Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  “I would, but I’m afraid it doesn’t really work that way. Besides, we made a conscious choice a few years ago not to indulge in celebrity gossip.”

  Leigh cast him a cool glance. “While I’m as fascinated as anyone with Snooki’s pregnancy and Jillian Michael’s baby adoption, our goal isn’t to ‘indulge in gossip.’ Instead, we explore why Americans are so captivated with these people’s lives and why TV networks are choosing to produce reality programming instead of scripted material.”

  From her crisp tone, it was clear he’d insulted her. Again. Even though he hadn’t meant to. David’s gaze wandered from her angry stare and slid downward to the curve of her lips. She was all business and oh so enticing. Captivated by the hollow at the base of her neck, the pit of his stomach tingled at the thought of breathing in her scent.

  He tore his eyes away, struggling to contain his wayward thoughts. He really couldn’t blame his body for leading his mind astray. It had been months since he’d had a woman in his bed. He’d been too busy with the paper and, he had to admit, he just didn’t feel like having meaningless sex anymore. In his heart of hearts he wanted more than a casual tryst even if other parts of his anatomy didn’t know it yet.

  “C’mon David. You’ve got to admit, these people are fascinating,” Andrea said. “It’s like a car wreck. You know you shouldn’t slow down to take a look, but you do anyway.”

  “So you’re the gawker I was following on the highway yesterday,” he said, a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Andrea laughed, at once looking ten years younger.

  Leigh and Bruce joined in the gentle teasing and soon, the heaviness in the room lifted and for a moment, David forgot about Ben and his grief.

  An hour later, as they all sat back sated, finishing their post-meal aperitif, Bruce sat up. “I hate to break this lovely mood, but I did bring along some documents that need signatures. I was going to ask you all to pop by my office on Monday, but we’re all family here so I thought I’d save you the trip.”

  Sensing this was his cue, David rose, “I should be going. Andrea, thank you for a lovely meal. I’ll see you Monday. Bruce, it’s always a pleasure and Leigh, it was great catching up with you. I hope the next time our paths cross, it’s under better circumstances.”

  Andrea hugged him goodbye. “Thanks for coming, Sugar. Let me show you out.”

  “No need. I know the way.”

  He ducked quickly into the kitchen to say goodnight to Bianca, then headed to the door.

  As he stepped out onto the front porch, Bruce’s voice caught his attention. “Actually, David, there’s some paperwork for you, too.”

  “For me?”

  “No rush. Feel free to look it over when you get home.” Bruce glanced back toward the dining room. “Ben was very fond of you. He wanted you to know that.”

  David took the envelope, perplexed as Bruce slipped back inside. He certainly didn’t need or want any of Ben’s possessions. His mentor had already given him so much. Besides, it bothered him to think of Ben’s death in terms of dividing his assets. It seemed somehow callous.

  He hopped into his Jeep and put the manila envelope on the seat next to him. He and Ben had been so close, the writer had probably left him a few personal items, like some of his books or a few of his favorite prints.

  Intrigued, he looked in the envelope, wondering if Ben had some final words of wisdom to impart. The words “last will” jumped out from the first paragraph of the legal document. Last will. It all seemed so final. It was hard to believe his friend and mentor was really gone.

  Halfway down the page, the name Kettenburg K-38 caught his eyes. Ben probably wanted him to take care of the sale of his boat for Andrea who had a fear of water and didn’t sail. But as he read further, Ben’s true intentions were laid out in black-and-white. He’d left David his prize thirty-eight foot Kettenburg K-38 Auxiliary Sloop, as well as the title to his ninety-nine-year slip lease at the Watford Marina. David’s eyes kept moving over the words — something about books, maps, electronic, and nautical furnishings — but his mind had stopped taking anything in.

  His gut tightened. That crazy wonderful man. He’d left him his yacht. That couldn’t be right. He must’ve misunderstood.

  He reread the previous paragraph. There was no mistaking it. Ben had definitely left him his pride and joy, his boat the Ocean Breeze.

  They’d spent many a Friday afternoon together out on the bay sailing Ocean Breeze. David had loved playing hooky with the publisher and never tired of hearing Ben talk about his youth and his first few years as a writer and journalist. A lump formed in his throat. “I’m really going to miss you, old man.”

  He brought his attention back to the final paragraph of the long document that dealt with the future of Ben’s other great love, The Watford Sun. As he read the words, David’s heart caught in his throat. The new owner of the paper, and his new boss, was to be none other than Ben’s only daughter, Leigh Cameron.

  Chapter Three

  Leigh and Bruce stood in her father’s study, under a large painting of the publisher himself. It was as though even in death, Ben managed to oversee his family’s affairs.

  Leigh stared at the estate documents, a bit shell shocked. He’d left her the paper?

  “Your father only had two assets of any real value — the Oak Hill Estate and The Watford Sun,” Bruce said. “He didn’t want you and Andrea fighting over who got what, so he decided to give one to each of you rather than try to split each one in half.”

  Leigh’s heart squeezed with disappointment. Andrea had gotten Bunny Woods with its English gardens and cedar swing. She swallowed, hard. Of course. It made sense. She’d been his wife and Oak Hill had been her home for fifteen years.

  She, on the other hand, was a journalist. As a teenager, she’d spent every summer vacation employed at The Sun. And she’d only ever worked in the newspaper business since she graduated and set out on her own. Leaving her the paper made sense. Except for one problem. She didn’t want it. Being a journalist was different from being a newspaper owner. Especially the owner of a small town daily several hours away from her real home in New York City.

  “You could always sell.” Bruce pointed out, his warm voice trying to quell Leigh’s obvious panic. “Star Media’s been trying to buy it from your father for the last couple of years.”

  The tension in her chest lessened. “That’s a good thing isn’t it?”

  “Well, yes and no. Their latest offer came in six months ago.”

  “How much?”

  “Not much, I’m afraid.”

  “How little is not much?”

  “The paper’s in trouble. Sales are down, readership is down … .” Bruce stirred and adjusted his spectacles. “Once you pay for the new printing press, reimburse The Sun’s outstanding loans, employee buyouts … well, let’s just say the paper was worth a lot more when your father willed it to you.”

  Leigh smiled, sadly. “I don’t really care about the money.”

  “Star Media does. They’re well aware that The Watford Sun hasn’t been doing well lately and I suspect their plan would be to make The Sun a local subsidiary of The New York Star.”

  Leigh sighed. “At the risk of seeming callous or ungrateful, that sounds like good business sense to me. If The Sun is in a downward spiral, becoming a subsidiary might be the only way to save it. Did my dad ever consider the offer?”

  “Not really. You know how stubborn your father was.” A sad smile crossed his lips.

  “I remember. But if it makes sense for everyone, I won’t be so stubborn. I’ll come by your office tomorrow to look over the offer and you can get the paperwork started.”

  “I’m afraid we can’t do that just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a bit of a catch to this whole thing.” He flipped ahead
a few pages in document in Leigh’s hand. “According to the stipulations of the will, you must work at the paper as publisher for a minimum of three months before you can assume ownership. And you can’t sell it until you own it, officially.”

  Leigh gasped. “Wha … Publisher? Why? I can’t stay here. I’ve got a job in New York. A life.” She flushed as she struggled to suppress the turmoil bubbling inside her.

  “Those were your father’s express wishes.”

  Leigh sighed, frustrated. This was so her father. Being the consummate journalist his motto was, “Research until you think you know everything, then research some more.” In fact, he had insisted on shadowing the previous publisher of The Watford Sun before agreeing to purchase it all those years ago. And now he was imposing the same standard of diligence on Leigh from beyond the grave.

  “And what if I refuse?”

  “Then the ownership of The Sun will default to Ben’s only other living relative.”

  “Andrea.” Leigh bit her lip. Andrea was already getting the house Ben had bought her mother. If she walked away now, that woman would get everything.

  Fear and anxiety knotted inside her. “But Bruce, even if I could somehow get the time off from my job, I don’t know anything about being a newspaper publisher.”

  “Sure you do,” Bruce said, putting a calming hand on her shoulder. “You spent your summers following your father around. Every time I dropped by the paper, you were right behind him like his shadow.”

  “I’m an Arts and Entertainment Reporter. My idea of prioritizing is deciding whether to cover Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week or to wait for the L.A. shows.”

  “You’re a journalist like he was. You know a lot more than you think.”

  She opened her mouth to protest some more but he cut her off.

  “And you won’t be doing this alone. David will help you. He knows that paper better than anyone.”

  “Work with David.” It wasn’t really a question but more of a statement. Not only was she going to have to stay in Watford for the next three months, she was going to have to spend them with David Stone. She painted a mental picture of David in his office, his chest muscles straining against the fabric of his shirt, of his musky smell clinging to the air, and the way his butt looked in a pair of blue jeans. Working at The Watford Sun was going to more challenging than she could have ever imagined.

  • • •

  “I thought I knew Ben better than that. But this, I don’t understand.” David took a swig of his beer and looked at Geoffrey lounging in the chair across from him.

  “Are you sure you understood right? If I were Leigh, I’d hightail it back to New York, stat.”

  “I spoke to Bruce. It’s a condition of her inheritance. Not only is she The Sun’s new owner, she’s going to be the publisher. In the office. Every day.” He drained the bottle, hoping the cool liquid would counteract the heat that was building under his shirt collar.

  Chez Jay’s Marina Bar was quiet tonight. The afternoon showers had scared away the usual Thursday night crowd of after-work sailors. Only the regulars and the live-aboards were crazy enough to sail in this weather or lonely enough to hang at the grungy pub. David belonged to the latter group. He’d been living in a small apartment in town and spending his summers on a small sloop in the marina for close to five years. Soon, he’d have enough money saved up to buy himself a real home in a nice neighborhood. A place guys like him only ever dreamed of owning.

  As he looked out the pub’s porthole-shaped windows to the marina, it dawned on him he’d have ample money to buy a house if he sold the boat he’d inherited from Ben. He dismissed the idea immediately. There was no way he’d ever get rid of Ben’s yacht. The craft had been his mentor’s pride and joy and might very well be the only thing left of him if Leigh sold her shares of the paper.

  “Jay, two more please.” Geoffrey pointed to their beers and waved the bartender over.

  “Two Coronas, right Geoff?” The tattooed ex-marine asked turning towards them.

  “Yes, please.” Geoffrey swiveled on his barstool, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “I think he likes me.”

  “God, Geoff, will you knock it off for a minute? This is serious.”

  “I’m sorry, David. It’s just that, frankly, I think you’re overreacting.”

  “Overreacting?” David sat back and glowered. Sometimes Geoff could really drive him crazy. “It’s bad enough I have to sit here and drink girlie beer with you. The least you can do is pretend to be concerned.”

  Geoff laughed and hopped off his stool. “I’m going to get some popcorn.”

  David watched him go over to the other end of the bar and casually lean over the counter to talk to Jay. The burly man behind the counter dipped a small wicker basket into the tub of popcorn and handed it to him.

  Geoff strutted back, leaving a telltale path of the buttery yellow morsels from the far end of the bar back to his seat. He fell into his chair and dropped the overflowing basket on the table. “You were saying?”

  David let out an exasperated sigh. “Never mind.”

  “Give her a chance. She’s not the fifteen-year-old you used to know. I think you’ll like working with her.”

  “You mean working for her. I can’t have her around me every day. She’s — ”

  “A woman?”

  “It’s not that. She’s impossible to deal with and way too hot to be my boss.”

  “That’s a crock, and you know it.”

  “Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Because I’m gay?

  “That’s not what I’m saying. Can we just move on? I shouldn’t have brought this up.” David looked at the row of portholes along the wall. The small pub had been designed to look like the inside of a pirate ship. Once over the threshold, patrons had to climb down a gangway to get in. Jay always said you could tell how well a man could hold his liquor by how he took the bridge on his way out. The pungent smell of old ale permeated the air, but the pub was warm and dark. Perfect for a night like this.

  The aroma of an expensive cigar drew his gaze toward the door. For a second, David thought he saw Ben sitting on the deck savoring a Cohiba. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be. He was gone. Forever. His chest squeezed.

  “I can’t believe he’s gone. I wish I could’ve … I mean, someone’s heart just doesn’t give out like that, does it?”

  “Sometimes it does, David.” Geoff’s mouth took a downward turn. “It’s not going to be the same without him.”

  “You know, if it weren’t for him I would’ve ended up like my old man,” David shook his head. It was bad enough he looked like a carbon copy of the old crook. The only thing he seemed to have inherited from the Anglo-Saxon side of the family was his heavy beard. And he was forced to stare at the reflection of the man who’d made a mess of their lives every morning when he shaved.

  “I know. You still have some of the old sweet-talker in you, though.” Geoff said, a smile in his voice.

  “Had,” David corrected.

  “Remember the time we got caught smoking in the print room?” Geoff said, leaning in and lowering his voice. “Where’d you get that stuff?”

  David smirked. “I ‘borrowed’ it from my dad’s stash of ceremonial herbs.”

  “What the hell were those herbs, anyway? I felt sick for three days.”

  “It was sage. You’re not supposed to smoke it. You’re supposed to burn it to cleanse a place of its negative spirits.” David laughed. “You looked like you were trying to crawl into the woodwork when your dad found us.”

  “Yeah well, you weren’t the one who lost his car privileges for a month.”

  “I got mine,” David said.

  “You did not,” Geoff rolled his eyes at him. “You always got away with murder.”

 
“Did not. I just acted like I did. When your dad’s a con, you can’t be letting on you’re afraid of anything. Ben found out about the smoking incident, and he made me come in and work every weekend for a month.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “Yeah, I didn’t really mind. In fact, I kind of enjoyed it.” David put a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Geoff remained silent.

  “He was a part of my life — every single day — for the last twenty years. How do you fill a void like that?” David took another swig of beer to cover up the emotion in his voice.

  “You don’t.” Geoffrey put his hand on David’s shoulder and stood up. “All right, buddy. I don’t think I can take much more of this reminiscing without bawling my eyes out. Let’s call it a night.”

  David pushed his beer away. He’d had enough anyway. The suds weren’t helping. Besides, one more would be one too many to sleep on a swaying boat.

  “So, you think I’m going to like working with her, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Geoff said. “She’s a lot like Ben.”

  • • •

  “Hello?” Leigh cradled the phone between her head and the pillow and felt around the night table for her glasses. They fell and landed somewhere on the pumpkin-pine floorboards with a soft thud. “Damn.”

  “That’s a hell of a way to say good-morning,” the voice at the other end said. A male voice.

  “Who is this?” Leigh rolled onto her stomach and reached over the side of the sleigh bed for her missing spectacles. She looked around, squinting through the haze. She couldn’t see a thing without them.

  The guy laughed. “Leigh, it’s me. Geoffrey.”

  Geoffrey? She hadn’t told anyone where she was staying. “How did you find me?”

  “Hmmm. Let’s see. It had to be somewhere expensive, but not too expensive, elegant but quaint, not too big, not too small, close to galleries, restaurants, someplace near the ocean, that serves breakfast … .”

  “Okay, okay. Stop. I get it. I’m predictable and a snob.”

  “Honey, don’t ever change. You’re perfect just the way you are.”