She wished he wasn’t her boss. A little voice even suggested she quit just so she could enjoy him without having to worry about the consequences. If there was ever a man she wanted to spent a night staying up and doing nasty things with, it was none other than the impressive Elliott Michaels. He was the perfect lover, giving but also very demanding.
Apparently all those things she had read about female orgasms and how long they take and whatnot- was not entirely true. She just needed someone who knew how to work her body. She was sure that if she spent a full night with Elliott, he would make her orgasm enough times to make those sex scientists tear up their papers.
Hannah climbed out of the shower, wrapping herself tightly in a towel and carefully drying her hair just enough so that it didn’t drip all over her. She walked out to the kicthen, grabbing the tea kettle and putting it on the stove before rummaging around in the refridgerator for something to eat. Suddenly she was ravenous. She forgot she even had a appetite lately.
She sat down and plowed through two yogurts and a bowl of sugary cereal. It was pretty much all she had left in the house to eat that was any good.
Hannah sat down with her tea, cradling it between her hands and considering her situation. She didn’t want to stop sleeping with Elliott. But she also knew it was bound to blow up in her face if she didn’t put a stop to it. She wondered if maybe she and Elliott sat down and talked about it if she would feel better.
He had to value her as an employee. And he obviously wanted to keep having sex with her too.
Maybe they could be two rational adults about it.
Hannah felt satisfied at that idea, though she knew she would lack the courage to ever bring the subject up to him. She glanced up to the counter, expecting to see Ricky running around his cage.
But something was wrong.
She didn’t see Ricky at all.
She got up quickly, turning the light up, walking up to his cage and looking in. He wasn’t there.
But there was something in his place.
A picture. Hannah picked it up and felt everything she just ate rise up in her throat. It was a picture of her sleeping naked on top of Elliott in the office.
Someone had gotten into her apartment and actually taken her guinea pig. What kind of lunatic did something like that? Hannah turned the picture over and sprawled across the back in angry red lipstick was one word: whore.
Hannah dropped the picture, rushing to the bathroom and barely making it before she started throwing up.
She sat there on the cold floor after, tears drying on her cheeks, feeling hot and cold at the same time.
What the hell was she going to do?
Why the hell would someone take her pet? What kind of message was that supposed to be? Leaving the picture was one thing. It went along with all the notes and emails and all that nonsense. But to take Ricky?
Hannah felt a pain in her chest. She knew it was stupid, but she really loved that guinea pig. He wasn’t much to come home to, but he was something. He had been a constant for almost four years. And she could have accepted if he had somehow died of sickness or old age, but to know someone just… took him? That hurt more than she thought it could.
She had to do something. She had to put and end to this somehow.
Eleven
He walked onto the floor almost a full hour earlier than usual. He wanted to be sure he caught Hannah before the office filled up. Judging by the timestamps on many of her emails, she was almost always in around six in the morning. It explained how she managed to get so much work done. Though he wasn’t sure how she managed to not burn out. It also explained the dark circles under her eyes all the time.
Elliott filled the coffee pot and switched it on. It occurred to him that it was the first time in many years that he actually handled the task himself. Sometimes he got so wrapped up in everyday work and future work plans that he didn’t realize how much of his life was taken care of by other people.
He had spent his entire young life taking care of everything. His father had been a deadbeat who walked out one night without warning when he was seven and James was just an infant.
And his mother had had nothing. An apartment she couldn’t afford, a high school diploma, and two small children. He remembered the look on her face when she sat down at the dining room table the next morning, staring into open space. Even as a young child, he had recognized the hopelessness and misery, but the intense set of her jaw that suggested she wasn’t defeated.
They had packed up everything they owned with James crying on and off in his carseat, loaded up her old car, and drove for hours into the night. They had ended up in a congested neighborhood, lower-income housing in a sturdy brick building that was never quiet.
James got carted off to a downstairs older lady with too much makeup, deep voice, and a kind heart for most of the hours of the day.
His mother would wake him up early, putting together his breakfast and packing his lunch, and send him to the busstop as she got dressed for work. He would come home to an empty apartment and quietly do his homework and chores without having to be told. Around four in the afternoon, she would come breezing through the living room door all dark hair and shadows under her eyes.
He always had the coffee pot brewing before he heard her keys in the lock. They would sit and talk about their days for a while before she would slip into a hideous pink dress with a yellow apron and shuffle off to the diner where she worked dinner shift before rushing off to clean office buildings at night.
She always came in well after bedtime, James in her arms with leftovers from the diner she would put in the fridge for the next day. Then she would lay James in the crib and crawl into bed next to him, falling asleep almost instantly.
By the age of twelve, he had become the man of the house. He met James by his kindergarten class at the end of the day and rode the bus with him home. Then he would help him with his homework while trying to do his own, make dinner, clean, do laundry, go grocery shopping. He handled everything while his mother slaved away doing twelve to sixteen hour days to make the ends barely meet.
When he was old enough, he had gotten a job and stashed half of it away for a college fund and gave half of it to his mother. It gave her just enough slack to leave her waitressing job behind. She could be home in the afternoon with James, a luxury he had never gotten.
And James had grown up a bit spoiled, always having had a life without worry thanks to an older brother who tried his best to fill the shoes their father had left.
He had even paid for James’ college tuition.
Elliott ran a hand down his face. It wasn’t often he thought about those things. His entire life from a young age had been to try to ease some of the burden off his mother’s shoulders. He had managed along the way to replace her ancient, battered car, and help her with rent every month even while away at college.
It was the biggest disappointment of his life that he could never fully take care of her the way she wanted. Nothing had hurt more than getting the call from a despondent James in the middle of his senior business class that their mother had been hit and killed by a drunk driver.
Then there was more work to be done. Making the arrangements. Paying off debt-collectors. Taking legal custody of a sixteen year-old James. Moving out of his dorm room to a cheap college-adjacent apartment with one bedroom.
Elliott smiled. How James had hated him at times, raging against losing his mother and his friends, everything he had ever known and loved. Forced to sleep in a bunk bed with his older brother and live on ramen and store brand soda.
But then it was over. James started college and turned from a lonely, angry high schooler to a confident, over-zealous college student. Elliott remembered night after night of their apartment full of drunk kids while he slaved away trying to turn a loan from the bank into a company. Into a future. For them.
He used to do everything.
And now Hannah did
.
Elliott sighed, pouring a cup of coffee and placing it on his desk.
It was then that he noticed it. A small white envelope with his name scrawled on the front. Turning it over, he pulled out a piece of white lined paper with a handwritten note.
Mr. Michaels,
I am writing to inform you of my intent to take a two week vacation. Effective immediately due to cirumstances beyond my control. I apologize for any inconvenience.
Sincerely,
Hannah Clary
Elliott felt the air rush out of his lungs. She was taking a two week vacation? Effective immediately? What was going on? Was she actually that freaked out about them hooking up that she felt the need to run away? And if so, why hadn’t she just quit?
He heard the chime of the elevator doors and grabbed the letter. Tad was just putting his coffee down on his desk and powering up his computer. He looked up, startled when he heard Elliott’s footsteps. Elliott threw the letter down on the desk impatiently. “Do you know about this?” Even to his own ears, his voice was harsh and grating.
Tad’s eyebrows drew together as he read the note. “She didn’t say anything to me,” he said, handing the note back to Elliott. A worried crease was forming in his forehead. “This isn’t like her.”
Elliott felt a sinking feeling in his chest. Hannah and Tad had seemed very close. The fact that she hadn’t said anything about some kind of emergency to him then she was lying. Apparently she hadn’t said anything to Tad about them having sex so she obviously wouldn’t tell him that was the reason she left. To avoid him. To put some space between them.
“Alright, thanks Tad,” he said, retreating back into his office.
“Mr. Micheals,” Tad called.
“Yeah?”
“I’ll let you know if I can get in touch with her.”
“Thanks,” he said again, closing his door and leaving Tad to marvel that the notoriously crass and nonchalantly rude Elliott Micheals had just thanked him twice in one minute.
--
Hannah could feel her pulse in her ears and a slow, heavy, sick feeling seemed to have permanently settled in her belly. Her hands felt clammy on the steering wheel and she couldn’t help but keep checking her rearview mirror, even though she had been driving for hours and there had barely been a car in sight for the previous twenty minutes. The road was becoming blurry and she reached for her cup of coffee.
She hadn’t even tried to sleep the night before. By the time she had finished checking every corner of her apartment with a frying pan in one hand and a flashlight in the other, she had decided for certain that she couldn’t possibly spend another night there. She had packed a duffle bag with clothes and books and poured a pot of coffee into thermal cups and hit the road before sunrise.
For the first hour and a half, she had driven around aimlessly, cursing herself for not having made a plan when she left her apartment. She could just drive to some secluded inn somewhere and try to regain her composure. But sleeping somewhere alone in a room where there wasn’t any security save for a middle aged married couple who ran the place asleep a floor below didn’t exactly fill her with confidence. She needed to find someplace where she felt safe.
And the first word that came to her mind was… Sam.
Hannah swung the car into a u-turn and started off for Star’s Landing. She hadn’t seen Sam in ages. They had kept casually in touch since they broke up before college. Why he had popped into her head when she thought of a safe place to land was beyond her. Maybe it was just because they had history. Because he wouldn’t ask too many questions if he knew she wasn’t in a talking mood. Or maybe simply because he was male.
Her parents would be nosy, would pester her about her emotional state, would pry until they got answers because that’s what loving, concerned parents would do. She could go stay at the inn. Emily was always working and she could desperately use some girl talk and a junk-food, chick-flick binge night. But if she stayed at the inn, everyone in town would know she was back and she would never get a moment of peace.
She had never been to Sam’s house. Farm, she corrected herself. He ran his own farm. He grew food and raised goats and some other nonsense. She always knew he was never going to leave Star’s Landing. His roots were too deeply planted in that small town dirt. From what she heard from her parents, who never fully understood why she had broken up with him, Sam had made quite a successful little business for himself. He had built a home and barns and employed people they had gone to school with.
Apparently he had moved onto the land butting up against Old Mam’s, the eccentric town spinster who grew herbs and spices and tea. If there was a scandal in town, she was sure to be right in the center of it. Hannah had spent many a afternoon forced to help Mam weed her beds when her parents dropped her there in the summer to get a break for a few hours.
When she finally pulled onto the dirt road, the first thing she noticed was how badly Mam’s land was tended. The grass and weeds in her front lawn that had always been meticulously cared for, were ankle high and growing. And there was a different green hatchback parked in the driveway. With a shrug, she continued down the road, dust pooling in clouds around her windows.
She finally saw his house come into view, nestled on a huge piece of property- more acres than she cared to guess about and a simple post and plank fence lining the edges. In the back she could see several large, new barns and paddocks full of animals moving to and fro. The house itself was breathtaking.
It was a two story colonial, in fresh white and shutter-less. The lead up to the black front door was a charming cobblestone path. He had lush green flowerbeds lining the whole front of the house. There were nine gleaming windows across the front and three additional windows peeking out of the roof tiles. It was an enormous, perfect house.
Maybe if she knew he had such exquisite taste, she would have stayed with him, she laughed to herself, putting her car in park and taking a deep breath before walking up the path.
She was suddenly nervous. What was he going to think to find her on his doorstep after so many years? Granted, they had seen each other in town when she had stopped home for holidays. But they had barely even spoken.
But what better choice did she really have?
Hannah rolled her shoulders, stiff from being in a car for so long, and slammed the silver doorknocker four times. There was silence from within and she wondered if maybe he was out on his property somewhere. Then the door pulled open suddenly and there was Sam Flynn in all of his glory, naked from the waist up.
Hannah felt a little flutter at the sight of him, memoires of their four years of fumbling around with each other’s bodies rushing her system. Age had certainly agreed with him. He was six feet of strong, farmer muscle. He had shaggy, though somewhat short dark blonde hair and golden brown eyes. And looking down at her, a familiar, easy lopsided grin spread across his face, making his eyes crinkle at the edges. He always had the best smile.
“Hannah,” he breathed her name out, then pounced toward her, grabbing her in a bear hug and turning her around in a circle. When he planted her back on her feet, he ruffled her hair in a brotherly way. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Hannah looked down at her feet, feeling sub-conscious.
“Han,” Sam said, sounding serious. “what’s wrong?”
Hannah shook her head, looking up and frowning at the severe look her presence had put on his face. “Can I crash for a couple days? Without you telling anyone?”
Sam’s head tilted to the side, his eyes squinting in curiosity. But when he spoke, he said only, “Of course. However long you need. I have plenty of space.”
He stepped back from the doorway, holding an arm out to invite her inward. Without any questions. She knew she could count on him.
Directly to their right was a spacious living room in a deep orange color with black furniture. To the left was a formal dining room painted green. She doubted he got mu
ch use out of it though, living alone. He lead her down a hallfway with a few doors to the side into the back of the house. The kitchen. Which took up the entire length of the house. Sam always loved cooking. She had tried to talk him into going to culinary school, but he couldn’t be swayed. The kitchen was painted white with white cabinets and stainless steel appliances. There was a set of French doors that led onto a back porch, and two sets of windows that let in an incredible amount of light.
Sam walked, barefoot, over to a cabinet, pulling out a mug, and turning away from her for a second. When he turned back, he handed her a steaming mug of coffee, that same lazy grin on his lips.
Hannah took the mug between both hands, pulling it up to her nose, taking a deep breath and sighing.
“Some things never change,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable. Roam around. I’m gonna go grab a shirt.”
Hannah sipped her coffee, taking Sam at his word and peeking into the two closed doors she found in the hallway. One was a half bath with square, modern décor and blue walls. Behind the other door was a stairway down. She shrugged, walking into the living room and finding a staircase leading up. She started up the deep wood steps, looking toward the railing and almost running into the now fully clothed Sam.
He laughed, a deep amused sound she hadn’t realized she missed. “Alright, well let’s go pick you out a room.” As they rounded the bend, he gestured toward the room at the end of the hall. From the open door she could make out an enormous bed with a blue and green flannel bedspread. Hannah smiled behind his back. “That’s my room,” he said, unnecessarily. “I think you’ll like this one,” he said, turning to a closed white door.
He pulled the door open and she grinned up at him. The walls were a pale, muted green. Something she would call a light sage. The bedspread was a deeper sage with a pattern of pretty yellow flowers on the antique four poster bed. “Perfect,” she said, stepping in and noticing the window with a view of the front of the property. There were two white dressers that matched the bed and an actual real-full sized antique vanity with three paneled, scallop topped mirrors and a small stool with a yellow cushion.
What the Heart Needs Page 17