What The Heart Finds (16 page)

Her
phone buzzed three times, indicating a email. She opened it quickly,
wanting to get the scolding out of the way as quickly as possible.

Are
you on your way back?

• EM
  

Lena
snorted. She wished. Oh, how she wished.

No.

• LE
  

Silence.

It
would come. Eventually, it would come. The disappointed email. The
anger. She just had to wait for it. Elliott was never one to
sugar-coat his feelings about employee incompetence.

Would
she even have a job when she returned to the city? Elliott was known
for being mercurial. For being merciless. For hiring and firing
without much consideration. Everyone was, essentially, replaceable.

But
this wasn't really even about work. It wasn't like she somehow
managed to screw up some multi-million dollar deal. He wanted her to
find out about the inn for sentimental reasons. For his wife. She
wasn't entirely sure if that would make him less, or more, angry with
her.

Maybe
it had really just been a passing whim. Something he wouldn't really
care about in the long run. He could buy Hannah every inn on the east
coast. He could buy her the entire east coast probably. What was one
inn in the long run?

But
Stars Landing was Hannah's hometown. She had grown up with all the
people she had just spent the last week meeting. Genuinely liking.
Maybe it was where they finally admitted they loved each other. Or
the first place they had sex. Or where he proposed. Or some other
meaningful milestone in their romance.

He
wasn't the kind of man who loved easily. In fact, she wouldn't
normally be able to picture her stern, severe boss being in love if
she hadn't seen it with her own two eyes. Anytime Hannah walked into
the room, his eyes found her, they lost some of their intensity, they
looked dreamy almost. She couldn't count the times she had just
happened upon them kissing or holding each other when they thought
they were alone.

That
man really loved that woman.

And
there was no way he was going to let her fucking up owning a part of
that love go without some sort of comment. Some consequence for her
actions.

Oh,
god. What if she actually lost her job? It wasn't something she had
even let herself consider in the past. She worked her ass off
fourteen, sixteen, eighteen hour days to make herself indispensable
to the company. There was no chance of being let go.

But
if she screwed up really badly on a personal level... and he was
pissed...

And
she would be left without a reference. What good would it do for her
resume if she put on it that she had actually worked for the head of
a fortune 500 company, if she had no recommendation to go with it?
New employers would immediately smell something fishy. Her chances of
rehiring in her field in an equal or greater position would drop
exponentially.

It
wouldn't be long before she couldn't afford her apartment, as
economical as it was. It was still in the city. It was still
expensive. And what would she do then? Slave away at two secretarial
jobs to try to make rent? That probably wouldn't even cut it. The
economy had never really improved. She would make less as a secretary
now than her mother had made fifteen years ago.

And
if she lost her apartment, she really only had one place to go. Back
to her matchbox room in her shoe box house in her drug infested
neighborhood, laying awake listening to the druggies and the homeless
on the streets. Listen to her mother cry over bills. Listen to her
father yell if, by some chance, he was actually home. Listen to her
dreams start to fall away.

Lena
pulled her knees to her chest, resting her elbows on them, and laying
her head in her hands.

It
was amazing how quickly everything changed. And it was devastating
how easily someone could fall when it had taken them years of hard
work, of merciless self-denial, of soul-sucking false optimism to get
almost to the top; to see the finish line, then go flying back down
before you could cross it.

A sob
rose up, loud and hysterical. She put her hands over her mouth,
stifling the sound which she found oddly uncontrollable. She closed
her eyes, rocking back and forth as she cried. Harder than she had
when she watched her mother beg for money from the meth heads next
door to buy groceries, harder than the time she had watched the dogs
across the street fight awfully until one of them was dead, harder
than she had at every college rejection letter, harder than she had
when she got the news that her father was sick.

She
wiped furiously at the tears on her cheeks, her skin feeling raw and
painful. She tried convincing herself that she was being dramatic.
That it would be fine. She would figure out a way. She always had in
the past. She was resilient. She would never let herself fall back
into her old life.

But
the tears wouldn't be denied. She felt out of control of her own
body, her chest jerking with the sobs she found scary and
uncontrollable.

And
the thought of anyone happening by and finding her like that was just
horrifying. Poor, deceitful Lena Edwards. Getting what she deserved.
Being thrown out on the street like the trash she was.

Even
though she didn't want to think the town would be that cruel. She
didn't want to picture Hank the friendly grocer, or Maude the town
psychic, or Sam and Anna the happy couple being nasty to her. She
knew it was possible. Warranted even.

She
deserved it. She deserved every sideways glance. She deserved every
bit of humiliation they could throw her way. So what was the point in
trying to hide her devastation? What was the point in trying to hide
her tears?

She
cried until the tears refused to come, until her insides felt dry and
brittle. Until she felt like she could crack and shatter into a
million little pieces. Until there was nothing left inside. Just a
ever-widening hollow space. Just tear-burned skin. Just swollen,
blood shot eyes greeting the coming dawn.

Fourteen

She wrapped her arms
around her knees, resting her head against them and just... waiting.
For hours. Lost in her own world of self-loathing and worst-case
scenarios.

“Lena?”
Eric's hesitant, worried voice said at her side. “Hey,”
he said when she didn't respond, a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Baby. What's wrong?”

Lena took a breath,
shaking her head and refusing to look at him. “I got kicked out
of the inn.”

Eric crouched down next
to her, his legs brushing her knees. “Had a wild party, did
you?” he asked, his tone attempting levity.

Lena snorted. “No.”

“Well what
happened, sweetheart?” he asked, reaching out to touch her
hair.

“Emily caught be
breaking into the computer system,” she admitted honestly. What
was the point in lying? He would find out eventually. “She
thinks I am some kind of identity thief now.”

Eric's hand stilled in
her hair but didn't move. “What?”

Lena turned her head,
looking at his face. Patient. Non-judgmental. Why would be be
understanding when she just admitted she had committed a crime? Had
his own past been so sordid that he was willing to overlook such a
major indiscretion?

“I'm not an
identity thief,” she said, her voice sounding deeper than
usual, her throat sore from crying.

“Well I guessed as
much. You have hard enough time holding onto this identity you wear,”
he said, almost smiling. Almost. “So what were you doing on the
computer?”

“Stealing financial
records,” she admitted, watching his brow raise. “for my
job,” she quickly added.

“Your job? What do
you work for a major competitor?” he asked, his tone amused.

“I work for Elliott
Michaels,” she said, waiting for the recognition.

“Hannah's husband?”
Eric asked. “the millionaire?”

“That's the one.”

“No wonder you're
so uptight,” he laughed. “So what the hell did he want
with the inn's financial records?”

“He wants to buy
it,” she shrugged.

“For Hannah,”
Eric said, nodding.

“Yeah. For Hannah.
So he sent me in to gather a bit of information first. What the local
attractions are. What needs to be repaired or changed. Employee
salary. What the books look like. He just wanted to know what he was
getting into.”

“Why didn't you
just... tell Emily?”

“Because I was told
to make sure no one found out. Besides...” she said, looking
down. “Emily wouldn't have listened. She was understandably
ticked.”

“She's got a hot
temper,” Eric agreed. “Have you told Elliott about what
happened?”

“Yeah,” she
said, shaking her head. “I'm waiting for the scolding or firing
text.”

“You think he'll
still buy it?”

“Probably. If it's
for Hannah... he'd do anything for Hannah.”

“Then he really has
no reason to fire you. You got some of the information I'm sure. He
can figure the rest out when he buys it. Or he would be upfront with
Emily and ask her. She might tell if she knew it was a gift for
Hannah.”

“I don't think
she'd be happy about anyone buying it. That inn is her baby,”
Lena said, understanding completely. She looked at Eric for a second,
sighing. “I'm gonna be the town pariah in a few hours. I have
to get out of here.”

“I still have a few
days left until your car is ready,” Eric said, looking at her
face, puffy and splotchy from crying for god knows how long and
realized, with blinding clarity, that he didn't want her to leave.

“I know,” she
said, looking out to where business owners were opening up their
stores. “I was thinking that maybe you could lend me one of
your cars. I would pay for it of course,” she added quickly,
knowing the money probably meant nothing to him. “And then when
you finish my car, we can meet up somewhere and swap.”

“No baby,” he
said, shaking his head. “Just stay.”

“Stay where?”
Lena exclaimed, throwing a hand out toward the town.

“Here. With me,”
he said, his voice quiet. At her almost panicked look, he chuckled.
“Not like that. You can have the bedroom. I'll take the couch.
It just seems silly to go back to work only to have to take another
few days off to drive back out this way to swap your car out.”

He had a point. If she
went back and, by some miracle, wasn't fired... she would never be
able to sneak away again so soon. She was already dreading the amount
of back-logged work she would have to catch up on. Things that she
couldn't do over the internet. Granted, she was sure Tad was keeping
a fair enough handle on things, but there's no way he could get to
all of her work on top of all of his.

It would take weeks of
only leaving the office for a few short hours of sleep for her to get
everything all back up to speed.

And Elliott probably
wouldn't look too kindly on her leaving early, or leaving at all,
until it was all finished.

“You know it's the
most logical solution,” Eric prodded, knowing the only way to
get her to stay was to appeal to her practical side. “Hey, I'll
even throw in star treatment. Turn down service, a flower with
breakfast every morning...” Lena's eyes went wide, panicked
almost. “What? What's the matter?”

“Your flowers,”
she said, looking back toward the inn sadly. “I forgot your
flowers,” she said turning back, her eyes apologetic.

“So I'll get you
more,” Eric said, standing and reaching for her hand to help
her up. “Come on, let's go get your settled in,” he said,
reaching for her bags, raising a brow when she tried to help him with
them. “Go on through the garage, there's a door in the back.”

Lena walked past her car,
it's hood open, some of it's guts still ripped out, and toward the
plain door in the back corner. She was greeted immediately by a
staircase going up to the apartment. She got to the landing, waiting
for Eric to catch up.

“It's open,”
he said from a few stairs below.

Lena pushed open the
door, greeted with the overwhelming scent of Eric. The traces of
grease and oil and the clean, crisp smell of his soap... almost
lemony. The floor plan was open with a living space to the left and a
kitchen to the right. Behind the kitchen there were two doors in the
hall. Bedroom and bathroom, she assumed.

The kitchen had an island
with two stools, separating the room from the living room area. The
cabinets were deep cherry wood color with sand colored counter tops
and wooden floors. The wooden floors continued seamlessly into the
living area. One comfortable looking brown material couch was pushed
up against the wall, a coffee table in front of it, and an
obnoxiously large television on the wall. To the side of the room was
an old fashioned record machine with a discreet CD drive in the
front. A pile of records and CDs were piled up next to it. An
impressive DVD collection was piled carefully on a ceiling-high
bookshelf.