Heart to Heart

by Meline Nadeau

  Edie slipped out of her chair, out of the conference room.

  She was horrified. Philip had gotten her a job here, not because she was a wonderful manager.

  But because she was a total jerk.

  Eyes burning, she turned the opposite direction from the retreating tall backs in black herding an unbowed Philip, and returned to her cubicle. There, she reached for the desk phone, but stopped herself. This was personal. Instead, she dug her cell phone from her purse.

  She called Everett. Maybe he hadn’t left the building yet. Maybe he was waiting for her somewhere. Maybe …

  He picked up, and before she could say a word shouted, “Edith Ellen Rowan, what the hell did you think you were doing?”

  “Rats, Everett. What the rats did I think I was doing. And hello to you too.” She was inordinately comforted just hearing his voice.

  “What the iguana did you think you were doing, I don’t care! Why didn’t you leave Philip Sedgwick to me? Dammit, Edie, that’s why I quit when I did. I was trying to protect you.”

  He’d been trying to protect her? Edie blinked scratchy eyes. “I didn’t do much. Howell did most of it. How did you know the backstabber was Philip?”

  “Please.” The old arrogance was back in full force. “Once I’d left the cesspool of corporate politics and cleared my head it was simple enough to figure out. COO is next in line for the presidency, certainly, but right after that is VP of Finance. Howell’s nasty, but he’s a vulture. He’d only prey on me after I was dead. Sedgwick is the praying mantis.”

  “They’re female,” Edie said.

  A beat. “Praying mantises are female?”

  “The cannibalistic ones are.”

  “Edie, it was just an analogy. And not the point. The point was, I was trying to keep you from being implicated in this mess.” His voice hardened. “But there you were, in the center of all the trouble yet again.”

  Her body drained of blood. “Everett, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry won’t turn back time, Edie.”

  There was an awful silence.

  She cleared her throat. “But Everett … now that Philip’s gone … ” She had called Everett for a reason, a reason she’d barely dared to think. Now after hearing his hard tone, it took all her courage to say it. “You could come back. You could be president again — ”

  “No. I am never coming back to HHE.”

  Her heart broke. She didn’t blame him for not wanting to work there anymore, but she’d hoped … but no. He didn’t want to return for her, either. “Oh. Of course.” Shoulders slumping, she hung up.

  Then she typed out a short letter of resignation. There was nothing here for her anymore either. Leaving the letter on Howell’s desk, she gathered her few things and left HHE forever.

  Chapter Nineteen

  To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  From: ED@mythicmail.com

  Subject: Ev, E.E., Hardass … ThePrez?

  Everett, is that you? Because if it is — I love you.

  — Edie

  That evening she Skyped her grandparents to break it to them that she’d failed. She’d tried to strike a blow for the little guy. All she’d really done was make life intolerable for the true corporate paladin.

  Everett.

  “So I resigned,” she said after she’d stuttered through all that had happened. “As I walked out, Bethany joined me. You remember Bethany from the commune? It turned out she quit right after me.”

  It was hard to admit her failure to her grandparents, who were beaming at her out of her laptop screen. They’d raised her, given her their best. “I just wanted … ” Her voice broke. “I just wanted you to be proud of me.”

  “We are proud of you, sweetheart,” her grandmother said.

  “But … but management won. And Philip, the worst abuser, nearly won the day.”

  “We’re still proud of you,” her grandfather said. “You did what you thought was right. You helped people, honey.”

  “I helped management!”

  “No, you helped Houghton and Bethany,” her grandmother said. “They’re people, too.”

  Her grandfather nodded. “You helped people, not the company or the bottom line.”

  “But even that doesn’t matter,” her grandmother said. “We’re proud of you, sweetheart, whatever you decide to do. We’re proud of you because we love you.”

  • • •

  A week later, Edie was sitting at her kitchen table, going through the stack of open positions that she’d printed out. Bethany was with her, making coffee.

  Edie’s pencil hovered over the programmer’s job she had interviewed for yesterday. It was a nice place, progressive and welcoming. But the CEO’s hair was too light, and a bit shorter than she trusted … oh heck. She was thinking of Everett again.

  Why hadn’t he called?

  Well, she knew why. He’d basically told her that she was trouble, trouble he didn’t need and didn’t want. She didn’t blame him. After all, who had been Sedgwick’s willing fool?

  She crossed out the job listing, harder than was necessary.

  “Did they offer you a job?” Bethany set a mug of latte in front of Edie and sat next to her with her own mug.

  “Yes. But it wasn’t quite right.” Edie sipped. The sting of caffeine mingled with chocolate and sweet creamer. After a profitless week of searching and more than a little blue, Edie was very glad Bethany and her espresso machine had come to visit. “So far five companies have. None of them were quite right. You?”

  “I’ve got two interviews tomorrow.”

  “Good work.” Edie paused. “I’ve been wanting to ask something. Why did you quit HHE? You’d just been promoted.”

  “The rumors.” Bethany shuddered. “Houghie, thanks to you, is starting to see me as a force in my own right. But even he believed I got the HHE promotion because we were sleeping together. I quit because I need a job of my own, Edie. Something I can be proud of, that Houghie can be proud of me for having.”

  Edie thought of her grandparents, who were proud of her just because they loved her, and rubbed suddenly itchy eyes. Apparently, Howell wasn’t like that. Yet.

  Everett was.

  A tear squeezed out. She dashed it away.

  “Thinking about Everett?”

  “Could you tell?” She tried to take her mind off him by doodling on the job listings. “He hasn’t called.”

  “And you can’t call him?” Bethany asked dryly.

  “Oh, I called. Once.” Up the P, down the R, circle the O … “He was distracted. Said he’s in the middle of setting something up, and that he’d call when he was done. But he hasn’t. I’ve wanted to call him, but what if that was really a brush off?” She focused on the listing she’d traced. Programming manager wanted.

  “Then he’s an idiot,” Bethany said. “Get on with your life, Edie. Get a kick-ass job. Then call him and make him beg.”

  “Kick-ass job?” Edie picked up the paper. “Listen to this. Small but growing company. Employee-centered management style a must. Position may work closely with president. And the salary is definitely kick-ass.”

  “Employee-centered? That sounds like just your thing.” Bethany leaned over. “Holy mama.”

  “What?”

  “That’s Tarcorp Consulting. They’re the up and comer. Investors clamoring to drown them in cash, full of bleeding-edge technology, and they’re great to their employees. Well? What are you waiting for? Call them.” Bethany grabbed Edie’s wrist, so tight it pinched. “And I want in.”

  “Ouch, okay.” Edie punched the number into her phone. She gave the smooth contralto at the other end her name and some of her qualifications.

  The woman asked a few questions, then said, “You sound like just the person we need
, Ms. Rowan. Could you come tomorrow for an interview?”

  Edie gave Bethany a thumbs up. “I could come in today.”

  “Wonderful! We have an opening in an hour, at ten. And another at eleven. Would either of those work?”

  Bethany grabbed her wrist again. Edie ground molars through the pain. “Well, actually … I know another progressive manager who’d be great. Could we have both appointments?”

  “Absolutely. See you at ten.”

  Edie clicked off. “We’re in. Can you let me go now?”

  Bethany squealed and swept Edie into a hug that was actually more painful than the snake bite. “Thank you, thank you! This is ten times better than HHE. Houghie’ll just puke with envy. I’ve got interview clothes in the car. Can I — ?”

  “Bathroom’s yours.” Released, Edie raced into her bedroom, sloughed sweats and donned heels and hose. They made it to Tarcorp Consulting with five minutes to spare.

  The place had an attractive setup, half open, half private offices, and plenty of sunlight and lovely plants and art. The dozen people visible were in various stages of working, including two unabashedly doing nothing but thinking.

  The receptionist guided them to the back. “Ms. Blondelle, you’re scheduled with HR, that door there. Ms. Rowan, you’ll interview with the president first.” She gestured Edie into a sunny corner office.

  The office was split into two sections, a large sitting area with couches and tables, and a work area.

  Behind the workstation, chestnut hair falling in loose waves to his shoulders, was Edward Everett Kirk.

  Edie slowed. He looked up.

  Their eyes met.

  A smile spread on his face, brighter than the sunlight streaming through the windows. “Edie, right on time.” Without embarrassment, he leaped to his feet and hugged her.

  “Have a nice interview.” The receptionist grinned and left.

  Everett waved Edie to the couches. “I was going to call you tomorrow. Your timing is perfect. As usual.”

  She stumbled to a couch and sat. “You started your own company, Mr. Kirk?”

  “Restarted. Seemed like the best fit for me. Combines my corporate know-how with the independence of my Tarzan. I’m Everett here, not Mr. Kirk.” His smile grew.

  Edie got lost in that dimple. She missed him so badly she shook with it.

  He sat beside her, took her hands in his. “Edie, I’m sorry. I should have seen Sedgwick was behind the trouble at HHE sooner. I would have, but I was so angry and heartsick after your hearing. Then, when I figured it out, I was furious with myself for letting him get the upper hand. I was so afraid he’d threaten you before I could take him out.”

  Her heart warmed, hearing that. “He was tricky, Everett. I let him use me, not once, but twice.”

  “He deceived you. That’s different. Then, after he was arrested, well … I couldn’t face you until I had fixed it so I’d never be that vulnerable again. So that you would never be vulnerable again. I’d started my own company years ago and decided to spin it up again, expand it.”

  “But you didn’t call.” Her fears bubbled out. “It was a week. You could have told me.”

  “I didn’t want to call until I was sure I could make a go of it. But I couldn’t have waited much longer. I missed you so much.” He smiled. “Forgive me?”

  She’d been so worried, but she couldn’t lie to him. Never could. She smiled back. “Always.”

  They smiled for long moments into each other’s eyes. Then Everett cleared his throat. “Let me tell you about the position I’ve got in mind for you. A people manager. Someone who can relate to the worker, and fights for the little guy. Someone who complements both my Tarzan and my Kirk.” He kissed her hand. “The job title is Partner.”

  She clasped his hands like a lifeline. “What about fraternization between employees?”

  “I hope so.” He released her with one hand to snag a box out of his pants pocket. A ring box. “I love you, Edith Ellen Rowan. I hope you’ll say yes to a lifetime partnership, in business and at home.”

  “Oh, Everett, I love you too. Yes!”

  To: ED@mythicmail.com

  From: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  Subject: I love you

  Edie — I love you too :)

  — Everett

  About the Author

  I live in the Midwest with my beta-reader husband, two grandcats who demand equal lap time, a basement full of spare computer parts, and several musical instruments including a romantic cello and a flute for playing orchestral twittering birds. Visit me at www.maryhughesbooks.com, Facebook MaryHughesAuthor, or Twitter @MaryHughesBooks. I’d love to hear from you! Write me at mary@maryhughesbooks.com.

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  Inconvenient Desire by Alexia Adams

  The Marrying Kind

  Judith Anne McCarthy

  Avon, Massachusetts

  This edition published by

  Crimson Romance

  an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.

  10151 Carver Road, Suite 200

  Blue Ash, Ohio 45242

  www.crimsonromance.com

  Copyright © 2012 by Judith Anne McCarthy

  ISBN 10: 1-4405-6189-3

  ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6189-4

  eISBN 10: 1-4405-6190-7

  eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-6190-0

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

  Cover art © 123rf.com, bigstock.com

  To the best of fairy godmothers: Jean and Shirl.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  A Sneak Peek from Crimson Romance

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Patrice Hannon, Leslie France, and Patrizia Hill for cheerleading me on, reading a drafty version of the manuscript, and encouraging me to write this story and to have fun doing it. A singular thanks goes to Julie Sturgeon, the best of editors, for all of her toil kneading and punching the text into shape. Julie, thank you for the much-needed writing lesson! And, finally, I send a huge thank you to Jennifer Lawler, whose support, guidance, and enthusiasm are indispensable to the writers in her care.

  Chapter One

  When the tractor died for the fifth time in the two months that she’d been managing the farm solo, Jane O’Hara banged her head against the steering wheel. “Damn it. Not again!” She took off her dirty glove and wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist. She was a good quarter mile out to pasture from the barn, and she had wanted to hog brush the field to plant grass. The
pasture was packed down, and had been neglected and oversubscribed. If she didn’t intervene soon, it would be mush come spring. She loved the old 1968 John Deere, mostly for his looks, but he was a very bad mechanical boyfriend. “Why do men always disappoint?” It wasn’t so much a question as a musical strain that whisked through so fast and lightly, it was unable to tickle enough brain cells to rise to anything articulate, and therefore, no answer could suggest itself. Jane had had enough of relationships that always began with such promise, but then, unaccountably, crashed and burned.

  She was an Olympian when it came to suppressing disappointment about men — beginning with her father, whose unforgivable crime had been to die when she was ten. Ever since, she practiced her mental acrobatics daily, hourly if need be. So accustomed was she to the deft choreography required to double-twist past the pain of grief and fear and sadness, she no longer needed her conscious mind in attendance. The emotional tumbling passes and balance required to stick her landings occurred naturally and gracefully, without the liability of too much thinking.

  Jane sat on top of the tractor, pulling at the wheel, bouncing in the seat, willing it to start. When it failed again, she took off her baseball cap in a tantrum and flailed at the tractor’s narrow gauge panel, just as the Porsche barreled down the gravel driveway to the house. Mark Hannon, she observed with chagrin. “Good grief, could he see me whacking the tractor? Typical,” she thought, as she crushed her cap back onto her head.

  Jane’s pupils had dilated involuntarily when she had first met him in his parents’ — her employers — kitchen. She felt an instant yearning for that warmth that only men provide. And just as instantly, she reminded herself that she was “the help.”

  Still, he was such a specimen of male perfection. His hair was dark and wavy and in need of trimming. He had probably shaved at some point in the last three days, but when exactly was unclear. His eyes were a deep dark hazel, full of kindness and fun, and his jaw was firm and proud. He had a nose perfectly proportioned to his strong chiseled cheekbones and a determined mouth that seemed poised to laugh warmly, which it did readily and often as he chatted. He wore dungarees and a washed out cotton rugby shirt that showed an athlete’s sinewy strength and agility. Reluctantly, Jane relegated him to the same area of her brain that housed Keanu Reeves, the young Paul Newman, and Robert Redford — the unattainable, the forbidden, and the he’s-my-boss! Besides, she was in a man-vegan state, at the moment.