What The Heart Knows

by Gadziala, Jessica

  But there, third email down was one that said EM Corporation- James Michaels, Acquisitions.

  There was a stammering in her heartbeat, like it wasn't quite sure if it was supposed to speed up, slow down, or stay exactly the same. She took a deep breath, moving the mouse, and clicking the email open.

  Ms. Brennan,

  I would like an update on the employee theft situation. What actions have you taken to find the culprit? What are you going to do when you do figure it out?

  - JM

  Emily squinted her eyes, reading the email again, finding it again sounding cold and condescending. Where did he get off thinking he could talk down to her? Treating her like some incompetent minimum wage employee who wasn't doing their job. She was doing her goddamn job.

  She snorted, opening up a search engine and pulling up the EM Corp website. She searched for a moment to find the personal email to Elliott Michaels and started a message to him. If James wanted to play games, she could play. And she would drag his brother into the whole mess.

  Mr. Michaels,

  As I am sure you have been made aware, we had a slight employee theft situation. Rest assured, the issue has been handled.

  Give your wife's belly a pat for me.

  - Emily

  There was no reply for hours, until she went back to the office after bringing the horses in for the day. And then, again, there was an email in her inbox. But not from Elliott. From James.

  Miss. Brennan,

  Please direct all replies to me directly. Elliott is the CEO of a multi-million dollar corporation, he does not have time for issues pertaining to a small inn.

  - JM

  Oh, it was on. Emily balled her hands up in fists for a second to refrain from writing the reply she really had in mind. Something with threats of slow roasting over a spit with a hot poker rammed up the ass. She needed to reply in kind. Cold. Detached. He couldn't know he was pissing her off. That wouldn't get them anywhere. She would lose. And she was tired of losing.

  Mr. Michaels,

  We are glad to hear that our life's work is so inconsequential to the other Mr. Michaels that he saw fit to put one of his lackies on the case. We will certainly direct our messages to you in the future.

  Stars Landing Inn Management

  She sat back watching the screen as if a new email would pop up in a matter of seconds, ready for it. She wanted under his skin. She wanted to be an itch, an irritating itch that wont go away. She wanted it to creep in at night when he was trying to sleep, making him want to scratch his skin raw. She wanted to know she had gotten to him.

  Her page refreshed ten minutes later and, sure enough, another email. She clicked it, greedy for the knowledge that she had ticked him off. It would come off in the message no matter how he tried to work it. It would be there in the tone. In the wording. In the sparse lack of details.

  Miss. Brennan,

  You are an employee of EM Corporation now. Your employment contract spells out in detail, your responsibilities as an employee. Including, though obviously not limited to, refraining from being insubordinate. You may not have received your packages yet, so this oversight on your part shall be looked over. Once. Your packages shall be in the mail tomorrow morning.

  JM

  Emily pushed back away from the desk, hopping out of her chair and pacing the small room. Oh, that bastard. That beautiful, clever bastard. Of course he pulled the boss card. Offuckingcourse. It was the best one to play. Especially knowing how much she hated not being the one in charge anymore. Oh how she wanted to reach through that computer screen and strangle him.

  She left the window open to face when she went back in the morning, calmer, more level-headed. With a perfectly crafted reply. The kind she could never manage when she was feeling positively homicidal.

  She burst into the tack room, pulling everything off the walls and throwing it into the center of the room. Just so she could sort all of it and put them back in their original places. She needed something to do. She needed to wear herself and her anger out.

  Later, she threw herself into bed and laid awake most of the night, catching a few minutes just before it was time to get up, making her wake up cranky and sore. She showered and dressed, going to the kitchen to grab coffee.

  Inside she found Meggie and Devon, staring down at a white box with a huge red bow on top of it. “What's that?” she asked, pouring her coffee.

  “That's what we could like to know,” Dev said, holding up a note. “It is addressed to Stars Landing Inn Management.”

  Oh, that fucker.

  Emily walked over to the box, ripping the bow off and throwing it on the floor. Inside, she found a dozen employment forms and manuals. She took one out, glancing at it while Dev and Meggie watched on.

  After a long minute, Meggie finally broke the silence. “What is it?”

  “Employment contracts and manuals and whatever,” she said through clenched teeth. Dev reached for one. “It is Mr. Michaels way of asserting his authority,” she told them, taking her paperwork and making her way to the stable.

  It was early for the horses, so she let herself into the office, sitting down in the office chair and pouring over the documents. There had to be something there about employee-employer relations. Or something else she could throw in his face. About fifteen pages in, she found it.

  Mr. Michaels,

  Article 5: Interoffice Relations

  Page 2: Management Non-fraternization Policy

  Line 10: Anyone employed in a managerial or supervisory role is strictly forbidden from pursuing relations with employees who report to him or her. Fraternization described in this policy includes, but is not limited to: dating, romantic involvement, sexual relations, or close personal friendships resulting in any kind of favoritism.

  Line 15: Anyone caught taking advantage or abusing their supervisory roles shall face severe punishment up to and including termination of their employment at EM Corp.

  Line 22: It is for the good of the company that these rules be strictly adhered to.

  - Stars Landing Inn Management

  There. That ought to send him scrambling for another smart-ass reply. He should have known better than to quote the employment contract and then send it to her when he was well aware he was in clear violation of it. True, Elliott Michaels had broken that policy when he started dating Hannah who was, at the time, his personal assistant. But that was different. He WAS EM Corporation. He could do whatever he wanted.

  James was just another man on the clock. A one high up in the company, sure, but an employee none the less. He had to adhere to the same rules as all the other managers.

  Let him worry that she was going to raise a fit. Call Elliott. Hell, call HR and make a real headache over the whole situation.

  On second thought, she moved back toward the computer and CC'd Elliott Michaels on the email as well.

  There. Now it was perfect.

  Let his pretty little face sweat that one out for a while.

  She sat and sipped her coffee, staring numbly at the screen. It was ridiculous that it had to come to snippy emails. Each of them trying to get and keep the upper hand. It was juvenile and unnecessary. They were both adults. They had both had flings before. If he could just ease up on the boss stuff, they could get along well enough.

  Emily took a deep breath, cringing as she watched herself type his name into a search engine. She didn't know why she was doing it. She knew it couldn't all be good. It wasn't like he was some saint. She was only punishing herself by doing it, but she had to.

  She checked out his information on the EM Corp website. She found him on social media. He had tons of pictures of different places: white beaches, mountaintops. RSVPS for events. But no real status updates. Nothing personal.

  Taking a deep breath, she clicked onto the tab to find the pictures he was tagged in. And that's when the punishment started.

  Because ther
e were all the updates she needed. Pictures of him at events: dressed up in expensive suits, arms wrapped around beautiful women. Beautiful women who had captioned the pictures way too suggestively for their connections to be innocent. And everything was dated. A week ago. The day after he left Stars Landing. The picture was of him in some woman's living room in the early morning light, holding a coffee mug, wearing his white dress shirt completely opened in the front and a pair of black boxer briefs, his hair bed sexy.

  So he hadn't wasted any time at all, had he? Jumping into bed with the first willing body he came across. Emily found herself looking through the woman's page, knowing she was being a total stalker and just plain not caring. She was pretty. Of course she was pretty. All blonde hair and big brown eyes. Big breasts, great ass. She was just shy of perfect.

  Emily hated her.

  The most recent picture was taken out front of some club opening, James standing there with the owner, his hand holding that of a tiny brunette with a huge smile and adoring eyes.

  So that was the way of it. He was back to his old life. Back to man whoring around. And she was sitting around researching him like some heartbroken ex-girlfriend. That was not her thing.

  Her thing was never getting attached in the first place. Her thing was ending it before anyone went stupid and caught feelings. Her thing was never giving a thought to old flames. Her thing was always looking on to the next, not dwelling on the past.

  So that was what she was going to do. She powered down the computer, making a deal with herself that she was not going to check her email again. If he wanted to talk to her about work, he could call her on the damn phone like a friggen professional. And until then, she was going to go back to business as usual.

  She was so completely, absolutely done with James Michaels and his deep blue eyes and his perfect smile and his insincere promises. Done. Done. Done.

  Twenty

  “Yo,” Dane said, making Emily jump, dropping the pile of books she was holding.

  “What?” she asked, stooping to grab the books.

  Dane stood back watching her, her hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her sleeves rolled up. She was taking all the books off of all the shelves in the sitting room, scrubbing the bookcases with hot soapy water. “Don't you think you are taking this OCD thing a little far?”

  “I'm not...”

  “You cleaned those shelves two days ago, Red,” he reminded her.

  “So what?” Emily asked, rolling her eyes. “I like to keep busy.”

  “Yeah, well... there's keeping busy and there's being fucking manic.”

  “Christ, Dane,” she said, turning with her hands on her hips. “you're not my father. Or my boyfriend. What do you care?”

  Dane nodded once, rubbing his jaw. “I get it. You hate guys right now. But you need to deal with that. You're being crazy. I mean I know you've always had trouble being still, but last night when we tried to watch a movie with you,” he said, giving her flashbacks of Meggie, Dev, Dane, and her all piled in Dane's room upstairs. “you got up eight times. Eight,” he repeated. “I counted. To wipe the dust off the TV. To open the curtains. To close the curtains. To check the front desk. To...”

  “I get it. I'm hyperactive,” Emily said, rolling her sore neck.

  “It's not just that,” Dane said, sounding unusually hesitant to speak his mind.

  “What is it then?”

  “You're being...” Dev started, coming into the sitting room, shaking his head slightly. “umm... tempestuous.”

  Emily wrinkled her brows up at Dev as he threw himself down on the sofa.

  “What Dev is trying to say,” Dane said, smirking slightly. “is that you're being a complete bitch and everyone is sick of it.”

  Emily felt her mouth fall open, looking back and forth between her friends. “What? Seriously?”

  “Well...” Meggie said, peeking in from the hallway. “sort of.”

  Emily had a second of feeling angry at them, only validating their opinion of her behavior. She never got mad at them.

  “Haven't you noticed that everyone runs away whenever you are nearby? That no one even bothers to say good morning anymore?” Dev asked.

  “Yeah... you kind of... growled at the last person who talked to you before you had half a pot of coffee in you,” Dane added.

  “That person was me,” Meggie finished.

  Emily stood there dumbly for a moment, running the images of the past week or so in her head. They were right. She had been sort of walking around with a chip on her shoulder. So much for thinking she had been handling things relatively well. She felt the amusement rising up, weird, urgent in her belly, making her brace her hand on the wall to keep herself from doubling over. “Why... didn't... anyone... tell... me... sooner?” she gasped out between giggles.

  Everyone stood back watching her, their worry lines etching deeper. She looked like she was completely losing her mind.

  “Sorry,” Emily said, standing back up, rubbing her sore stomach muscles, wiping her cheeks. “I know I've been off. I'm gonna be better now. I promise.”

  Meggie and Dev shared a look with Dane who nodded his head toward the door and they both got up and left. “Alright, Red,” Dane said, shaking his head. “let's go drink about it, huh?”

  He put a hand at her lower back as they walked down the street toward the bar, an old habit he hardly even realized he did. It was something she used to consider comforting, but found it suddenly possessive and inappropriate.

  “This place never changes,” Emily said, looking at the artwork on the walls from way before she was old enough to start drinking there. Awful, ugly old things. The floors were dull and scuffed, the tables and chairs all looking worn down and mismatched.

  “About that,” Dane said, slipping behind the bar, elbowing the younger bartender out of the way. He was so in his element there. Natural. Like he had always been. He reached onto the back bar to grab a bottle of gin, his black and red tattoos somehow darker and more sexy in the low light. He poured gin into two rocks glasses, tossing her a slice of lemon and leaning down on the bar. “Mo is letting me buy in.”

  “To the bar?” Emily asked, throwing back the liquid and taking a bite of the lemon. “How can you afford that?” Dane looked down at the drink he was swirling in his hand and Emily realized he actually looked embarrassed. “Where'd you get the money, Dane?”

  He shook his head. “You're never gonna let me live this down,” he said, still unable to meet her eye. “In California... I might have done some... modeling.”

  There was a long moment of absolute stunned silence before Emily threw back her head back and laughed. She couldn't even begin to picture that. Not that he wasn't good looking enough. The man was a god. But... but he was stubborn and hot tempered and never knew when to shut the hell up. She couldn't imagine him standing in front of a camera for hours and hours, taking directions about which way to put his head and feet. That was not the kind of man Dane was.

  Dane was action. And sex appeal. And rough hatefucking. And explosive arguments that you stood no chance against if you were going to approach it with logic and reason.

  “Oh my god,” she said, pushing her glass forward as he drained his. “Where can I find these pictures? I need to have them blown up and posted all over town. For your next birthday. And every one after that.”

  “You'll never find them baby,” he said, a strange look in his eyes that she swore she was going to get to the bottom of one day. “But anyway. Mo is going to let me buy in. He's getting old. He wants to know this place will go on after him. He's given me the go-ahead for some redecorating.”

  “Good for you,” Emily said, tilting her head to look at him, impressed. He had never been a man of much ambition. He liked his job dishing out liquor, breaking up fights, hitting on pretty patrons. He never seemed to want anything more than that for himself. “That's really good news.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, playing i
t down. “And I'll be turning that awful storage room above here into an apartment. I should be out of the inn by February.”

  “That's awesome. I'm really happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” Dane said, pouring them each another glass, not giving her a lemon this time. In his opinion, chasers were for the first round and for weaklings or lightweights. Liquor was meant to be tasted. “Now... speaking of happiness, Miss. Ray of Sunshine,” he said, dropping his head to look her in the eye on her level. “what the fuck is your problem?”

  “Aren't you sweet?” she asked, smiling.

  “Sweet annoys you,” he countered. “you've always preferred honesty. And you're honestly being a shrew. We need to get to the bottom of it before you have no friends left in this town.”

  Emily tapped her glass and watched as he poured more gin into it. The cheap stuff. It was a habit they had since he had started buying her cheap bottles of liquor when she was still in high school, sitting out at the lake and getting completely wasted. Dane actually had a taste for expensive whiskey and she had long since started preferring mid-shelf tequila drinks. But there was something about cheap gin that brought back pleasant memories for them. “It's complicated.”

  “It's about the new boss,” Dane countered, still looking sober as a judge as she started to feel her head get a little fuzzy. Numb was going to work its way hard and fast on her that night and she was glad for it.

  “Yeah,” she admitted.

  “So what? You two fucked a couple times and now you're smitten? That's so not like you, Red.”

  “I'm not smitten,” she objected, hearing the defensiveness in her tone and knowing that they both knew it was a lie. “Alright fine. I guess I am.”