Baby I’m Yours

by Elks, Carrie

  Baby I’m Yours

  Carrie Elks

  Contents

  Join Me!

  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

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Also by Carrie Elks

  Acknowledgments

  BABY I’M YOURS by Carrie Elks

  Copyright © 2020 Carrie Elks

  All rights reserved

  020220

  Edited by Rose David

  Proofread by Proofreading by Mich

  Cover Designed by Najla Qamber Designs (www. najlaqamberdesigns.com)

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are fictitious products of the author’s imagination.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

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  Thanks for reading! Carrie xx

  1

  Harper Hayes was running late again.

  Okay, so it was only five minutes, and she was making it up to them by carrying in a whole cardboard tray full of barista-made coffees – the reason for her tardiness. But it was only her ninth week on the job, and her attempts to make the best impression were definitely falling short.

  The door to the workshop was closed. Harper frowned, trying to decide whether to risk sloshing the drinks as she pushed on the handle with her elbow, or to take the extra time to put the tray on the floor, open the door, pick it up again, and…

  The door flew open, the edge slamming into the tray she was still holding. She stumbled back as the cups flew everywhere, coffee spraying across the walls, the floor, and most particularly on Harper’s white embroidered dress.

  Almost immediately, she dropped to her knees, attempting to pick up the fallen cups and stop the coffee from pouring out of them. The floor was a puddle of brown liquid, and the whitewashed walls resembled some kind of collaboration between the artist Jackson Pollock and Starbucks.

  She didn’t want to look at herself, at the dress she’d made from a vintage fabric she’d discovered in a flea market in upstate New York, or at whoever had opened the door and was silently surveying the caffeine massacre she’d created.

  Whoever it was cleared their throat. Harper slowly lifted her head, her pink-tipped blonde hair falling wetly on her shoulders. She didn’t recognize the woman at all. In her stark black suit and pulled back hair she looked strangely out of place in the costume department.

  “Miss Hayes?”

  “Yes?” Harper half-frowned as she nodded at the woman.

  “You’re late. The meeting started twenty minutes ago.”

  Harper blinked. “What meeting?”

  “Didn’t you get the text? All members of the costume department to attend a meeting in the boardroom. Eight-thirty sharp,” the woman clucked. “You’re the only one who isn’t there.”

  Harper managed to pick up the last of the cups, and put it back on the tray. “I didn’t get a text.” Unless it came in the last twenty minutes, when she was in line at the coffee shop, smiling at a little kid who was drinking a baby chino in his stroller. She grimaced, pulling her phone from the tiny grey purse slung across her body. Sure enough there was a text from her head of department.

  “You should probably head over there now.”

  Harper nodded. “I will. Just as soon as I clean myself up.” She smiled at the woman who didn’t smile back. “And call the janitor.”

  The woman let out a sigh. “I’ll call the janitorial staff. Go straight to the boardroom before it’s too late.”

  “Too late?” Harper tipped her head to the side, trying to work the woman out. “For what?”

  But the woman had already turned and walked back into the department, slamming the door behind her and turning the lock. For a second Harper stared at it, as though by some miracle she’d developed x-ray vision and could see through to the design tables and shelves with reams of fabric of every description. Behind the workshop was the wardrobe itself, though it was a paltry description for something so huge. Rack upon rack of covered costumes, some dating back to the heydays of the 1920s and 1930s when Hollywood was all about glamor and glitz, with clothing to reflect it.

  Two months into working here and Harper was still star struck. Even walking through the security gate gave her a buzz, making her grin at the thought of how many famous actors had stepped on the same ground as her. On her first day she’d been taken on a tour and seen the sound stages, the outdoor sets, along with the huge office building housing the massive administrative staff who were the engine behind all the movie magic.

  Her co-worker had explained they were often called out while the cameras were rolling to deal with wardrobe malfunctions and repairs. It was their job to get to the set as quickly as possible to assist the team already there, with the right tools, colored threads, and accessories needed. And though the movie she was assigned to was still in pre-production, she couldn’t wait to see the designs they’d been working on brought to life.

  The excitement and adrenaline were everything she’d been looking for when she had made the move from New York, where she’d been working in the costume department on Broadway. Along with her side hustle of selling one-off, handmade clothes on Etsy, this job ticked off every requirement in her creative box.

  “What the heck happened to the floor?”

  Harper turned to her left to see three of her co-workers walking up the hall. Damon, Marcia, and Bree had been working here for years, but had welcomed her into the department with open arms.

  But right now they looked anything but welcoming. Damon’s expression was the kind of dark clouds you never saw in the California sky, and Marcia looked as though she was about to cry.

  “Is the meeting over?” Harper asked, biting her lip. She was going to have to kiss some major ass over this. “I was about to join you but…” she trailed off, inclining her head at the pool of coffee at her feet.

  “Yeah it’s over.” Damon’s voice sounded as dark as his expression. “And we’re over too. Kaput. Fired.”

  Marcia gave a little sob.

  Harper blinked. “You are? Why?” She’d only been here for a short time, but that was enough to see how skillful they all were.

  “No, you don’t understand,” Bree said. She was the oldest of them, having worked in different studios across Hollywood for the past thirty years. “We’re fired. All of us. They’re closing the department.”

&nbs
p; Harper froze like a statue. The sound of her pulse rushed through her ears. Two months and two days. That’s how long she’d been here. Two months, two days, and a whole load of debt from moving to L.A. just to work here.

  “We have ten minutes to pack our things and leave.” Bree checked her watch. “Make that nine.” She pushed at the door to their department, grimacing when it didn’t budge. “They’ve locked us out, those rat bastards.”

  “Bree!” Marcia said, tears still pouring down her face. “You don’t swear.”

  “I don’t get fired either,” she muttered, rapping on the door. “And somebody had better let me in. My sewing box is in there. I’m not leaving without it.”

  It was as though Harper was in a see-through plastic box, the sound of their conversation muffled by the thoughts whirling around her head. She was fired. The thought of it made her feel sick. Along with the thought of her cramped Melrose apartment that took up more than half her wages, and the small red Toyota she’d just taken a loan out for.

  And as she looked down at the coffee on the grey tiled floors, which was also covering the front of her pretty dress, she found her eyes stinging with tears.

  What the hell was she going to do now?

  * * *

  “What do you mean you’re fired?” her best friend Caitie asked through the phone. “I don’t understand. You only just started working there. Oh honey, I wish I was there to give you a big hug.”

  After collecting their things from the workshop, Harper’s colleagues had decided to head straight to a bar, unruffled by the fact it was nine in the morning, and the only bars open were the ones that hadn’t yet closed from the previous night. They’d invited Harper, too, which she’d thought was very kind of them, but she’d declined. As welcoming as they’d been, she wasn’t even part of the team yet. Getting drunk and commiserating with them felt distinctly uncomfortable.

  Instead she’d driven straight home to her second floor apartment and taken a shower to wash the coffee from her pink-tipped blonde hair. Then she’d put her dress into a mixture of warm water and baking soda to soak it, though from the way the coffee stains had set to the fabric she knew it wasn’t going to work.

  And now? Now she was on the phone with her best friend, the only one who would know exactly how she felt. Harper and Caitie had been friends since their first week of college in New England, having been assigned as roommates as freshmen. From the moment they’d met, they’d hit it off. Where Caitie was serious and ambitious, Harper was full of fun and mischief, though both of them had excelled in their studies. They were the ying to each other’s yang – no wonder they’d stayed roommates when they arrived in New York to begin their working lives, then made the cross-country move to California together. But while Harper was in L.A., Caitie had moved to her small hometown of Angel Sands where her boyfriend lived.

  It wasn’t an exaggeration to say Harper missed her best friend like crazy.

  “The studio has gone bust. They’re under new administration,” Harper explained, repeating the details Bree had told her. “They’re still trying to keep it going, but they’re outsourcing everything they can, including the costume department.”

  “But you’ll get severance pay, right?” Caitie said.

  “No.” Harper sighed. “I’m not entitled to anything under my contract. And California is an at-will state, so I’m completely out of luck.” She was trying to keep the panic out of her voice, but it was a close-run thing. All she’d been able to think about since she’d arrived back in her apartment was that she didn’t even have enough money for next month’s rent.

  She bit her lip in an attempt not to cry. It had seemed like such a good idea to move to California. While she’d loved working on Broadway, the thought of being employed in a huge department in Hollywood sounded amazing. When Caitie had been offered a contract in California, and fallen in love with a guy from her hometown, it all seemed to gel.

  And now here she was, with nothing. It scared her to death.

  “You’ll get another job,” Caitie said, as though she could read Harper’s mind. “You’re so good at what you do. Any studio would be delighted to have you. And in the meantime you could do more Etsy work, or take on freelance somewhere. I bet there are lots of places recruiting in LA.”

  “You’re right.” Harper nodded, even though Caitie couldn’t see her. “It’ll be okay. It always is.”

  “I hate to hear you so down. It’s not like you at all. I wish I was there right now.” Caitie took a deep breath. “I could drive up this weekend if you like? We can buy a few bottles of wine and drown your sorrows.” She sighed. “Oh damn, I can’t. There’s the opening party for the hotel on Saturday.” Her voice rose up. “Okay! I’ve got it. You can drive down here and come to the party. It’s going to be amazing, and it’ll take your mind off everything in L.A. And I’ll get to give you all the hugs I want to. It’s perfect.”

  “I don’t know.” Harper pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “Maybe I should stay here. I’ve got a job to find.” Though the thought of driving down the Pacific Coast to Angel Sands was enticing. Since the first time she’d visited the small beach town with Caitie, it had cast its spell on her. She’d felt a little envious of her friend growing up in such a close-knit community.

  “We can look at things together,” Caitie said, sounding sure of herself. “Make some plans; I’m the queen of lists, remember?”

  “I do.” Harper bit down a smile, thinking of the pages of lists Caitie had created before their move to California.

  Thank goodness for best friends. The anxiety that had been tugging at Harper was lifting. She’d never been one to dwell on things for too long, and she didn’t worry about things unnecessarily. Life had taught her that when things went wrong she somehow survived.

  And this blip would be no different. She’d get through it the way she always did, and if she could come out smiling, that would be all the better.

  She’d drive down to Angel Sands and feel the sand between her toes, the surf wash over her feet, and let the warmth of the sun chase all the gloom away.

  And until then, there was always that bottle of wine in the refrigerator to keep her going.

  2

  Dr. James Tanner pulled his green scrubs off and threw them into the basket beside the lockers. His muscles felt taut and achy after six hours of surgery. Today was a thirteen-year-old girl with scoliosis who required a spinal fusion to straighten her curved spine.

  It was a long and intricate surgery involving continual monitoring from the neuro team to make sure he didn’t impair any nerves running down the spine, as well as the rest of the orthopedic team, and an anesthesiologist who ensured the general anesthetic the patient had received didn’t run out before he’d finished operating.

  Now that it was over and the patient was in recovery, he could feel every inch of his body complaining. It didn’t matter how often he lifted weights or ran to keep himself in peak condition, leaning over a surgical gurney for hours with only the smallest of intricate movements always kicked the hell out of him.

  He grabbed his towel from the locker and headed to the shower, slinging it around his neck as he reached in to turn the heat all the way up. By the time he stepped inside it was steamy, the hot water stung his body, and he closed his eyes as he embraced the pain. He rolled his neck, his shoulders, moved his fingers to ease out the stiffness, before he scrubbed his skin clean of any bacteria he might have picked up.

  When he emerged from the misty cubicle, the pain was beginning to subside. He almost missed it. The pain was preferable to the thoughts and memories he’d rather not have.

  The grief that never seemed to disappear, no matter how long it had been.

  “Hey, man, how did it go?”

  James looked up to see Rich Martin walk in. They’d been at medical school together and then become residents together at the Saint Vincent Memorial Hospital. While James specialized in spinal surgery, Rich was an attending physician in
the ER.

  “It was good.” James grabbed his street clothes from the locker and dried himself with the towel, catching the rivulets of water cooling on his skin. “No problems with the surgery and she woke up nicely. I’ll check on her before I leave.” He nodded at his friend. “How was your shift?”

  “Crap. We lost a patient.” Rich pulled open his own locker, the door clanging as he did. “Seventy-two-year old man. Heart attack. Crashed twice.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. “Should have been able to save him.”

  James pulled his shirt over his short, dark hair. “Sorry, man.” He knew how that felt. The hope, the desperation and then the darkness. Every death felt like a personal injury, something you carried with you no matter how much you tried to rationalize it.

  Not that it was anything compared to the pain waiting for him at home. The empty room, the empty beds, the plain dark hollowness that always greeted him. Maybe that was why he spent so much time at the hospital. It was preferable to anything else.

  “I’m going to shower it off.” Rich inclined his head at the bathroom. “You heading to the party on Saturday night?”

  “Party?” James frowned. “What party?”

  Rich let out a deep laugh. “The party of the year. The big opening of the Silver Sands Resort. We all got an invite, remember?”