yet I’ve spent the better part of the morning wrangling guest lists and caterers. Maybe I missed my calling.

I look down at the time and realize I’m late to meet Storm, but for some reason, I don’t want to leave. When was the last time I enjoyed someone else’s company? Have I ever felt so drawn to someone as I am Emerson?

“I need to go. Is there anything else you want me to do? Any other vendors giving you a hard time?” I crack a smile.

Emerson scoffs. “No, but I know who to come to if there are. Thank you for your help today. I was dreading making those calls.”

“My pleasure.” I smile and stand from my seat. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turn on my heel and leave before I can contemplate staying. I’m too attached to her already, and I don’t know if she’ll be able to handle being the object of my obsessions. Too bad she doesn’t have a say in the matter.