by Ally Blake
His infamy as Frank Hamilton’s fixer meant that he was able to ask sensitive questions of the right people and it wouldn’t be considered out of the ordinary. Such as contacting the Office of Corrections about prison terms, parole sentences, what constituted a parole violation. Touching base with his father’s warden and asking for a rundown of Cillian’s behaviour in prison. His own legal firm had come back to him with an answer at four in the morning, such was his reach.
Not once was he asked to give up his connection to the case. Sometimes withholding was for the greater good.
By the time the sun warmed the streets of Sydney, Finn felt like he could finally see a clear path. The beginning of one at least. It as risky. It had more variables than constants. But maybe, just maybe, it was worth a shot.
All that flew out the window when he pulled up in the Hamilton holdings car park the next morning to find Hazel waiting for him – pacing back and forth like a fury, wearing a path into the concrete by his car.
Hazel waited until he’d cut off the engine before hauling open his door. “What have you done to April?”
Needless to say, he was not in the mood.
“Good morning to you too, Hazel,” he said, deliberately waiting for her to shut his car door before he pressed the lock and headed for the lift.
The clack of her heels echoed through the chilly garage as she turned and followed. “She hasn’t answered our calls for two days.”
Finn glanced at his watch, angling it against the cool florescent lighting. It was a little after seven. He angled her a glance. “Try again when the birds are up.”
“Finn!”
She’s Frank’s wife. Frank’s beloved wife. Frank from whom you are withholding pertinent information in an effort to protect them all.
Finn stopped. Turned. Tipped back onto his heels when Hazel took longer to come to a stop.
“I know what you’re up to Finn Ward.”
So it had come to this. A showdown in a dank garage. It was practically Hitchcockian.
“It’s Gray, isn’t it?”
Finn shook his head. “Sorry?”
“Gray Grayson, my devious granddaughter’s mind-numbingly dull partner. He’s headhunted you for an investigator position, hasn’t he? They’re looking to expand interstate and I saw him chatting you up at New Year. Little weasel’s had his eye on you since the Baxter deal.”
“Hazel, what on earth are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you are leaving my husband. My husband who gave you your start. Nourished you. Mentored you. Trusted you.”
Trust. That word had been bandied about like an emotional grenade too many times of late. Finn pressed his toes into his shoes. Steady. “Where are you getting this?”
She opened her mouth. Snapped it shut. Weighed up her options and chose. “April.”
Her name slid through him like an elixir. Both steadying and intoxicating all at once. He knew Hazel was watching him closely.
It took every ounce of cool not to let the effect show. “April told you I was leaving Frank to work for Gray Grayson?”
“Well, no. But she intimated that—”
Finn held up a staying hand. Weighed up his options. Things were about to slide past the point of no return – from withholding to outright ridiculous.
If the long, dark night had told him anything it was that he was no longer going to be reactive. He was in control.
So he chose the truth. “There’s a chance—”
Hazel gasped, as if she’d been holding her breath in the hopes she was wrong. “I knew it! I’m going to kill that little weasel. What my granddaughter sees in him, I’ll never know.”
“Come on, Hazel. Gray? The guy’s so stiff your maid could iron Frank’s shirts on his back.”
Hazel coughed out a laugh before closing herself down; crossed arms, tapping foot and all.
“I was going to say that external circumstances have come to light that mean that it would be in everyone’s best interests if I moved on. But I am doing my all to make sure that doesn’t happen. You are well aware that my ‘all’ is light years beyond what anyone else is capable of.”
She sniffed, giving him an inch.
“You know if I had the choice I’d follow Frank to the grave.”
He didn’t say that that was what he was trying to avoid. For all her impudence, Hazel had a big heart. And she was pushing seventy. He’d do whatever it took to make sure she never felt fear because of him. On that she could trust.
Wait a second...
“Is that all that you had? Some half-assed theory that I was being headhunted by Margot’s Gray?”
“Barely even that,” she said, her eyes glittering, her chin lifting in triumph.
Shit. He’d just been well and truly hustled. Finn ran a hand over his tired face, and came out the other end laughing.
“You nearly had me though, dear boy. Cool as a cucumber, you are. Which is why my knockabout husband is so smitten with you. You are his—”
“Shadow,” Finn assisted. Dark side. Dirty work. Hard decisions. So that Frank might stay shiny and clean.
“No, darling, you are Frank’s fulcrum. His loadstone. His perfect match. I’m not quite sure who my husband would be without you. And I don’t care to find out.”
Finn breathed out hard. Hazel’s words were like another rock he’d have to heave out of the tunnel ahead before he could see the light.
“So, what was with bugging the boys with all your questions about my life, my background, my hopes and dreams?”
Hazel blinked. Then laughed, and laughed, and laughed. “Finn, darling, that was me sourcing you as a possible future prince for one of my Cinderellas.”
It was Finn’s turn to blink. “So the ‘have a drink with a stranger’ favour—”
“That was me setting you up, darling.”
“Setting me up.” Finn gripped the handle of his briefcase. “And I thought I just heard you say Frank was my perfect match.”
A sad smile spread across Hazel’s face. “I watched you at that New Year’s party, darling. Keeping to yourself. Keeping one eye on Frank. So stoic and steady. And alone. Even with all those beautiful women prowling around you. You fend them off with your ice man act. Probably rightly so, as most of them are sharks in heels and thus utterly wrong for you. Then along came April. Sweet, open, soft-hearted April. Does she, by any chance, have anything to do with your determination to stay?”
Finn chose his next words carefully. “April has nothing to do with any of this. And she is not a tool to be bargained with. Trust me.”
“Of course not. All I am saying is that I am on your side. On both of your sides. But while Cinderella may have historically been given all the help, this fairy godmother is an equal opportunity benefactor. I am at your disposal. Because, young man, I do trust you.”
Finn looked at his shoes; spit-shone, the hallmark of the comfortable, cushy, well-to-do businessman. All part of the act. The subterfuge. The scam.
No more.
In order to clear that tunnel he first had to kick down the obstacles he’d carried in there with him.
Standing by the lifts of the cold, grey garage, the fluorescent lighting beating down harshly on both, he told her, “My father is in jail. He’s been there for a decade and a half and for good reason. There’s a good chance he’ll soon be out on parole. And his first mission will be tracking me down. You do not want him anywhere near you, Hazel. And neither do I.”
With each admission Hazel looked less a fairy godmother and more an angel of vengeance.
“Well,” she said, “that I did not see coming.” She looked into the middle distance a while as she let it percolate. “You were a child when he went away.”
“Not relevant—”
“Not a question, Finn. You were sixteen? Seventeen? From what Frank has told me, you were a skinny kid when he first met you. Hungry. Voracious for life. For experience. For fireworks and waterfalls.”
&
nbsp; Fireworks and waterfalls? For some reason April sprang into his mind; her hair like silken fire, eyes like a lake just before the dawn. But, as he’d told Hazel, she was not a tool to be bargained with.
“You, dear Finn, are a seeker of the spectacular. You are one of us. And we Hamiltons look after our own.”
Finn breathed out hard. To be told he was one of them... Hell. “When I go—”
“If, darling. Today we are merely playing with ifs.”
“If I go,” he gritted out, “it would be because I am looking after him. I’d take a bullet for Frank. And just so you know how serious this is, I’m not exaggerating to say that if I stayed it might come to that.”
Hazel moved to him then, closing the gap so that she could take his empty hand in her own. “He loves you too, Finn.”
The words were like a spike through Finn’s chest. Deep and hot and painful. Right when he’d thought there was nothing left of him to burn.
He turned Hazel’s hand, held it. Held her eyes. “I won’t ask you to lie to Frank, but I’d appreciate it if you’d let me tell him when the time is right. Whatever the decision.”
Hazel nodded. “Fine with me, darling. No point rushing these things. So much in life is timing.”
And that seemed too easy. Didn’t take long to figure out why.
“And April knows about this?” Hazel asked. “About your situation?”
“I will make sure she’s safe,” he said, deflecting.
“Of course you will, darling,” Hazel said, eyes sparkling, even more than her dress. “With you on her side, she’s the safest girl in town.”
With that she clacked away. Ducking into her white Bentley with the blood red seats and silver trim, her driver peeling out of the garage with the squeak of rubber on concrete.
Now the clock was well and truly ticking.
April pulled up outside the Cinderella Project headquarters the next evening after work and stifled a yawn. For the wild high of her night with Finn did what highs tended to do – it crashed big time.
She’d felt hungover all day. Her brain was like cotton wool. As if she had emotional PTSD.
When she’d taken a mental break and listened to her messages that afternoon, she’d found one from Hazel – via Marcy – asking to meet in the back garden of the Cinderella Project for – in her words – a “power powwow”.
A change of scene felt like a blessed relief and she clocked out as soon as it struck five.
The “back garden” turned out to be a glorious maze of bursting flowers and April was slowly reinvigorated by the sweet scents, the spectacularly tended topiaries, dainty footpaths, tinkling waterfalls, and ancient rock walls.
It was like Eden – for fairies. In fact... Yep. There they were, little fairy statues peeking out from behind bushes, dangling from boughs of trees. And that pair were—
April snapped her eyes shut tight and backed into a rhododendron. She’d never considered the idea of fairies getting it on. Now she was sure she’d never unsee it.
Following the faint sound of voices April discovered the garden was less something out of a fairytale and more like something out of Sodom and Gomorrah. The deeper she went the more the statues kissed and groped and clenched together in all out bliss.
Relieved, she found Hazel in a clearing in the centre of the lush grounds, sitting at the head of a long wooden table, Pumpkin the Pomeranian panting happily in her lap. Twinkling lights hung from trees above, a huge pitcher of what looked like lemonade—but smelled like a bar—served as centrepiece. Gorgeous china, covered in an orgy of rose petals, chocolate wafers, and tiny cakes dotted the table.
Serafina—star of the internet picture that had captured April’s attention way back at the beginning—gave April a jaunty wave. Marcy, to Hazel’s right, tapped away at her phone while licking chocolate off a dessert spoon. They’d been joined by a dozen young women with chocolate highs in their eyes who—from what April could make out—were sharing pictures of the celebrities they hoped their Prince Charming would most resemble.
Hearing a rustle, Hazel perked up. “And her she is! April, darling. Come and join us.”
“Did I mistake the time?”
“Not at all! Come, pull up a seat and meet your new sisters. This is my latest intake of Cinderellas! Cinderellas-in-waiting, this is April, the one I was telling you all about.”
As one, the women quieted and turned to face her. They were young, pretty, the only difference seeming to be the grade of desperation and hunger in their eyes.
“Hiya,” April said, lifting a hand.
But she didn’t move an inch. No way was she about to join them. No way was she one of them. Was she?
She thought back to the despair she’d felt the night she’d found Hazel’s ad. About how much money she’d forked out for Hazel’s advice. The fact she’d chatted up some stranger in a bar, believing it actually might help her land a job. She wondered if any of these poor souls had a clue what they were in for.
Hazel pressed back her chair, let Pumpkin frolic off into the wilderness, whispered something to Marcy who perked right up. “Who’s finished their ‘Paperwork’?” she asked. “Honest as you can be, ladies, lots of juicy detail, so that we may best be of help.” And she set to refilling everyone’s drinks.
Hazel slid her hand into the crook of April’s arm. “Let’s take a walk.”
A pair of tiny, yellow butterflies fluttered past April’s nose as they headed into the garden.
Hazel asked, “How are things, darling?”
“At a funny stage, really,” she admitted. “Things are changing, that’s for sure. I’m just not sure what they’re changing in to.”
“So, you feel like you’re getting closer to nabbing that promotion?”
Right! Of course she meant with the promotion! Because April wasn’t one of those girls picking out which celebrity the man of her dreams might look like. A vampire Viking.
“Because now we need to prepare you for the next, most important, leg of the race.”
April braced herself. “Which is?”
“Your first exercise was about a mental makeover. You passed that one with flying colours. The second was your physical makeover.” Hazel’s glance took in April’s usual topknot, her long maxi dress, her lack of additional eyelashes. She made no comment. Except to say, “The third must be your emotional makeover.”
“Is that really necessary? I think my emotional well-being is pretty fabulous. Even-Keel April, that’s what they call—Actually, nobody calls me that, but I’m pretty much famous for being emotionally sound.”
Hazel stopped beneath an arch dripping in deep purple bougainvillea. “Has my advice worked thus far?”
April nodded. It had. Basically. She no longer felt like she was looked over at work, that she was being taken for granted. She’d certainly made a memorable splash.
“Then it’s time, April. Time for you to bare your heart.”
Just to be sure, she asked, “To whom?”
“Whomever you’d like.” A beat. Then, “Start with a friend as a warm-up if you’d like. Or a family member. A lover, even. Past or present.”
April swallowed. Try as she might, she struggled to remember the names and faces of lovers past. Finn was like a big, brooding bear, blocking out every other man she’d ever dated, liked, had a crush on, met.
“And how will this help me get the promotion?”
“It is all leading to you baring your heart to your boss. The days are frittering away. His mind will be made up long before he announces. Now that you are in his sights, on his mind, it’s time to lay down an ultimatum.
“Give me the promotion, or else?”
“More along the lines of I love this company, I love my work, but unless you see that, unless you see me, I will find an employer who will.”
April tried swallowing and this time it stuck in her throat. For all her fluttery, glittery manner, Hazel could get April right where it mattered. “I’m not sure I’m read
y to say that.”
Hazel stopped her, held her by the upper arms and gave her a small squeeze. “Darling girl, you should never leave the house in the morning until you are ready to say that to the entire world.”
Talk about facing a hard truth.
As Hazel’s words washed over April, she knew—the reason she’d been taken for granted was because she’d let it happen. So driven had she been to keep the peace, she’d sacrificed gripping exhilaration, rabid passion, and any chance at love.
“Tell me what to do.”
“Well... How about your man from the bar. If you were to strip yourself bare for him what would you say?”
Really? She’d gone there? It was like deciding to take up hiking and heading straight for Everest. But sure. Why not start with the hard stuff? It would make everything else a cinch.
So April closed her eyes and brought up Finn’s face; the strong-angled planes, the intense, deep blue eyes, the lock of hair that sometimes fell over his forehead. And she pictured herself baring her heart—
Finn, I’m not sure this is a crush anymore. I think I might be falling for you.
The she tried to picture Finn reacting well.
A cough of laughter burst from her lungs. Then another. And another. Till she bent over double and pressed her hand into her side to relieve the oncoming stitch.
“April? Darling? Are you alright?”
No, she wasn’t bloody alright! She was falling for Finn, goddamn it. A man who’d put up roadblocks every way she’d turned. And man who’d told her he was a bad bet. Who had literally warned her away.
She was so used to putting her own needs second none of it had registered. And all the brain training in the world couldn’t trump the wants of the heart.
“You look unwell, darling,” Hazel said. “Your colour, or what little of it you had, has completely gone. What can I do? Let me help.”
But she hadn’t paid Hazel for dating advice and wasn’t about to start now. Or she’d be lumped with those poor, desperate creatures having their mad tea party in the post-serpent Garden of Eden.
So April lied to Hazel’s face. “I’m fine. Bare my heart, you say? Sure. I’ll get on that.”