by Kim Linwood
“I do! Which is why this plan would be so much simpler if you just went on a date and resolved some of this obvious sexual tension.”
The front door chimes, and a heavy-set man with a bushy mustache waxed into perfect little curls peeks in. “Is this the right way for The King?”
“Yes, the viewing is in the first room on the left.”
“Oh, I’m not here for that. I’m with the band. Where do we set up?”
“Uh…” Band? Nobody said anything about live music. “The reception room is at the back of the house. Zoe can show you the way.”
“This isn’t over,” she whispers before showing mustache man and a whole train of black clad people carrying cases the way.
It isn’t unusual to have a reception after the viewing. It’s why we have the rooms there, after all. Some are somber affairs full of loss, and others are joyful celebrations of a life well lived. From the cheerful sound of someone warming up a concertina, I’m guessing this is going to be more of the latter. Fortunately, they have the place to themselves today. If they want to give Rudy a real send off, they’re welcome to it. I try not to judge. Spend a little time in this business and you learn that there are as many ways to deal with death as there are paths to choose in life.
Except the guys with the bong who tried to smoke their buddy’s ashes in our downstairs bathroom. I judged the hell out of them.
A few boisterous hours later, Zoe and I are collapsed together in the corner of the reception room. First there was music and dancing, then there was food, and somewhere along the way, a keg joined the mix. I tried to stay professional, I really did, but “Once more for Rudolph!” is a hard demand to resist and “I just work here,” wasn’t an acceptable reply.
“I think I’m going to puke, but I still want more sausage,” Zoe moans. “How is that possible?”
I take a sip of beer and immediately regret it. The mourners are dancing in a circle to a fast polka and it’s making me dizzy to watch. “See, if we were a franchise, we couldn’t do stuff like this.”
“And that would be a loss, right?”
It takes me a minute to decide. “Yes. Yes, I think it would be.”
Zoe leans her head on my shoulder, her jet black hair cascading down my arm. “If you guys do decide to sell, do we need to look for jobs? Be honest. Should I be working on my resume?”
“No!” I shake my head and watch the room wobble. “I made sure the contract stipulates that everyone who works here is safe for at least a couple years. We’d never throw you guys under the bus like that.”
“What about you? Is that the problem? Do they want to get rid of you?”
“Not exactly.” I grimace. “I’d be staying too, but Carter would be my boss during the transition.”
“Don’t take this as encouragement, because I like things as they are, but I don’t get it. If the offer is good, and you liked him enough to agree to a date, then what’s the problem?”
“Good question.” I mull it over, trying to decide how to explain something I don’t really understand myself. “Being a funeral director was never my lifelong dream. You know that. It’s the family business, and I guess I always resented feeling like it was something I was supposed to do. Then this guy comes in and suddenly I actually have to choose. I think I’d miss it.” I give Zoe a quick smile. “I’d even miss you.”
“Aw.” She snuggles into my side. “I’d miss you too, but we live two streets away from each other. It’s not like I’d never see you again. So what’s the real problem?”
Carter.
“Ugh,” I groan, slumping against the wall. “If they sent some stuffy lawyer over, I’d probably have signed already, but Carter’s gorgeous, totally full of himself and thinks he can get whatever he wants just by smiling at me.”
“In the boardroom and the bedroom?” she teases.
“Exactly! And because he knows I’m attracted to him, he’s not taking me seriously.”
Zoe sits up straight, swinging away from the wall so she can face me. “You think he’s hot.”
“Um, yeah. We’ve established this.”
“So honest question here. Are you taking him seriously?”
“Of course I am. I mean… as much as anyone could.” I am, right? The guy is basically ridiculous. “You’ve obviously never met him. Nobody could spend any amount of time with Carter Graves and not want to smack that Hollywood grin off his face. Or kiss it… or slap it and then kiss it. Or…” I put down my beer and try to find my way back to my point. “Fine, maybe I’m not taking him entirely seriously, but this is a big deal for us and I can’t afford to screw it up. We’re doing alright, but if Mom and Dad retire, I don’t know if I can do it all on my own. As much as I hate the idea of being part of a chain, it would take a lot of the pressure off me.”
“Then forget about Carter and do what you think is right for the home. You know this shit, Sadie. You’ve spent your entire life learning this business and one hot guy isn’t going to change that.”
“There’s one major problem with that. He was acting like he’d be working right here and I’m not sure I could handle dealing with him every day.” The man is a walking distraction. “And he knows he gets to me. There’s no way he’s going to stop flirting, even if it’s just to drive me crazy.”
“So sleep with him.”
I choke on my drink and beer fizzes straight up my nose. “What?”
“Sleep with the sexy boss. Boom! Conflict of interest. Possible lawsuit. New boss. Problem solved.” Zoe holds up her cup in celebration of her genius. “You’re welcome.”
“I think I might just play it cool for a bit and see what happens.”
She shrugs. “Or you can do that, but I still say sleep with him, because if you’re going to beat yourself up over everything anyway, you might as well have some fun. Oh, and introduce me to his brother.”
“Sorry to ruin your plans, but that’s so not going to happen. I’m going to figure this out like an adult, without stealing my plans from bad soap opera plots.” I pull myself off the floor, only barely managing to hand Zoe my drink before getting whirled back into the polka madness by a man with a red, white and blue beard.
Like the responsible businesswoman I am.
7
Sadie
The soft chime of the front door echoes in my head like Big Ben bonging its way through my brain all the way from London. I learned a few things yesterday: Carter isn’t the only one with issues, Zoe has underwear with the days of the week printed on them, and Czechs take a great pride in both their music and their alcohol.
The beer I could’ve handled, but then someone broke out something dusky and golden in a green bottle called Becherovka and everything went a little hazy after that. It’s ten in the morning, and I’m only now starting to feel halfway human again.
I drag myself out of my chair with a sigh that lasts so long I run out of air and have to start over halfway. There’s a glass of water sitting on my desk, doing its best to make me feel guilty, but the thought of swallowing anything right now makes my stomach lurch.
Okay, I can do this.
I stand up straight and put on the best smile I can manage. It drops as soon as I see who’s standing in my reception area.
“I can’t today, Carter. Come back later. Actually, on second thought, don’t. That’s okay too.” I drop into one of the chairs in our foyer.
He looks like he just stepped off the cover of Runway Businessman Weekly—is that a real thing? I bet if someone started it and put him on it, it would sell—and he’s looking at me like I’m something that crawled out from under a bush. Vanity is not normally my main weakness, but I have to admit it stings.
“Rough night?”
Rolling my eyes hurts. Like they’re covered in sandpaper and the movement is scratching my brain. “We had a reception after a viewing yesterday. It ran a little…” Crazy. “Late.”
“Were you drinking?” he asks, incredulously. “Ms. Serious Business got dru
nk on the job?”
I point my finger and sit up as straight as possible. “When Rudolph Novak, the Pocono Polka King passes, he deserves a proper send off.”
“I appreciate your dedication to your clients,” he says diplomatically, not quite managing to hold back a laugh. “But maybe you should’ve called in sick.”
“If only I’d thought of that!” I smack my forehead, immediately regretting it.
Carter crouches next to my chair, helping to prop me up. “How about we find a spot for you to lie down for a bit and you tell me who I should call to come in and cover for you.”
I lean my forehead against his arm, enjoying it way too much. “There’s nobody to call. With my parents out of town, I’m pretty much it. Zoe’s off today and has an appointment in Stinson so she’s not around. Kenny’s not really ready for customers, and there’s a client coming in to pick up remains so someone has to be holding down the fort. Why are you here?”
He gently helps me up, supporting me as he guides me back to my office and over to the couch. I miss his hands as soon as they’re gone, and it annoys me that I do. I don’t want to even think about him right now, let alone enjoy his touch.
“Not that it looks like we’ll be getting anything done today, but we have unfinished business to discuss.”
“Are you ready to give up your plan to use the takeover as an expensive pick-up line? If not, please do me a favor and at least be quiet about it. Maybe you can throw yourself out. I don’t think I’m up to it right now.”
Carter reaches out and cradles my face with his hands. He slowly strokes his thumbs up to my temples and rubs in small, firm circles. I very nearly groan. “You could always just say yes. I don’t need to put money on the table to make you putty in my hands.”
I want to argue, but instead I moan, proving his point. My eyes were closed, enjoying the feel of his talented fingers, but I open them now and look up right into his. They’re deep chocolate brown with flecks of caramel at the centers. Decadent and oh so tempting. “Why do I feel like making a deal with you would be like signing over my soul?”
“Would it make you feel better to know it’s not your soul I’m after? The offer is purely business, anything beyond that is more of a signing bonus.” His eyes sparkle with amusement, making it hard to actually get angry at him.
“Is that bonus for you, or me?”
He grins wide enough to make me want to smack it right off his face.
“So what’s with the nice guy act all of a sudden? We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, and now you’re playing nurse?”
A shadow of frustration flicks across his face. “You really think I’m some sort of monster, don’t you? I left Philly before the sun was up to drive out here and get this negotiation settled. I’m not the one too hungover to talk business, but because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll come back when you’re feeling more up to having it out on the table.”
“Over. Over the table,” I correct. “Crap. That didn’t sound any better, did it?”
“Either one works for me,” he says with a laugh. “What do you think?”
“That you have an unreasonably high opinion of yourself, but fine. We do need to figure this out.”
“What’s the point of false modesty? You can’t shoot the moon if you don’t aim for the stars. Right?”
I frown. “Did you just cross the game of Hearts with a motivational poster?”
“It sounded good to me.” He shrugs, amusement sparking in his eyes.
We smile at each other, and for a moment everything feels more like it did back in the flower shop. Carter isn’t my usual type, and somehow I doubt I’m his, but there’s a definite chemistry between us.
The door chimes again, and he stands up, looking towards the reception area and then back at me. “Is that the client here for the remains?”
“Probably. We don’t get much walk-in business.” I sit up, swinging my legs off the couch and look towards my desk where I put the urn when I came in this morning. My empty desk. “Where are they?”
“How am I supposed to know? Don’t you have a system for this sort of thing?”
“Of course!” Panic shoves my hangover into submission. I leap to my feet and stand there staring at my desk as if the box with the ornate, foot-high urn will somehow materialize if I wait long enough. “I came in, unlocked everything, put the remains in the urn and sat it all right there.”
“Hello? Anyone here?” Ms. Jensen, daughter of the deceased, calls out from the front room.
“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” I chant, my stomach churning. My hand pats the desk where I remember the box standing. Things don’t just wander off on their own, so it has to be here somewhere. Except it’s not.
This is bad. On the list of things funeral homes have to take seriously, keeping track of remains is pretty much at the top. How on Earth did they go missing?
Carter gives me a look. “I’ll go stall her. You figure out where the hell you put everything.”
“I didn’t—it wasn’t me!” I grab his arm and look up at him pleadingly, though I know having him see me in the shape I was in when he got here doesn’t exactly paint me in a good light. “Promise you’re not going to chase her off. I just need a minute to figure this out.”
He doesn’t look entirely convinced, but gives my hand a squeeze. “If you can’t trust me, at least trust that it’s not in my best interests to ruin the reputation of a business I want to acquire.”
I relax just a touch, mentally retracing my steps to see if there’s anything I forgot. “Thanks, I owe you one.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Carter says with a wink before he goes to put the full force of his charm on the unsuspecting Ms. Jensen.
His exact words are too muffled for me to hear, but his voice is low and sexy, sweet with a hint of dirty. I wish I could say I didn’t feel at all jealous, but from what I remember of Olivia Jensen, she’s both young and beautiful.
I distract myself from dwelling on why that bothers me by searching my office. This isn’t a lost pen. It hasn’t rolled under the desk or been hidden by a book. Even still, I rummage through all the places it couldn’t possibly be while making a mental note to stop reading books about decluttering and actually declutter. Some of my shelves are starting to look like the Alps, a dusty, forgotten mountain range of I’ll-just-set-this-here-until-I-figure-out-where-it-goes.
“Think, Sadie. Think.” I press the palms of my hands against my throbbing eyes.
Kenny.
He’s the only other person who’s been in today, so if anyone knows anything, it would be him. I slip out of my office, hoping Carter’s keeping Olivia busy so I don’t have to explain why I’m sneaking around like a guilty cat in a YouTube video.
Not that I need to worry. He’s got her hanging on his every word. Her back is to me, she’s looking up at him and laughing at something he said. A shiny mane of golden hair without so much as a strand out of place falls nearly to her waist.
I hardly even want to yank it, hardly a lot. Carter looks up, catching sight of me and raising an eyebrow in silent question. I shake my head. She touches his arm and whatever look crosses my face, it makes Carter look like smug.
Damnit, I don’t have time for this.
I don’t find Kenny in either the display room or the viewing room, a favorite unsanctioned break area. Zoe’s cave is locked up and I don’t think Kenny would go in there anyway. The reposing room is empty too, which leaves me standing outside the crematorium having a minor breakdown when the door from the garage opens and Kenny walks in carrying a bag of takeout and licking something off his fingers.
He stops in his tracks when he sees me, one finger still stuck in his mouth before he guiltily removes it. “Um, did you want something too? I could go back out and—”
“Don’t tell me you just used the hearse for a food run.”
“Okay.” He waits.
Oh my God. Teenagers.
I’ve got bigger fish to fry than a
n early lunch break and the improper use of a company vehicle. I grab him by the shirt, fisting it with both hands just below the collar. “Where’s. The. Urn?”
“What?” His pale blue eyes blink at me in confusion.
“There was an urn on my desk. Did you move it?”
“The vase?”
My hands tighten and his eyes widen in the face of a clearly unhinged boss. “There was no vase in my office. Did you think you found a vase in my office? Because there was no vase. Kenny? What did you do with the vase?”
“Uh… it’s on the mantel in the viewing room. I put some lilies in it.”
I let go and take a big, shocked step back. “You decorated with Mr. Jensen?”
“Maybe?” he squeaks out.
We rush to the viewing room together, and just as he said, there it is with a bouquet of flowers sticking out of the top. In Kenny’s defense, it does look nice up there, and with all of the roses painted on the side, I suppose it could look like a vase.
Still, not a vase.
Carter sticks his head in the door. “I’m running out of things to distract her with here and I’m going to have to draw the line at dating someone just to buy time.” He follows my gaze, spotting the urn. “Fuck me. Is that it?”
I nod and run over, snatching it off the mantel before peeking inside with a growing feeling of dread. Flowers and water.
Not even thinking about the consequences, I pour it out over my hand and onto the floor. The flowers spill over all over along with a giant slosh of water, but the heavy plastic packet with the ashes drops right into my palm. It’s safe, sound and unbroken.
“Thank God,” I say with a long sigh of relief.
Carter looks over my shoulder. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah, a little wet but I think we’re okay.”
He chuckles and takes the urn from me, pulling an expensive looking cloth out of his jacket pocket and wiping it dry before handing it back. “Here.”
Gently lowering the packet of ashes back into the urn, I will my heart to slow down. This could’ve been so, so bad. Kenny shrinks under the weight of the glare I turn on him, and then Carter—who just raises an eyebrow—for good measure. “This never leaves this room. If anyone breathes a word of this, I’ll sic Zoe on you.”
