What The Heart Knows (2 page)

“While
his brother slaved away building a company?” Emily asked,
putting paper into the fax machine. “How nice for him.”

Devon
laughed. “You're determined to think badly of him, huh?”

Was
she? Maybe. But it wasn't personal. He was probably very educated.
Very good at his job. But, damn it, she was really good at hers. And
she didn't need someone coming in and telling her all the things that
she already knew. Trying to demean her position. She had always
planned on making necessary changes. When Marion got well enough to
discuss business again. But then Marion died. And there had been
grief like nothing she had ever experienced before. Like losing a
parent too young. That was exactly what it was. Marion had been her
only mother figure.

And
then when she could finally work through the grief, she had waited
for the will to be read. Certain the inn would fall into her hands.
She had notebooks full of plans. New décor. New menu. New
everything. Up to date. How to market to reach more people. Draw them
in.

But
then there had been no will.

Emily
remembered the horror when the lawyer told her, shaking his head with
a sorry set to his mouth. Then he told her that the inn would fall to
Marion's closest living relative. Some couple that Emily had never
even heard of. People who had never even come to visit Marion when
she was in the hospital.

She
had felt the anger then. And the guilt at being angry at someone who
was dead. But how could she? How could she not see her own mortality
and plan for it? How could she not realize that Emily would lose
everything?

Maude
made a strange, stifled laughing noise, bringing her back to the
present. She reached under the desk to grab a piece of paper she had
lost. “I'm not determined to hate him. I just think he sounds
like a pompous, arrogant, spoiled, richy rich...”

There
was a cough, making Emily's back straighten. Because it wasn't Devon,
who was looking down at her with a finger to his lips.

“Hi,”
Devon said facing forward, a hospitality smile in place. Charming and
fake. “What can I do for you today?”

Emily
threw the paper into the garbage and stood up.

And
there was a man.

Two

He
was good looking. Way, way too unnecessarily good looking. And tall.
She always gauged men's attractiveness based, firstly, on their
height. She was about five-foot-nine herself and she needed to be
able to wear heels and not tower over her date. This man looked well
over six feet with light brown hair and deep blue eyes. There were
laughter lines beside his lips, suggesting they were perpetually
turned upward.

He
had a nice face. Sharp cheekbones. A really strong jaw.

But
it was the clothes. Emily was a sucker for a man who had his own
sense of style. And there he was in all his masculine glory, wearing
blue jeans and a black leather jacket on top a white t-shirt with a
black suit vest over it, completely unbuttoned, and a tie. A tie.
Over a t-shirt.

She
wanted to laugh. And he was smiling. At her.

“Do
you have a reservation?” Devon asked, sounding professional as
he turned on the computer. There were three reservations at the inn
for that week. One for their new boss. One for a woman named
September. And one for a couple. Maybe this was Mr. Smith of the
honeymooning couple.

“Oh,”
he said, smiling at Devon then turning to face Emily while he spoke.
“Yes.”

“Can
I have your name?” Devon asked, looking between the two of
them, noticing Maude had already put her book down and was leaning
forward, watching.

“Sure,”
he said, smiling an odd smile. “Mr. Pompous Arrogant Spoiled
Richy Rich... the third,” he said, watching as Emily's mouth
fall slightly open, a rush of panic in her light eyes. “Or,”
he said, turning back to Devon. “it might be under James
Michaels.”

“Oh,
Jesus Christ,” Emily mumbled to herself. Of course. Of course
he would show up while she was in the middle of ranting and raving
about him. That was just her luck. Emily looked past James to where
Maude was sitting forward in her seat, smiling. “You could have
warned me, you charlatan,” she said, and Maude laughed.

“Welcome
to Stars Landing Inn, Mr. Michaels,” Devon said, sounding too
cheerful. Like he needed to make up for Emily's blunder.

James
smiled at Devon. “Thanks...”

“Devon,”
Dev supplied quickly.

“Devon,”
James repeated. Like only business people do. To commit the name to
memory. “And you are?” he asked, knowing. Of course he
knew.

She
was a lot better looking than his brother had let on. But, then
again, Elliott only had eyes for Hannah. This woman was all edges.
She had a sharp, cat-like face with a thin, straight nose and
slightly pointed chin. Her lips were small and her light eyes were
almost a see-through shade of blue. Her deep auburn hair was pulled
into an impossibly neat ponytail and it matched her eyebrows and
eyelashes exactly. A natural redhead. Was there anything hotter than
that?

And
he hadn't missed the freckles. The freckles might have been the best
part.

From
what he heard, she had a tongue as sharp as her features. He was
looking forward to hearing more out of that pretty mouth of hers.

Emily
smiled, the same forced kind of smile Devon had on. Professionally
friendly. She slid behind Devon and moved out from behind the desk,
extending her hand. Cursing herself for beginning on such an awful
first impression. “Emily. Emily Brennan. I'm the manager.”

She
was tall, he realized with a growing sense of attraction. She had the
kind of bodies you saw on glossy print ads. Thin, waifish, almost
boyish with just the tiniest hint of breast or hip.

“Nice
to meet you, Emily,” he said, oozing entirely too much charm
for a business interaction. “I see you've heard all about me.”

She
wasn't going to apologize. No way in hell. “Well,” Emily
said, offering him a half smile. “your reputation proceeds you,
Mr. Michaels.”

“James,”
he corrected.

“James,”
she said, “Would you like Devon to show you up to your room?”

“No,”
James said, looking over at Devon. He could practically see his sigh
of relief. He didn't want to be the one to screw up. “No,”
he said, looking back at Emily. “I would like
you
to
show me to my room, Miss. Brennan.”

Of
course he did. And he could just take that good-boy smile and shove
it because it wasn't going to work on her. “Of course,”
she said, scurrying behind the desk to get a room key off the wall.
Happy for any excuse to get away from him for a second. “Do you
need any help with your luggage?”

She
was angry at him, James realized with a smile. Was it because she
felt that bringing him to his room was beneath her position? Or was
she just resentful for his presence in general? “No, I'll get
my bags later.”

“Okay,”
she said, sending him another of her hospitality smiles. “Room
number three,” she said, moving to the staircase. “right
this way, Mr. Michaels.”

“James,”
he repeated, following behind her. Trying not to gawk at her ass as
she climbed. “So Miss. Brennan,” he said as they got to
the top stair. “how long have you been working here?”
There were four rooms he could see from where they stood and
god-awful cherry blossom wallpapers covering the walls in between.

“Twelve
years,” Emily said automatically, walking to the door with a
three on it and putting the key in.

“And
how long have you been the acting manager?”

“Four
years,” she said, going into the room and switching the light
on, despite having sunlight streaming in through the windows. “So
here is your room,” she said, slipping into the speech she had
given a thousand times before. “You have a view of the town
from your front window and the wrap around desk is accessible through
the door in the hall. Here is your closet,” she said, opening
the door and pulling a string inside to light the small space and
reveal wooden hangers, a small ironing board and iron. “And
through here is the bathroom,” she walked into the room,
switching that light on as well. She just wanted to get it over with
as soon as possible. “Cleaning services are at ten every
morning unless you cancel them. Breakfast hours are from six to ten
every morning. That and all the other dining hours are listed on that
pamphlet on the bedside table,” she said, inching closer toward
the door.

James
watched her, her nervous energy bouncing off of her like waves. Was
she just antsy because he was there? Or was she always like that? She
hadn't looked at him since she introduced herself. She looked next to
him. Over his shoulder. Above his head. But not actually at him.

He
tilted his head at her, rambling on and on about his room and the
attractions on the property. “So is it because I am so
blindingly attractive that you cant even look at me?” he asked
and watched her eyes fly to his. There was a smile playing at her
lips for a second that she quickly pushed away.

“Don't
flatter yourself,” she said, keeping unnerving eye contact.
“You're not my type.”

“Awe
sweetheart,” he said, smiling wider. Unphased. “I am
everyone's type.”

“You
dress like a hipster teenager,” she said, lifting her chin. She
could play this game.

“You
love it,” he countered, winking at her.

Yeah
she did. Damn him. “Do you dress like that to piss off your
brother? Aren't you a little old for rebellion?”

It
did piss off Elliott. She was right about that. But he didn't
necessarily do it on purpose. It was just a fun bonus. Who wouldn't
like to piss their boss off when you know they couldn't fire you?
“You're never too old for rebellion. How old are you?” he
asked, making her brows draw together.

“How
many sexual partners have you had?” she shot back.

James'
smile faltered, his mouth falling slightly open. “What?”

“Well,
that seemed about as relevant as asking me my age, don't you think?”

James
laughed, a rolling, amused sound she found all too appealing. “You're
going to be a lot of fun to work with aren't you?”

“I
am going to be nothing but a thorn in your ass,” she said,
moving toward the hallway.

“Exactly,”
he agreed, grabbing the side of the door as she tried to close it. “I
have to warn you,” he said, his tone lowering. Almost
suggestive. “I am used to getting my own way.”

“Really?”
Emily asked, tilting her head. Ignoring the little shiver of
anticipation. Because that was ridiculous. “then you better
prepare yourself for a lot of disappointment.”

And
with that, she turned and walked away. He heard her footsteps on the
stairway, taking them at a run.

James
smiled at her retreating form. Well. She was certainly a nice
surprise. Maybe his time there wouldn't be the soul-sucking bore he
had been dreading for months. Months that he spent on exotic beaches
in preparation. Chasing women. Drinking too many fruity drinks.
Getting a tan. Granted, he had somehow managed to land a deal while
there, but it was mostly for pleasure.

Because
nothing about some small town in rural Pennsylvania sounded like it
was going to be a fun way to spend a few weeks.

Then
there was Emily Brennan and her smart mouth. Who didn't love a woman
who wasn't afraid to speak her mind?

It
didn't hurt that she was absolutely breathtaking. And Elliott hadn't
given him the typical “don't screw any of the women there”
lectures he usually got when he was sent out on a new job. An
oversight, sure, but one he was going to enjoy exploiting. What was
the point of business if you couldn't incorporate a little pleasure
in it?

James
closed the door and looked around the room, cringing slightly. Was
everything in the entire inn floral printed? The walls to his room
were a deep blue with nondescript golden flowers. It was jarring and
overpowering. The king sized bed had a deep blue comforter and the
curtains, well... the curtains were an awful, perfect match to the
flowers. He walked into the bathroom, finding inch-wide blue tile on
the walls and white tile on the floors. The shower stall was dated
but the clawfoot tub was in pristine condition.