Page 72 of Things I Overshared
I step out of our booth and pause, scanning the giant space. I need to hit all the vendors, distributors, artists, and buyers that we didn’t schedule a private meeting with during our stay here. There are a bajillion of them, and most of them are from other countries throughout Europe. I mentally rummage through my big binder while looking at all the names hanging above booth after booth.
Before I can embark on my next quest, I spot him. Jack Frost in his three-piece suit, looking like absolute death. Is he sick? I didn’t see him last night, and he was silent during our commute this morning. He’s talking to a CEO I recognize, so I make my way to him.
“Francis Wells! So lovely to see you here!” I extend a hand. “Samantha Canton.”
“Right, Miss Canton, great to meet you.” The old charmer winks warmly at me as Emerson eyes me with confusion.
“I need to steal Mr. Clark here for a teensy emergency. My apologies.”
“Of course.”
I pull Emerson off to a side walkway near a set of restrooms. “What’s wrong? Are you sick?” I search his eyes, which are locked on mine in confusion.
“No? And I was about to ask you the same after the way you rushed over. Everything is fine.”
“Emerson, you’re green. Almost as bad as at the Sky Garden. What’s going on?”
He adjusts his tie with a frown and a heavy sigh. I stare at him with eyebrows raised until he caves. “I am not good at . . . this.” He gestures his hand to the conference beside us.
“Oh, it’s the peopling? The talking? It’s day one and it’s only been an hour!”
“Don’t remind me.” He closes his eyes. I can see the tension in his neck and shoulders as if he’s wearing a cloak of anxiety. I stop and think as an attendee walks by, eyeing us cautiously. I smile absently at them and think about my sister, Skye, who hates these kinds of things too. If she had to go mingle, what would she want?
Easy. She’d want me. I am the world’s absolute best networking wing woman.
“Okay, time for Samantha Save number two. Who’s on your list?”
His eyes reopen to meet mine. “What?”
“Who do you need to show face with today? All the big suits, of course, CEOs and big buyers from a couple chains.” I start to process my thoughts out loud. “There are a couple tech bigwigs here too. You’ll need to talk about the app with them, and maybe anyone else Dad would greet if he were here. Do you know who that would be?” I look up at him, and he just nods. “Okay, well, some of them were on my list anyway, so it won’t totally be double duty for me. But we better get moving.” I start to head back into the maze of displays.
“Wait, what?” Emerson catches my wrist in his giant hand for a moment, then drops it.
“I am your dream come true, Mr. Clark. The world’s best networking sidekick. Actually, in this scenario, you actually become my sidekick! Ha! Love that for me. I’ll do almost all the talking, and you stand there and try tonotlook like you hate me and yourself and everyone in this room, okay?” He gives a few passionate nods, realizing that I am swooping in and saving his socially awkward ass. “Just follow me, literally, and watch the magic happen.”
Happen, it does.
I remember every executive’s name, save one or two that weren’t listed in attendance when I made my binder. I make Emerson sound like the numbers wizard that he is, without him having to talk hardly at all. I memorized how to say “Forgive me, I don’t know how to speakwhatever language” in every European language I thought would be present, and that’s a big hit every time I use it. Emerson does know multiple languages, of course, because standing there in his impeccable three-piece charcoal masterpiece and ice-blue tie is not swoony enough, and he adds a sentence on to my joke here and there.
His color improves as we go, as does the intensity of his gaze on me. It seems like he’s . . . in awe, maybe? It’s not the Come Mount Me Right Now glare I’d hoped for when I chose this tight hot-pink pencil dress, but whatever the look is, I’ll take it. By the time the hall starts to clear for lunch, we’ve met with everyone Emerson needed to see over the whole two days. I lead him into a back service corridor outside of the exhibit hall.
“Aaaaaand we’re done. That was everyone! Can you believe it!” I am buzzing with energy, as I always am after rapid-fire mingling, and he looks depleted, as he does at the end of our long meeting days. But at least he’s not green. He’s looking down at the ground in thought. “Uh, hello, earth to Frosty, you’re welcome.” Still nothing, other than his heavy breathing, as if he didanyof the heavy lifting in there. Psh!
“You’re welcoooome,” I sing. “C’mon,Moana? Nothing? You’ve got to watch more Disney, Emerson, seriously.” He looks up at me for a second from under a small lock of hair that’s fallen down onto his face, but then he looks back down at his shoes. I realize I have no idea what he might say, and since I did just slip and call him Frosty, I’m concerned it’ll be on the unkind side of blunt.
Maybe I talked too much. Maybe I went around too fast. Maybe he thought my German was awful or my jokes were silly.
“All right, well, now you can spend the whole afternoon with your family or, ha, let’s be real, in your room alone recharging. No shame, I get it. Your social battery is on zero percent, right? But I still have half a ballroom to go meet with, so I better find something to eat.” Seriously? He’s not even going to mutter a thank-you? Forget this. “K then! See ya!” I start to stomp off.
My wrist explodes at his grasp that’s so firm, it’s almost painful. The wrist bombs are instantly nothing compared to his other hand on my hip as he pulls me back toward him. He steps forward and pushes me up against the greige wallpapered hallway wall.
He’s standing so close, I get to breathe him in, manly and clean, each breath sending waves of want down to my core. His body cages me into the wall, and his hands move to my face as his eyes search mine, so close I can see tiny navy flecks in the pools of pale blue. My hands reflexively grab his forearms, which are thick and warm under his soft suit jacket.
He leans into me and my brain.
What?
I.
