In A Heartbeat (26 page)

“I don’t like the idea of you staying here alone,” he continued. “It would be different if Mom were home. What if something should happen?”

“Walter’s next door. If I need help, I’ll call him.”

Stephen snorted, a guttural opinion of Walter’s attributes. “What if I ask Raymond to stay here with you? There’s room and—”

“No,” Angie interrupted. Her face blanched at the thought. How typical. Stephen thought he was such a superior judge of character that he would suggest a strange man stay with her.

“Why not?”

“He gives me the creeps.” She tried unsuccessfully to suppress the goosebumps rising on her arms.

“He’s not so bad. You just have to get to know him.” Stephen took the bits of glass to the kitchen.

“I’d prefer not to.” Angie said an instant before bits of broken glass clattered into the trash bin. Stephen returned a moment later.

“Tell you what, you can stay if Mom agrees to come home before next weekend”—he held up his hand to forestall her response— “and Raymond can stop by periodically to check up on you.”

“Fine,” she agreed, bristling over Stephen’s assumption that he could tell her what to do. She only agreed to get Stephen out of her hair. She had her baseball bat. She had her dog. She could put up with some minor intrusions by that creep if it would make Stephen happy. Besides, she knew her mother was flying home this week anyway. The plane ticket was a gift from Aunt Cecilia. It would be her mother’s first airplane flight.
Hah
, she thought with a smile,
another first
.

MONDAY MORNING DAWNED in a glorious array of deep velvety pinks across a deepening blue sky. Angie noticed the brightening colors in her rear view mirror on her way to work. “Red sky at morning, sailors take warning,” she recited. Hopefully, the childhood rhyme only predicted the weather.

Last night, after she’d convinced herself the vandalism was a random act, she thought long and hard about her relationship with Hank and its effect on her work. She’d reached a painful decision. She would have to tell Falstaff that she was no longer independent with regard to Hayden Industries, without explaining the details, of course. No one had to know about that. Her pulse quickened with the memory, and her body tingled.

“Stop that,” she ordered herself, but this desire was not something she could silence with a verbal command. Pulling to a stop at a red light, she glanced in the visor mirror. Did she look different? Would everyone know that she was now experienced?

The light turned and she moved forward with the traffic. Would she be able to look at Hank in the office, or say his name without melting into a languid pool of passion on the spot? For that matter, could he look at her and still maintain that aloof executive exterior? And Elizabeth? How would she take the news that Hank had chosen a lowly accountant over a glamorous fashion model? Not that Hank had promised anything. Still, his eyes told her more than words could. He loved her as much as she loved him; he just hadn’t realized it.

Love… She almost rear-ended the car in front of her. Her first real relationship and already she was calling it love! She felt the thump of her heart pushing life through her body. Her old, failing heart caused her to miss out on a childhood. Hank had given many of those experiences back to her, plus he provided a taste of what it meant to join with a man. If only for those things, she would love him.

Max could finish the audit and perform the promised additional procedures. The firm would still get the additional billings and hopefully, she would still get the promotion. Surely Hank would understand that she couldn’t do the work as he’d stipulated it. Of course, it would have helped matters if he had called last night. She had wanted to discuss her decision with him. She’d tried calling his phone, but there’d been no answer.

She pulled into a parking spot and shut off the engine. Yes, requesting removal from the Hayden engagement was the right decision, to do otherwise would be unethical. She could give up the promotion, but she couldn’t give up Hank.

“Best to get this over with.” She exited the car, shifted her shoulders back, lifted her chin, then marched into the building and up to the office. After exchanging “good mornings” with the receptionist, she headed straight for Falstaff’s office.

“Angie, good morning. Don’t you look nice today.” Teresa, Falstaff’s secretary, greeted her from behind her desk. She lowered her newspaper and peered at Angie over the gold-rimmed “readers” balanced on the tip of her nose. “You have a glow about you today. What’s different? New make-up?”

Heat crept into Angie’s cheeks. Undaunted, she smiled in response. “Must be the light.” She nodded toward the closed door of his office. “Is Mr. Falstaff in? I have something I want to run past him.”

“He called earlier. Said he had to run to some big powwow. I don’t imagine he’ll be in till afternoon. Would you like me to give him a message?”

“No.” Angie shook her head. “It can keep till tomorrow.” She started to head toward her cubicle in the staff room.

“Angie, wait,” Teresa called after her. “Have you seen this?”

The quick motion of Angie’s turn causing a twinge in her ankle, reminding her that she hadn’t entirely healed. Teresa ruffled the newspaper at her. “This should probably go into Hayden’s permanent file. Why don’t you take it with you?”

“What is it?” Angie stepped closer to the desk.

“That new CEO… What’s his name?” Teresa frowned for a minute. “You know, the good-looking one…”

“Renard,” Angie answered, quickly scanning the headline.
Hayden announces executive engagement.

“That’s the one. Looks like he’s going to marry that model, Elizabeth Everett. They’ve announced their engagement.” Teresa chortled. “The handsome ones never last long, do they?”

Angie’s face tingled from the immediate blood drain. She leaned against the desk for support. “Engaged?”

“Hmmm.” Teresa adjusted her glasses and glanced at Angie. “Are you feeling all right? You look like you’re going to faint.”

Angie struggled a moment for breath. “I’m okay. I just turned too fast on my ankle,” she lied. She quickly folded the newspaper before shoving it under her arm so Teresa wouldn’t notice her hands shaking. Then, with an exaggerated limp to disguise the true injury to her heart, Angie hobbled back to her cubicle, that blasted nursery rhyme mentally mocked her the entire way.
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.

SHE USED A full box of tissues to staunch her tears in the women’s restroom. Afterwards, she tried to call Hank at work. He was out of town, she was told. Some emergency, Cathy reported.

Emergency, my foot.
He must have high-tailed to New York so he could properly propose to Elizabeth.

Granted, he had never made promises to her. He’d tried to tell her something on several occasions, but she’d stopped him. Was this what he was trying to say? She knew he was dating Elizabeth and she, not Hank, initiated the idea of intimacy. Begged, she corrected. She’d practically begged him to bed her. The burning in the corners of her eyes started anew. What a fool she’d been.

She hadn’t expected this emotional attachment. All the magazines implied that intercourse was little more than shared aerobics. But Hank knew. He was experienced at this sort of thing. Was it his plan all along to destroy her heart, her soul? Was it pity? Show the little cripple a good time then dump her? A tear dropped from her cheek onto the betraying face in the newspaper. H.P. Renard, the caption said. Named after a calculator, she reminded herself. One of these days she’d learn to trust her instincts and not her heart. She wiped the wetness from her cheeks. Cold-hearted bastard.

“Angie,” Teresa called from the door to the staff room. “Mr. Falstaff would like to see you now.”

“That’s okay,” Angie struggled to find her voice. She flipped the newspaper so she wouldn’t see Hank’s newsprint smile. “I worked the problem out, I don’t need to talk to him anymore.”

“No, Angie. Mr. Falstaff would like to see
you
now.” The emphasis on the “you” made it clear to everyone in the staff room that Angie was not calling this meeting. Max shot a concerned glance toward Angie.

“Probably wants a progress report,” she said, picking up a note pad from the table.

Angie attempted what she thought was a chipper smile before entering the paneled vestibule. “Good morning. You wanted to see me?”

“Sit down, Angela, we have some serious business to discuss.” His ominous tone overpowered her attempts at being perky.

“If it’s about Tempco, I’ve brought the audit files,” she said hopefully.

“I want to speak with you about your relationship with Hayden Industries.”

Her heart stalled. Did he know something he shouldn’t? Or was he preparing to push her for more billings? She shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Yes, sir. What would you like to know?”

Falstaff dismissed her question with a wave of his hand before lowering himself into one of the chairs. “Did you have a good time at the ball Saturday night?”

“Well…yes …” she stammered.

“That wasn’t your brother you were with, was it?” His penetrating stare made it all the more difficult to continue the lie. Dishonesty was never her strong suit.

“Mr. Falstaff, I don’t—”

“I had a phone call this morning. Never mind from whom.” He held his hand up to silence her questions. “The caller said you’ve been having an illicit relationship with Henry Renard. Is that true?”

The heat scorching her cheeks probably answered for her. Words refused to surface.

“I might not have believed the caller if he hadn’t sent me this.” He removed a large glossy photograph that showed Angela in Hank’s robe. The lapels opened enough to expose the zipper-like scar on her chest. “I’ve been a guest at the Owens’s house a time or two. I recognize that setting.”

“Let me explain,” Angie said, although she wasn’t sure how she could explain away the damning photo. Her heart raced. That flash! That must have been… “Who sent this?”

“Not important.” He refused to look at her face. “It’s not up to me to preach morals to my employees. I was young once. I know something about romance. I suspected your date Saturday night wasn’t your brother. The way you two looked on the dance floor…” He pushed his glasses to the top of his head and covered his eyes for a moment with his hands. “But a client, Angela?” He peered at her from over the tips of his fingers. “I expected more from you.”

Angie swiped the moisture collecting on her cheeks. “Please, Mr. Falstaff, I know it doesn’t look good, but…”

“Why didn’t you come to me when this thing first started?” he admonished. He stood up and began pacing the length of the office. “I could have reassigned you. I thought you had a solid future here, Angela. I hate to lose you.”

“Lose me?” she sniffed, watching as he turned his back toward her.

“You know the rules. You’ve compromised this office, the audit and our reputation. You’ve left me no choice as to disciplinary action.” He turned back to face her. “We are letting you go, Angela.”

“You’re firing me?”

He nodded. “Max can finish up the year-end work on Hayden. You’re to gather up your personal belongings and vacate the premises immediately.”

“I’m fired?” she repeated, shock holding her captive to the chair.

“I’m sorry, Angie, I truly am. I know I’m not your father, but if I can offer a piece of advice. I don’t know what you and Renard have going together, but the caller implied you had spent the night with Renard fairly early on. I didn’t believe it at first, but clearly this was not idle gossip. Given the notice in the paper this morning, I’d urge you to be more selective in your conquests next time. Maintain some standards, for Heaven’s sake.”

She exited the office hoping her legs still knew how to walk. Outside Falstaff’s office, Teresa lowered her voice and whispered into a phone receiver. Angela slowly walked to her cubicle.

Scanning the narrow shelves above her desk, she collected a framed photograph of Oreo and a box containing an extra supply of her prescriptions.

“Angie, what’s going on? Where are you going?” Max’s head appeared over the side of her cubicle. He glanced at her face. “My God, what happened?”

“Not now, Max. I can’t talk now.” She slipped her personal items in her purse and turned to leave.

“Can I call you later at home?”

She didn’t reply. She just walked to the exit of Falstaff and Watterson, letting the door to that chapter of her life close behind her.

Chapter Twenty-Two

“OPEN UP, ANGIE. I know you’re in there.”

Hank pounded on Angie’s front door till the hinges rattled. The chicken soup he clenched in a paper bag shifted with the motion, splattering damp spots on the weakening brown sack. Oreo barked incessantly inside.

“I swear I’ll break this door down if you don’t open it,” he threatened. How could anyone tolerate this racket? If her car wasn’t parked in the driveway, he’d have thought she wasn’t home. He began pounding again.

The strange little man from next door stepped out on his porch. “Is something wrong?” he called.

“Everything would be fine if she’d just open the damn door,” Hank replied, his voice rising to a near shout. Oreo’s barking turned to a frustrated whimper. He could hear her sniffing and snorting at the bottom of the door.

“Maybe she doesn’t want to talk to you,” the neighbor said with stiff bravado. “Maybe you should leave.”

He’d forgotten that Angie had befriended the little zombie. It shouldn’t be a surprise. She had that effect on people. She’d had that effect on him. He glanced at what’s-his-name, the neighbor, and softened his tone. “I heard she might not be feeling well.”

Holding the stained paper sack aloft, he remembered Angie’s vigilance regarding her medically suppressed immune system. The thought renewed his anguish. “She could be seriously ill,” he yelled toward the neighbor. “She could need help.”

“Should I call her brother?” Suddenly, the neighbor became a collaborator. “I have his number.”

Angie’s dead bolt clicked a moment before the door opened the length of the safety chain. “I’m fine. I don’t want to talk to you. Go away.”