What the Heart Needs

by Jessica Gadziala

  It felt like she was on a rollercoaster and had just went over the edge and felt the drop. Like her stomach jumped and all the air was gone. His eyes looked right into hers. After a second, they changed. Softened somehow. And deepened.

  She felt herself looking back, her mouth parting with the palpable tension. His eyes lowered to her mouth, then came back up to settle on her eyes. They had gotten smaller, heavy-lidded and intense. She felt completely naked under his gaze.

  It felt like ages to her but it was probably only ten seconds.

  It happened at almost the same time. She looked up, and his head lowered slightly. It was almost unperceivable but she felt herself turn her face up toward him and he bent down.

  She felt the tension deep in her core, her heartbeat didn’t race, it felt like it had completely gone away. Along with her breath.

  And then…

  The shrill sound of his cell phone had them breaking apart like guilty teenagers.

  Elliott scrambled for his phone.

  “Thanks,” Hannah said, her breath barely a whisper.

  Elliott grunted. “See you tomorrow,” he said, going to his office and slamming the door.

  What the hell just happened? Hannah shook her head and looked at her screen. Her breath had come back and her pulse was pounding perceptively in her throat and wrists. Her work was just as she had left it.

  She wasn’t even attracted to him. If told to choose between them, she’d choose James every time.

  She was just tired. Exhausted. And delusional from not eating. All she had eaten that day was a small snack bag of almonds Tad had thrown at her when she had snapped at him a little over something on the schedule.

  It was just the product of an over worked mind and a worn out body. There was absolutely no way she was, even in the least bit, attracted to him.

  --

  What the hell was he doing? Elliott paced his office, ignoring the blinking message light on his cell phone. It was from Dan and he couldn’t bring himself to deal with her nonsense right then. He had bigger issues to deal with.

  Like what the hell just happened with his assistant. He had heard her tapping furiously on her keyboard and mumbling angrily. He had gotten up and walked in to her looking positively overwhelmed, angry, and upset all at once. Normally, he would have walked away. It was her job to figure all this stuff out. But there was something to the defeated slump to her shoulders but the fact that she was still not giving up, that made him offer his help.

  He shouldn’t have gotten so close to her. It was unprofessional. He would never have leaned over a male employee’s shoulder like that. He could feel her arm against his side and knew her ponytail was brushing his back. She smelled soft and sweet, almost like baby powder, though he knew it was some sort of perfume. And there was still the smell of coffee clinging to her skin.

  And then he had looked at her. And felt like someone had punched him in the stomach. She was so much closer than he had realized. Her face was less than a foot from his. Her big, round grey eyes looked both innocent and full of longing.

  Then she had parted her lips and tilted her head up, closer to him. He had felt a rush of desire like he hadn’t experience in longer than he could remember. All he could think about was leaning toward her, taking her lips to his and teasing, nipping, taking it deeper and deeper until she moaned and writhed and begged for more.

  Then the phone rang and he felt like someone had just dumped him into a bucket of ice water.

  The fact that it was Dan that called was just ironic.

  He needed to control himself better. She was obviously drained and vulnerable. And she was probably projecting her attraction to James onto him.

  It hadn’t escaped his notice how she looked over at him under her lashes and responded to his wit and laughed at his jokes.

  She wanted James, not him.

  He grabbed his briefcase and slammed his office door with utter frustration. He left before Hannah even finished typing her letter.

  It was the first time ever in twelve years that he wasn’t the last to leave the office.

  --

  Hannah heard the elevator doors chime and looked up as if she could see through the wall. From what she understood, EM never left the office until everyone else was gone.

  She felt dread well up in her chest until she felt like her breath could barely squeeze out. Maybe he was mad at her. What must he think of her? That she was just another of those money hungry, easy girls that had come before her?

  The thought rested heavy on her. She had never been that kind of girl. No one would even have thought it of her before. She was seventeen when she and her boyfriend Sam went all the way. They had been dating for years. And they had only done it the once. She just never felt emotionally ready to repeat the experience. She also wasn’t so keen on dealing with that kind of pain again either.

  Sure, she had done a fair share of dating after they had broken up and she moved away. But she could never find someone she wanted to spend a meal with, let alone her body.

  It was always a sore spot with her. Whenever her best friend Emily from Star’s Landing called, Emily often had a story to tell about some guy she was dating and how things had gone down in bed. And she never had anything to say to contribute to the conversation.

  Maybe it was a good thing that she didn’t come off as a “goody goody”, but she certainly didn’t want to be thought of a slut either.

  Especially not by her own boss.

  Hopefully he had rushed out of the office, not because he was angry, but because he was as put off by the whole experience as she was. He had never even really glanced at her, let alone implied that he was sexually attracted to her.

  Oh, god. And he was married! She had practically become the other woman. Granted, they were about to go through with a divorce but that was a shaky line to try to walk and she couldn’t have lived with herself if she had become the cautionary tale her mother had always told her about.

  Hannah stabbed the off button on her monitor forcibly. Men were disgusting. He looked at her like he was about to ravish her and he had a wife at home. That was probably who was calling him for chrissakes. She scoffed and grabbed her purse and James’ clothes to drop at the cleaners in the morning.

  The office was strange at night, all abandoned. She almost wished she could see Tad sitting there with his goofy smile that would lift her sour mood. Though this was definitely not something she was going to share with him. He would take it the wrong way. Especially after she admitted to being attracted to James.

  He probably wouldn’t say so, but he would definitely judge her for it. As much as he joked with her about the yum-factor of both the Michaels brothers, she very much doubted he would think of her the same way if she admitted to thinking one of them was hot and then go and almost make out with the other one.

  Hannah went home, fed Ricky, and ate an entire container of vanilla ice cream. Somehow, by some cruel twist of fate, when she felt insecure… she ate. Non-stop. Until her jeans felt tight and she snapped herself out of it.

  She went to bed early and somehow managed to sleep peacefully.

  Five

  The next day passed with painful professionalism. If she thought their previous interactions were chilly, after their moment in her office, it was downright glacial. Hannah felt on edge around him, conscious of exactly how close her body was to his at any given time. Her arm brushed his when he reached for his coffee as she grabbed the faxes. Her hip tapped his when he opened the door and she walked through.

  Then the weeks stretched on, and as Tad had informed her when she had called one night crying that she couldn’t take it anymore- that she had to quit… she fell into the swing of things.

  The food in her refrigerator spoiled with how little she was home to eat anything out of it. Her answering machine filled with calls from back home, some worried about her not taking enough time for herself, some angry that t
heir calls never got answered anymore. Her hours grew longer and longer, so full that she barely even had time to think about a life outside of the walls of EM Corporation. But it never occurred to her to worry about that. Or to be angry or resentful.

  She had a purpose again after so long of having nothing to do with her time, and she was more than grateful for that. Her bank account started filling up, due to so little time to go out and spend any of it. She never did turn her television back on.

  The longer she was around, the more EM expected her to do. She proved that she could handle everything he put on her desk and even went above and beyond what was demanded of her.

  She shuffled through his door, a cup of coffee in each hand. She handed it to the real estate magnate George Baker who was advising EM on some sort of purchase. He was a heavy-set middle aged man from Texas with an infectious smile and jolly personality. “Cream, no sugar,” she said, handing him his cup before giving EM his.

  Later that day while she filed some paperwork in his office, Elliott stopped what he was doing and asked, “How did you know?”

  Hannah jumped. She hadn’t heard his voice address her in three days. When she had gotten to the office, she had found a list on her desk of what was to do be done for the week.

  “Know what,” she asked, looking over her shoulder at him.

  “How he took his coffee,” Elliott said, swiveling his chair to fully face her.

  Hannah glanced at him and graced him with a rare smile. She didn’t smile much, he noticed. Like him. “That’s a secretary trade secret.”

  “Tell me,” he demanded, surprising himself. It was nice to hear her voice. He had overheard her on the phone or talking to Tad or the other ladies, but she hadn’t spoken to him in at least five days.

  “I called his secretary,” she conceded.

  Elliott nodded, wanting to say more, wanting to make conversation. The concept was alien to him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like conversation, but in his personal experience, the women he dated generally carried the conversation for him. But Hannah remained close-lipped. If he didn’t know any better, he would think her insipid, but he knew she had a good mind.

  “How are you settling in here,” he asked, feeling idiotic.

  Hannah tilted her head to the side. He was being so… human. She had been entertaining the thought that he was a robot, some weird kind of science project a bunch of genius grad students had designed that had no real need for conversation, or feelings, or basic human needs.

  “It has been an adjustment,” she answered cryptically.

  She hated how he stared at her, like he was seeing parts she didn’t often share with people. Like in forth grade when she cried in the middle of class when she couldn’t find her homework, or when she slapped Sam when they were thirteen and he stuck his tongue in her mouth, or how she wore high heels on a first date and tripped going into the coffee shop, or that time when she froze at karaoke when she thought she had finally gotten the courage to get in front of the microphone.

  Elliott ran a hand over his face, the roughness reminding him that he had forgotten to shave. Again. “If I have been too hard…”

  Hannah held up her hands, palms out toward him, “Mr. Michaels,” Hannah shook her head. “that is not the case. It’s a good challenge.”

  Her formality bothered him. He knew he had no right to think that. He demanded respect and obedience from his employees so it was only natural for them to address him by his last name. And, of course, the disastrous night in her office and the awkwardness that followed it didn’t help. But here he was, trying to engage her and she was putting a wall up.

  Hannah wondered why he sighed that way, the way she did when her car needed a jump when she was already running late. A sigh that sounded so defeated.

  She looked at him then- really looked at him, something she wasn’t certain she had ever really done before. He looked tired, the dark circles under his eyes suggested many nights without enough sleep. His face was scruffy again, like something had kept him too distracted to remember to shave. He looked slightly out of place, all unkempt and exhausted in a two-thousand dollar suit. Like a mechanic at a funeral.

  It was like looking at your mother when you are teenager and seeing the wrinkles and frown lines, the white hairs, and the age spots when all your life you had always seen her as flawless.

  She wondered about him then. About his life outside of the walls of EM. What he was like at home. What did he do with his time? Did he watch people make fools of themselves on national television? Did he watch shows about history, or politics? Did he get mad at the news? Did he like to read? Listen to music?

  Hannah couldn’t imagine someone who didn’t listen to music, who didn’t love it and feel like it made even the most devastating life a little better. The first thing she had bought for her office was a stereo system that was always on when she worked after hours.

  He looked like a classics fan; instrumental, maybe jazz, or a hint of the blues. Or maybe even Old Blue Eyes. After all, who didn’t like Sinatra? She wondered about his musical guilty pleasure. Did he listen to country tunes about getting drunk and pick-up trucks? Did he nod his head to rap lyrics about female body parts and all the things you could do with them?

  She was smiling at that, almost laughing.

  “What are you thinking about,” he asked, unable to help himself. She looked so amused.

  Hannah’s head jerked. Caught. “Music,” she admitted. He didn’t need to know the whole truth.

  Elliott’s eyebrows drew together and his lips twitched like he was about to smile. “Music,” Elliott mused. “interesting change in topics.”

  “Well,” she said, moving away from the awkwardness of the situation and toward the door. “someone’s got to keep you on your toes. I, ah, have to get back to work.”

  She was gone quickly, leaving Elliott to wonder. Music? How had she made the leap from office talk to music? And why was music so amusing?

  He knew it was something she was passionate about. As soon as five o’clock rolled around and the phones stopped ringing, he heard her stereo turn on. It was low enough that he could hear the sound, but not make out the lyrics. She seemed to have a love of singer-songwriters with their poetic lyrics and acoustic guitars.

  Sighing, he hit the intercom button on his phone into her office. He heard a crash and a string of cursing. He must have surprised her. It never occurred to him to use it before.

  Hannah came through the door, a haphazard stack of papers in her hand, looking almost murderous. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair was starting to escape from its ponytail. Why did she always wear her hair up?

  She made no attempt to speak, simply raised an eyebrow as if to say ‘what do you want from me now’.

  “I have an event I need you to plan.”

  “An event,” Hannah repeated, somewhat excited at the prospect but knowing she was overwhelmed already with work.

  “Yes. I am having a black tie gathering at my house in just over a week. I will provide you a guest list and you will need to get invitations made up and sent out by tomorrow. There will need to be a caterer set up and some sort of music. I’ll trust you with all of the details.”

  “Thank you,” she said, feeling truly flattered that he didn’t feel the need to look over her shoulder or walk her through it even though she had exactly no experience in party planning.

  “I expect you to be there to make sure everything goes smoothly,” he added, surprising himself. What had gotten into him? He never invited office staff to his events. Once all the aspects were in play, everything would go according to plan. He didn’t need her there to oversee everything. He just wanted her there. It was a strange realization for him.

  “Of course,” Hannah responded.

  “The guest list will be in your email,” Elliott said, typing on his computer, presumably to send said list. “That is all.”

  Hannah let herself back into her
office, checked her email and sent the list to the printer. She paced her office anxiously. Finding a good caterer was going to require more work than most people would realize. She would have to have interviews, and test food, and work out the perfect menu- all without any input from EM on what his preferences would be.

  The music was something she was excited about. She already knew that she would forego the DJ and would look into live bands for the event. It was more classy and would cater to a more high-class crowd. Maybe she would pursue her belief that EM would like jazz or blues music. It would be fitting for a black tie event.

  Her mind reeled that entire afternoon. Every task she tried to complete, she kept getting distracted by party plans. She had a dozen post-it notes stuck to her computer.

  The next morning, she left the office when she knew EM would be in a meeting for a few hours. The printing store was only a few miles away from the place she was supposed to pick up EM’s lunch. The door chimed charmingly when she entered and a matronly lady in a bright pink dress and a matching flower in her hair rushed in from the back room to greet her.

  She spent over and hour looking at templates, trying to make an educated choice between cream and antique-style paper even though she really couldn’t tell the difference. In the end she went with the cream and was then forced to look through three binders of fonts before she found one that didn’t scream “wedding” and then gave the lady her list of names and addressed, paid, and rushed to get lunch back on time.

  Getting back to the office, she felt a burden off of her chest. The invitations had kept her up all night. If they didn’t get in the mail by the next day, there wouldn’t be enough time for them to get to their destinations and for people to rearrange their schedules and RSVP.

  Now all she had to do was find a caterer and a band that would be perfect and, somehow, be available with a week’s notice.

  Who did that? Who made the decision to have a party so willy-nilly like that? Didn’t he realize that these things had to be done? And that most amazing caterers were booked weeks, if not months, in advance? And the fact that most people, especially wealthy people, have busy schedules.