It Adds Up for Mary [Hardwick Bay 4] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)
Page 1
Hardwick Bay 4
It Adds Up for Mary
When accountant Mary Winsor winds up in the hospital with a bleeding ulcer, she decides to audit her life. Not pleased with the outcome, she sets off to Hardwick Bay to repair relations with her sister Karen and find a new start.
Derek and Logan Murray aren’t sorry when Mary arrives just in time to help out her sister. Mary’s intelligence and determination, in addition to her curvy body, just make them want to share her all the more. Mary tries to convince them she’s not up for a relationship, but they can see right though that little lie.
Mary didn't plan on the growing web of deceit she must weave to break free of her controlling parents and her stifling job. How will she balance the books when there’s a stalker who wants her gone from Hardwick Bay and she has an accident that may leave her blind?
Genre: Contemporary, Ménage a Trois/Quatre
Length: 64,611 words
IT ADDS UP FOR MARY
Hardwick Bay 4
Morgan Henry
MENAGE AMOUR
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
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A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK
IMPRINT: Ménage Amour
IT ADDS UP FOR MARY
Copyright © 2016 by Morgan Henry
E-book ISBN: 978-1-68295-079-1
First E-book Publication: February 2016
Cover design by Harris Channing
All art and logo copyright © 2016 by Siren Publishing, Inc.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
PUBLISHER
Siren Publishing, Inc.
www.SirenPublishing.com
Letter to Readers
Dear Readers,
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Regarding E-book Piracy
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DEDICATION
For Dave,
You’re a great brother.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
About the Author
IT ADDS UP FOR MARY
Hardwick Bay 4
MORGAN HENRY
Copyright © 2016
Chapter 1
“Ms. Winsor, you look like you’re feeling, ah, under the weather,” Mary’s personal assistant observed circumspectly as she handed Mary the requested file. Cynthia did not sit in either of the two chairs that flanked the black chrome-and-glass desk.
“I’m not feeling that great. I might head home early.” Mary was feeling nauseous, tired, and she had a dull persistent pain in her belly. “I don’t have any meetings this afternoon, do I?”
Mary normally knew her schedule as well, or better, than her PA. But right now, she could barely remember her own name her head was throbbing so badly. She carefully placed one hand on the top of her desk to give her enough support to keep her posture perfect.
“No. Heading home early sounds like a good plan. Things are slowing down. You could take a day off if you needed it.” The hesitancy in Cynthia’s voice betrayed her reluctance to suggest rest to her workaholic boss.
And yet, she was right. Tax season was over, so Mary’s workload was easing. A bit.
Mary was an accountant with a large and prestigious law firm in Toronto, Ontario. She dealt with the books for the firm and, more and more, provided forensic accounting for cases. She supervised a staff of six and reported to the partners of the firm. At only thirty-three, she was young for the job and had worked hard for the position. Taking sick days was not part of her routine.
Cynthia left the office, and Mary slumped in her black, ergonomic office chair.
Mary never slumped.
But she was feeling worse and worse. Actually, she hadn’t been feeling great for a few days. She had chalked it up to the stress of the past few months. Tax season was always, well, taxing. She had long days, less exercise, more unhealthy food, and headaches. Her consumption of ibuprofen went up considerably during April and May.
She reached into her desk drawer and downed another two ibuprofen in an effort to beat her current headache into submission.
Mary tried to look over the file in front of her but wound up hurrying to the executive washroom with a bout of severe nausea. Locking her jaw as she leaned over the vanity, she didn’t vomit, but when she looked in the mirror, her face was pale and shiny with sweat.
I do look awful.
She decided to head home when another wave of nausea grabbed her by the throat and hauled her to the toilet. She staggered into the nearest stall and collapsed to her knees. This time she did heave, and it was bloody. Big red clots of blood
. Not good, she thought, flutters of panic starting to mix in with the nausea.
Mary huddled on the bathroom floor for a few minutes, breathing in the stale fumes of toilet cleaner and thankful no one came in to find her in this undignified position.
God, what a picture she must be. Promising executive huddled on the tile, one hand gripping the black toilet seat and her gray pencil skirt hiked up her thighs.
Pulling herself together, she let her PA know she was leaving for the day and headed to the emergency room. Within a few hours, she was admitted to the hospital, on IV fluids, and scheduled for an emergency endoscopy.
After her procedures were done and she was admitted for the night, the internist came to speak to Mary.
“I’m afraid you have a nasty ulcer in your stomach,” Dr. Amy Morris informed Mary. “We used cautery to stop the bleeding for now, but we need to do more to help you heal.”
Dr. Morris was sitting beside Mary’s bed in her hospital room.
By the time Mary had staggered into the emergency room, she was in a bad way. She had lost a lot of blood from the ulcer and was hovering on the brink of needing a transfusion. Fortunately, they were able to get the bleeding stopped as Dr. Morris described.
“So, we are culturing you for a bacteria called Helicobacter, which is a common cause of ulcers, but I understand you’ve been taking a lot of ibuprofen?”
“Yes,” Mary admitted sheepishly. She felt guilty for taking it. Good professionals just handled the pressure of their jobs and didn’t get headaches or have to take medication. Or so her parents had always maintained. Right.
“So, what’s going on that you’re taking it?” Dr. Morris, who looked as though she was about the same age as Mary, didn’t sound judgmental or confrontational. She sat quietly in the chair beside Mary’s bed, relaxed, her clipboard angled forgotten across her knees.
Mary sat straight in her bed and smoothed the blanket so that there were no wrinkles to mar the blue surface. She didn’t look Dr. Morris in the eye.
“I get headaches quite a bit.”
“That’s hard to live with without doing something about them. Any idea what might be causing them?”
“It’s tax time. I’m an accountant, and the stress at work climbs this time of year. But it’s more or less over, so I won’t be taking as much.” Mary tried to sound nonchalant but knew she was doing a crappy job at it. She keenly felt the shame of not being tough enough to handle her job without headaches.
“Stress can certainly cause a lot of trouble for our bodies. I can help you and your body heal the ulcer, but I think we need to find healthier ways to help you with your stress levels. I know your family doctor. She’ll want to help you out, too.” Dr. Morris leaned toward Mary. “I can tell you take your job seriously. You’re not going to like this, but you need to take a few weeks off, starting now. And no more ibuprofen.”
Mary gagged a little as a fresh wave of anxiety-induced nausea burned its way up her esophagus. She heard the accelerated beeping as her heart monitor told on her. Not that she would have argued. She didn’t like conflict. She liked things to add up nice and neat with no argument.
“Yeah, I didn’t think that would sit too well with you,” Dr. Morris observed drily. Mary could hear the gentle sympathy in her voice. “Please, Mary, give yourself a break. Right now, you’re where you need to be. Here at the hospital getting the care that’s essential. If you hadn’t come here, you could have died.”
Mary didn’t answer. What could she say? She knew Dr. Morris was right.
The kind doctor gave her some more information on the medications she was on and the follow-up care for the next couple of days. Mary barely heard her.
She was so tired, and there were so many things to think about.
She would have to call the office and let them know she would be working from home for a week or so. She had called Bob, her fiancé, and let him know she was at Mount Sinai, one of the largest hospitals in Toronto. He had said he would try to see her tomorrow but that he was tied up for the day and evening with work. She thought he should come and be with her, but she didn’t argue.
She hadn’t called her parents.
They would be so disappointed. Her mother was a successful lawyer and her father a tenured professor at the University of Toronto. They expected her to be the perfect professional, able to excel at her career without wallowing in health issues. They would demand answers, and if those answers weren’t satisfactory, there would be more conflict.
Just thinking about confessing her inadequacies to her mother had her heart monitor yapping again.
A nurse slipped into Mary’s room and silenced the monitor. “What’s got your heart racing, hon?” the stout, gray-haired woman asked, resting her hand on the bedrail.
Mary’s jaw clenched, and she forced herself to release it. “Just thinking.”
“Probably about all the stuff you have to do.” At Mary’s nod, the woman continued. “Sometimes it’s hard for us to realize that most of it doesn’t matter. What matters right now is that you work on getting better. And that means getting some sleep. Dr. Morris has authorized a gentle sleep aid for you. What do you think about taking it?”
Mary nodded. She was unable to verbalize her thanks for the kind words. She was too emotional, too tired, and too lonely.
She took the pill that was offered and let it take her into oblivion.
* * * *
Mary was discharged from the hospital the next day.
She put on the clothes she had been wearing from the office and took a cab to her condo.
When she entered, Sammy was immediately at the door to greet her, winding himself around her ankles and making chirping cat noises. Mary always wondered how the orange tabby managed to get his head at the weird angle to rub his cheek against her without damaging something.
“Hey, fuzzball, I’m sorry I didn’t get home.” Mary had her neighbor pop in to feed her cat, but she knew how much he liked company.
She kicked off her heels and headed to the kitchen to give him some canned food. She loved how his tail went straight up with the little hook on the end and quivered with anticipation.
Leaving her buddy to devour the moist mess that he loved so much she stripped off her business suit. She hung it up, though she wanted it cleaned before she wore it again. It was as if she could smell the nausea on it.
She wrapped her light robe loosely around herself and headed to the bathroom. It was good to be back in her own space with its familiar smells and soothing neutral colours. The bathroom was white with the odd touch of navy.
She stepped into the shower. She felt grimy from the nausea-induced sweating and the stay in the hospital. The hot water felt fabulous as it sluiced away the antiseptic smell. It was easy to forget how wonderful getting clean could be.
Dressing in a pair of black tights and a loose cream shirt, she settled on the couch. Sammy hopped up on her lap and immediately settled in, purring and rubbing his cheek on her chin.
“I missed you, too,” she murmured to him. Somehow that rattling purr settled her soul.
She was so tired.
It was the middle of the day, and she felt exhausted. Dr. Morris said it would be like this. She was anemic and would tire easily. It just felt so wrong.
Mary was the kind of person who got things done. She worked out, ran errands, spent long hours at the office, and never shirked her duties. She made sure all her obligations were fulfilled and everyone was satisfied.
Yet, she fell asleep on the couch for two hours.
Waking, she realized she was hungry. There wasn’t much in the fridge, but she managed to make some eggs and toast. They were bland enough that her stomach wouldn’t rebel but had enough protein to stave off her appetite for a while.
She sat at the dining table eating and looked over the condo.
It was as though she was seeing it with a stranger’s eyes.
It was clean and tidy, as usual. The open area, which was the dinin
g and living rooms, was done in grays and chrome with white accents. Dark gray couch, light gray area rug, charcoal chairs, glass-and-chrome coffee table, and pale gray walls. An abstract painting hung on one wall, the TV on another, and there were oversized windows and sliding doors to the balcony.
Mary liked the calmness of the decor. She had chosen it, after all, but it could have been photographed to help sell the condos. There was almost nothing personal around. It said, “insert your life here.” Nothing anyone could find to be “different” or, God forbid, “objectionable.”
There was one photo of her family. It was at Mary’s graduation from university. She was wearing her gown, and her dad wore a suit, her mom a black skirt and ivory blouse, and her younger sister, Karen, an orange sundress and bright pink strappy heels.
Karen glowed in that photo. Mary remembered how proud Karen was that Mary had graduated. Karen the rebel, who had dropped out of university to go to community college. Karen the colourful, who didn’t fit into the rest of the family.
She wished she had been just a little more like Karen.
Sammy leapt into her view, chasing the beams of sunlight streaming through the windows. He was a vivid streak of orange in her gray condo. A spark of life in the otherwise conservative dullness.
It suddenly occurred to Mary that she loved her condo because it was hers, her place of refuge from the rest of the world, but she hadn’t put enough of her personality into it. Sammy had more stuff that reflected him around than Mary did. He had no qualms about leaving his brightly coloured toys strewn over the floor and couch.
What the hell was she doing with her life?