What the Heart Needs (7 page)

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.

Or maybe he was just that important of a person that they would drop everything they had going on just to be able to show their faces at his event.

Somehow, she had the sneaking suspicion that was the case.

“Girl,” she heard Tad accuse as soon as she walked back into the lobby. “you better call your mother.”

Hannah stopped short, turning her curious gaze to Tad. “What are you talking about?”

Tad walked with her into her office, settling down on the sofa while she delivered lunch to EM.

“I got an almost frantic call from someone claiming to be your mother. She said she was looking for her daughter and she hasn’t heard from her in over a week and was about ready to drop everything in some place called Stars Landing and come and check to see if something happened to you.”

Hannah sat down, putting her head in her hands. It wasn’t like her mother to be such a worrywart. Moira that happy, carefree hippie. Had it really been over a week since she spoke to her?

“Yes,” Tad said, pulling out his cell phone and looking at some kind of article. “she said the only reason she wasn’t here already was because some girl at some inn or something told her that you mentioned the name of this place while you were talking a few weeks back. So she looked us up and called in.”

Hannah sighed. “Thank god it was you who got her and not Sally. Could you imagine the disapproving look she would give me?”

“Yeah,” Tad smiled, putting his phone away and looking suddenly serious. “Look, I know this job can be overwhelming. I just want to make sure that you aren’t letting it completely consume your life. You have to keep in touch with the outside world.”

“I know. It’s just…”

“Nothing,” Tad said, sweet but firm. “Call your mother. Go to the spa. Hang out with that guinea pig of yours. Read a book. Just get out of this mindset sometime. It’s not healthy.”

Hannah sat for a long minute after Tad left. She made sure she called her mother when she got home. Even though it was after ten at night and her mother was clearly already asleep, she sounded suddenly alert and relieved. Her mother kept her until after midnight, asking a million questions and, more or less, giving her the same speech that Tad had a few hours before.

--

It took three separate appointments with catering companies for her to realize she really hated chefs. There was something about the way they adamantly believed their standard menu was the perfect one for every occasion. Perhaps Hannah was being too nit-picky about every little detail, but she wanted to make sure that everything was up to par. These people who would be attending certainly had more refined taste than herself.

On her fourth try, she found a young up-and-coming company with a chef who wasn’t much older than herself. And while in the past she had dealt with office managers to make sure she had the pocket lining to be able to employ them before the chefs would even see her, the chef came right out of the kitchen, her jacket stained with all kinds of colors.

Hannah felt comforted by her warm brown eyes and round face. “I’ll be honest with you. I am planning a black-tie event for my boss. I have never even been to a black-tie event so I am out of my depth here. And, I know you don’t know my boss, but trust me… the food has to be absolutely perfect.”

Mary smiled, nodding ask she spoke. “It’s not that complicated. Given the fact that it is after eight at night- we wont need to do a sit down meal.”

“That’s a new one,” Hannah said, sinking back against the chair.

“Yeah well… the sit down dinner is where the money is. And I’m sure the other caterers saw you coming,” she smiled kindly. “No, we just need finger foods. A huge spread of them it sounds like. A good variety of them and a huge dessert spread,” she said, jotting down notes as she spoke. “Since they’re high powered businessmen and women, we need to have a back-bar fully stocked with premium liquors.”

Hannah nodded, curious about EM drinking. He didn’t keep an liquor in the office and she never saw him outside of work. What was his drink? She couldn’t see him drinking anything mixed. Everything about him screamed that he took his liquor straight. Scotch. Or whiskey. Something strong. Powerful men liked powerful drinks.

She left the caterer feeling confident in her choice. Mary seemed calm and confident and not at all snotty or arrogant. It took her an hour to track down some bands online that she wanted to go listen to. She silently prayed that she would get out of work before nine for the next few nights so she had time to see them in person.

--

In a few days, it was all squared away. The caterer had her set menu. The band, a nice eclectic group who would do a mix of jazz and blues and older pop hits, was lined up. She had an RSVP list that included all but one of the names on the list. Only because, his secretary had called to say, he was in the hospital. Apparently EM was as important as he appeared.

She sat at her desk, breathing easy. It was all worked out. The cleaning lady would be coming every day for three days leading up to the event to make sure the house was absolutely pristine.

The caterers, bartenders, band members, and valet drivers would arrive at five pm and she would be there to greet them and show them where everything was to be set up.

Oh, god. She would be there.

“Oh crap,” she said to herself.

“What now,” Tad asked, playing with her hair.

“I have to be there.”

“Be where,” Tad asked, tying her hair into an intricate up-do after begging her to let him let it down. “the party?”

“Yeah. He told me I was to set it up and then I had to be there for the whole thing so nothing goes wrong.”

Tad had a crease between his brows. He looked curious and almost concerned at the same time. “He actually invited you to his event?”

“No, I’m there to work,” she clarified, wondering what had put that look on Tad’s face.

“No, honey,” he said, moving to sit on the couch. “aside from maybe giving an instruction to a server or two, which trust me he was more than capable of handling in the past, you will just be attending the event like everyone else.” When she shook her head, adamantly against agreeing to his line of thought. “Don’t shake your head at me. I’ve been here for longer than you. I have seen quite a few of these events go down. No one from this office has ever been invited. This is kinda a big deal, Hannah-Banana.”

“Don’t say that,” Hannah objected, hopping out of her seat and pacing in front of the windows. She had enough pressure to deal with, she didn’t know what to make of this little tidbit of information. And, somehow, it had never even occurred to her to consider just how little work there would be for her to do there. Was she supposed to act almost like a host? Was she supposed to greet and chat with all these high-powered people? What would she even have to say to them? She was nowhere on their level. Maybe she could spend the night hiding away in the kitchen with Mary.

“You’re going to need a dress,” Tad said, looking interested. “Like a nice dress. Somehow I doubt your closet is hiding any real treasures in it.”

“Hey,” Hannah yelled, throwing a crumpled up piece of paper at him. “And I don’t think I need a dress. I could just wear slacks and a nice shirt.”

“Um, no, princess,” Tad got up, smiling almost condescendingly. “You need a dress.” At her completely hopeless expression, he laughed. “No worries, I will take you dress shopping. Your taste obviously cant be trusted.”

“Gee thanks,” she laughed, then sobered. “But seriously… thanks.”

“Oh don’t kid yourself, this will be more fun for me than it will for you.”

And it was. Hannah could feel frustration bubbling up under her skin after the fourth store Tad had dragged her through and announced that nothing was up to par. And these weren’t the department or box stores she was used to going to for clothes. Tad insisted that she had to bite the bullet and drop a pretty penny on a dress (and shoes) for this kind of event. He dragged her to boutique stores where people asked them if they wanted wine or sparkling water and after the second store, she had started agreeing to the wine.

At the fifth store, Tad had found five dresses and shoved her into the dressing room. He settled outside of them, sipping a mimosa and looking utterly at home. She wondered how much of his wardrobe was designer. She imagined all of it.

The first dress was vivid blue and skin tight. She grimaced at her reflection, it clung to things she really didn’t want highlighted, despite having losing a good ten pounds the past few weeks.

“No,” Tad said before she could barely open the door fully.

“Agreed.”