Runaway Bride’s Guide to Love (Guide to Love #1)

26. Stella

26

stella

I'm a strong, independent woman who don't need no man.

Actually…that’s a lie.

I'm a strong, independent woman, and I really need a man to carry these heavy boxes.

I fall to the floor of my former bedroom and let out an “umphf” as I stare at the stacks of shoes I’ve already packed, and the ones I still haven’t touched yet. I haven’t even started on my clothes or other items that I bought that are scattered around the condo.

Maybe those spontaneous shopping trips with Andi and my sisters have finally caught up with me? Do I have too many shoes?

No. That’s just crazy talk.

I drastically underestimated the amount of things I still had here. I also stubbornly refused anybody’s offers to help me come pack. Or realized that my tiny car can’t fit much in it. In my mind, I could do it myself. You know, because I’m a strong, independent woman.

But now as I sit here in a sea of Louboutins, Minolos, and a wedge sandal in every color, I realize that I’m not strong or independent—I’m an idiot. Because there’s no way I’m going to get everything packed and moved to my car before Duncan gets home from work. He agreed to stay out of the condo during the day and I agreed to be done by six o’clock. Which means I’m going to have to make multiple trips here, which is something I’d rather not do. But if that’s what needs to be done, then so be it.

I look around to assess just how much I have left, when I notice another row of boots on the top shelf. Lovely. And of course I can’t reach them without a step stool. With a groan I get myself off the floor and make my way to the laundry room, hoping this is where Duncan still keeps the stool I bought last year when I needed to put the boots on the top shelf.

Note to self: Take the stool.

But just as I walk into the laundry room and flip on the light, a knocking at the door stops me in my tracks.

Shit…who could it be? My blood goes cold as I run through the list of possibilities. Delivery driver? They don’t knock. They just leave the package and go. Is it Duncan? I mean, it could be, but why would he be knocking? If he was going to come in, he would just let himself in. Was Simon not able to stay away? No, Ainsley said that Lainey’s sick. A neighbor? I didn’t even talk to my neighbors when I lived here.

The knocking continues when I see a broom within my reach. Yes. This will do. I quickly grab it, liking my odds better if I have this as a weapon for when I confront whoever is on the other side of the door.

Broom in hand, I walk down the hallway through the living room. There isn’t a peephole for me to look through to see who my attacker is. So I just wield the broom over my head with one hand and open the door with the other, ready to attack whoever is on the other side.

“Danger!” I yell as the door comes open for me to see…“Emmett?”

His confusion is immediately interrupted by a laugh that I hate how much I've missed .

“First a shoe, now a broom? You’re moving up with your choice of weapons, Tiger.”

I lower the broom and let out a breath. “What are you doing here?”

He takes a step inside, even though I didn't ask him to come in. “Helping you.”

“Helping me? I don’t need any help. Wait. Did Simon send you?”

Emmett looks around the condo, which used to have a hint of feminine exposure in the decor. Now it just looks like a wanna-be rich boy’s frat house, complete with a neon bar light and a flag saying that Saturday is for the boys.

“Yes, he did. But you should’ve asked me to come. I would’ve helped.”

Is he serious right now? Is he forgetting that he’s been MIA for a week? “When was I going to do that, Emmett? After you told me to walk away so you didn’t fuck me on my desk? When you were being short with me at your house? Oh, wait. I know. I was supposed to text in the middle of you giving me the silent treatment now that I have your phone number. My apologies. How rude of me.”

The sarcasm is oozing from me, and my confidence is soaring. Between taking back my belongings and standing up to Emmett’s treatment, I’m feeling like the old Stella. The Stella that’s a little crazy and a lot vocal.

I missed her. I’m glad she’s back.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and in his defense, it does sound sincere. “You’re right. I’ve been an ass. And I want to apologize for that. I need to. But how about right now I start with going to get some of the boxes you have packed and moving them to my truck?”

“I don’t need your help.”

That’s a lie.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I have everything handled.”

I don’t have everything handled .

“Stella…how many shoes do you have packed?”

I narrow my eyes. I hate how well he knows me.

“That’s what I thought.” He gives me a coy smile as he starts walking past me toward the hallway.

“No! Stop!” I yell, needing to put my foot down. I’m standing in a house where I’ve been pushed around for long enough. I’m not going to let another man tell me what he’s going to do and I just have to go along with it. Even if he’s trying to help me. A girl’s gotta take a stand. “You just can’t say I’m sorry and then come in here and run things. I didn’t ask for your help. I didn’t ask for anyone’s. You’re the one who stopped talking to me. You were not nice to me. Rude, actually. And now you’re going to walk in here and just say you’re sorry and carry boxes for me? Emmett Collins, it’s going to take a lot?—”

My words are swallowed by Emmett’s mouth suddenly on mine. I clench my fists and bring them between our chests, wanting to protest.

Except I can’t. His lips feel too good on mine.

And I feel every strong, independent, woman bone being melted from my body.

How does he do this? How in one kiss, in one touch, does me make me forget everything, including my name and birthday? How with every swipe of his tongue and nibble of my lip do I become putty in his hands?

He slowly pulls away, leaving me panting as his strong hands grip my biceps just hard enough that I can feel them. “I’m sorry, Stella. I’m so fucking sorry. I’ve been horrible. A jackass. The worst kind of man, and a man I hated. And I’ll tell you every single reason why in my fucked-up head I thought it was the best play. I have so much I want to tell you. Need to tell you. But can we do it later and not in the place where I know you did things with a man whose neck I want to strangle?”

I nod, not sure what to say. “Okay.”

I stand back in shock as Emmett continues walking down the hallway to the bedroom. Between the sincerity in Emmett’s eyes, the words he’s choosing to use, and the kiss I can still feel, I’m more confused than fall in the South. Is it hot? Is it cold? That's exactly Emmett. Is he hot? Is he cold? I mean, he’s always hot. The last week he has been cold. Today he’s like that perfect 76-degree day with low humidity that you want to get excited about but you’re not sure if it’s here to stay.

My mind is all over the place right now. But I can’t think about Emmett and analyze each and every word. Right now, the focus needs to be packing up my babies and getting the hell out of this condo.

When I make my way to the bedroom, Emmett already has two full moving boxes in his arms. Holy shit, is he even breaking a sweat? Those boxes aren’t light, and he’s carrying them with ease.

I remember when I thought my type of man wore a suit and tie and had an overly white smile with a trust fund.

I was wrong. I was so wrong.

It’s this man right here. The blue-collar guy who carries my boxes of shoes and kisses me out of nowhere. Whose ass looks damn good in a pair of Wranglers but can also clean up when he needs to. The man who one minute is taking control of the room but I know will let me fight my battles.

Emmett Collins is my type, through and through.

“I’m gonna take these down to the truck,” he says. “Keep packing so we can get out of here sooner rather than later.”

I snap out of my stare and do as he says. I start going for my clothes that I can throw into the suitcase I brought when I hear a door slam.

“Who the fuck are you, and why the fuck are you in my house?”

Oh shit…

I drop the clothes and race out of the bedroom. As soon as I turn the corner and have an eye on the door, I see Emmett and Duncan staring each other down.

Well, Duncan is staring up, but still …

“You don’t remember me?” Emmett begins with a prodding tone. “I’m Simon’s friend. Emmett. We met at his baby stag party. You know, the one where you asked me when the strippers were coming. Actually! Now that all tracks. I hear you have a thing for women in that line of work. Though I have a feeling they just see you as the gullible douche and an easy payday.”

I watch Duncan's face get red with every antagonizing word that Emmett says. Selfishly, I want him to keep going.

“Duncan, what are you doing here?” I ask as I step next to Emmett. Though I might as well not be in the room right now. They haven’t stopped scowling at each other. Duncan is now fully straining his neck to look up at Emmett, and I have to force myself not to laugh.

“I wanted to come see how you were doing,” Duncan says, finally breaking his stare-off with Emmett. “Maybe see if you needed a hand?”

“No. That wasn’t what we agreed on,” I say. “You were supposed to stay away all day. So unless a lawyer’s work day now suddenly ends at four-thirty after years of you telling me you didn’t finish at the office until at least eight, then you shouldn’t be here.”

“Fine. You caught me,” he says as he holds his hands up in defense. “I wanted to come talk to you. I thought you’d be alone.”

With those words, he gives another glare to Emmett. Except Emmett knows he said it to get a reaction out of him—one he isn’t giving him.

“We have nothing to say to each other,” I say. “And I’ve been advised to not speak to you without the presence of my attorney.”

“See, that’s just it,” Duncan says, taking a step toward me. I immediately take a step back. “This whole lawsuit thing. We should both drop them. We both filed them in the heat of the moment. We just need to sit down and talk. Figure everything out. Patch things up so we can start fresh. ”

I wish I had this man’s audacity and delusion. This is now the third time he’s asked me to get back together. Does he not know the word no? Does he have a rejection kink? Oh, maybe that’s it. I should ask Nadia. Oh! I wonder how she’s doing. Maybe we should get lunch…

I shake my head and focus back on the task at hand—which is shutting this man down for good.

“Duncan, in what world—either the actual round one or the flat one you think we’re on—do you think that’s going to happen? The answer is no. It’s always going to be no. I don’t know how many ways I can tell you that we’re not getting back together or patching things up or starting over. If I need to learn another language, I will. But we’re done. Over. And as for the lawsuits, I’m not dropping a damn thing until you pay me back the money you stole from me. Do you understand?”

“Stella, baby…let’s just talk…”

Duncan reaches for my arm, barely grabbing onto it before Emmett shoves him away, stepping between us.

“Don’t you fucking touch her.”

“What the fuck?” Duncan says. “Don’t you fucking touch me!”

“My apologies. I forgot you only like being touched by women with floggers.”

Oh shit! One point for Cap!

“I don’t know who you think you are,” Duncan says, trying to get back the upper hand. “But you need to leave my house. Or I’ll call the police.”

“Go for it,” Emmett says as he takes a step toward him. Emmett already has a good six inches on Duncan in height. But somehow he gets taller the closer he gets to him. Or maybe it’s because Duncan is shrinking into himself, trying, but failing, to not look scared as hell.

I mean, I don’t blame him. Emmett’s breathing is heavy, and his face is turning red. His fists are clenched at his sides. I have a feeling if Duncan says one more thing out of line, Emmett is going to swing first and ask questions later.

And I’ve never been more turned on in my entire life.

“Listen here,” Emmett continues. “She has made it clear on multiple occasions that she wants nothing to do with you. She is here today to get her things out of your grown man frat house. Beer signs? Really?”

“They're collector's items.”

Both Emmett and I can only snort out a tired laugh. “If you say so. Keep your collector’s items. I’ll keep her. How about that?”

I’m caught off guard and don’t realize until a few seconds later what Emmett just said.

Keep me? He wants to keep me?

Oh, we have so much to talk about…

“You? Ha! Hilarious,” Duncan says with a sudden flash of confidence. “Who are you, anyway? Simon's lackey? The hired muscle?”

“Who am I?” Emmett asks rhetorically, taking another step closer to Duncan, which makes him physically retreat. Before he knows it, his back is hitting the wall. “I’m the man who’s going to listen to her. The man who’s not going to tell her what food to eat. I’m the one who’s going to make her dreams come true. Oh, and I’m hers. In every sense of the word. And do you know what that means? That means she’s mine. And if you ever, and I mean ever , touch what’s mine again, I’ll kill you. And that’s not a threat. That’s a fucking promise.”

I’m his?

He’s mine?

What is happening?

And why am I so turned on?

“Stella?” Emmett asks as he looks back to me. “Can you have your things packed in an hour?”

I nod, unable to say anything else.

“Okay, then here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna pack. I'm gonna call a moving company that owes me a favor. While you pack, I’m going to sit out here with my new buddy Duncan. Maybe clarify any points he didn’t understand. Make sure he doesn't bother you. And then we're gonna leave. And the next time you see him, it’s going to be in a courtroom when he has to pay you back every fucking cent he stole from you. Sound like a plan?”

Emmett tosses me a playful wink. How is he now playful when five seconds ago he was threatening murder?

I don’t know how, but I like it.

I like it a lot.