Mr. Rothe - Lynn Hagen Page 0,7

to filter in, making it almost blinding. There was a ton of glass and tan wood mixed with chrome. I wanted to run home and dig through my closet to see if I even owned a suit. It had to be illegal to step into a space like this dressed like I was.

“Are you lost?”

A woman with a stern look in her eyes appraised me and Emerson and, from her expression, found us lacking. She reminded me of my high school English teacher, and already I was trying to think of an excuse of why I hadn’t completed my homework assignment.

“We’re here to—”

“Washington crossed the Delaware in 1776!” I curled my lips in as my face heated to nuclear levels. Mrs. Corse, my teacher, had drilled that into my head when I’d failed the answer on a test. She’d shamed me in front of the entire class, and I hadn’t forgotten that history lesson since.

Emerson stared at me as if I had Tourette syndrome.

“Yes, he did.” The woman gave a slow nod. “But since that was over two hundred years ago, would you mind telling me why you’re here in the present?”

“My cousin is here to pick up his dignity, and wallet.” Emerson chucked a thumb at me. “Don’t mind him, ma’am. He gets weird when he hasn’t eaten. You wouldn’t happen to have a corned beef sandwich lying around, would you?”

The woman looked at me with confusion. “No, and I don’t know anything about a wallet. And if I know nothing about it, then the problem doesn’t exist.”

“Gabriel Rothe,” Emerson said. “Just ask him about it.”

“He’s in a meeting and can’t be disturbed,” the woman said.

“His driver.” My brain finally rebooted, and intelligent thought returned. “Gabe said he’d have his driver check his backseat.”

“Wait right here.” She started to walk away then looked back at us. “Don’t touch anything and don’t wander anywhere.”

“What are we going to do, steal the chrome plating on the walls?” I asked. “I got my eye on that big potted plant in the corner.”

She sniffed and walked away.

Emerson snickered. “Good one.”

I wasn’t going to wait by the elevator like I was some homeless guy who’d wandered off the street. I took a seat in one of the plush chairs and crossed my legs.

“Emerson, be a good gent and sue everyone I don’t like.” I made my voice sound haughty. “And then pass me the Grey Poupon mustard for that corned beef sandwich. Chop. Chop.”

“Shall we play a rousing round of tennis afterward?” He dropped into the seat next to mine. “Could you imagine a life like that? Why couldn’t we be born with a silver spoon? I’d be driving a Lamborghini instead of my busted Civic.”

That wasn’t a dream of mine. I loved my life, my family—as weird as they were—but a little extra cash would’ve been nice. That was one reason I still lived at home. I worked as a cashier at Piggly Wiggly, made shit as far as my paycheck, and couldn’t afford to live on my own.

Even my bills had bills.

Luckily I had the best parents in the world, even if they thought the government was spying on them. They didn’t charge me for staying with them, and my mom still did my laundry.

Not every twenty-three-year-old was ready to face the big, cold world. Besides, I was saving what I could because Emerson had asked me more than once to move in with him.

Uncle Glen also lived with us. He was senile, but I loved him.

“Do you think that lady would tackle us if I stole this candy dish?” Emerson pointed to a decorative glass dish fill with peppermints. “It would look cool on my coffee table.”

“Dude, you’ve never stolen anything in your life,” I reminded him. “Besides, where would you put it?”

The dish was a bit big for Emerson’s pockets, and we weren’t wearing any jackets, and why on earth was I even thinking about how he could smuggle the damn thing out?

I sat forward when Gabe walked down the hallway with some stuffy-suit guy. They were talking, and Gabe hadn’t noticed me yet. He shook the guy’s hand, and they said their pleasant good-byes.

“Hey, Gabe,” Emerson said. “Glad to see you weren’t lying about where you work.”

Gabe turned, and his light brown eyes drilled into me like I was the only person in the room. He crossed the carpet and held out his hand. I reached to shake it, but he pulled me to my feet instead. “Did the