Salvaged Hearts (The Hearts Of Emerald Bay #1)

1. Two Weeks Notice

1

Two Weeks Notice

ALICE

The methodic clacking of Greyson Hart’s keyboard came to a stuttered stop as he dragged those hazel-green eyes off his screen and to my face. Blatant confusion lined his brows as he studied me, evidently intent on finding some sort of tell. He wouldn’t. I’d been rehearsing this moment for the better half of the last year. The confusion on his face was more satisfying than it likely should have been as he asked, “ What ?”

I smiled sweetly, refusing to rock on my heels like my nerves were begging me to, and set my resignation letter down on the sleek marble top of his desk. Sliding it across the polished surface, I repeated, “I quit.” Tapping the manilla folder, I added, “Please accept my two weeks’ notice. I’ve compiled a list of the internal candidates I believe are best suited to replace me.”

To the untrained eye, the man before me would seem unaffected. But, as everything was with Greyson, the devil was in the details. Buried below severe daddy issues, a misguided sense of injustice only an entitled trust fund baby could have, the heart of a wounded soldier, and about a decade of emotional constipation was the tiny line between his eyes, the subtle bob of his Adam’s apple and an audible swallow that said this was— somehow —news that took him by surprise.

“We have a contract, Alessandra,” he murmured, flicking up my letter as he leaned back in his armchair. One slick, heather brown loafer caught the glint of the window light as he crossed his ankle over a knee.

“We do,” I agreed, folding my anxious hands behind my back as I straightened my spine so he couldn’t see them wringing. “And it ends in two weeks’ time. I will not be re-signing on for another term.” Oooh, I got a jaw flex —that was about as unhinged and out of control as Greyson got, and some petty, vindictive sliver of my soul was squealing in victory as his eyes abandoned my face in favor of the paper in between his fingers, canting his head as his eyes flew across the page.

“Two years, two promotions, and two weeks’ notice? How very ironic.” The words flowed with the same svelte ribbon he used in his meetings. The man thrived on control and very little else.

Control of the schedule.

Control of the team chat—of when we submitted our work, of his own infuriating and unwavering discipline.

He was the only man I’d ever known to get quieter when something pissed him off. No matter how high the stakes were in a negotiation, Greyson’s strength was concealed in his silence. His unwillingness to yield and to hold the line with a steady, unaffected facade. All skills I’m sure he picked up during his years as a Navy Seal.

Two. Years. For two years, I shared air with the man across from me—known to my family by a myriad of unflattering names, none of which were anywhere in the ballpark of Greyson . Hartless. Fuck-face. The fire-breathing dragon. For two years, I bit my tongue and took it up the ass daily. Frankly, at this point, the literal option sounded like a walk in the park compared to the grueling torture that had been serving Hart Investments for the last twenty-three months, fifteen days, seven hours, and forty-nine minutes. But who’s counting?

Like the irritated, telltale twitch of a cat’s tail, he drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair before expelling a breath that sent my anxiety climbing. Greyson leaned forward, setting my letter on the marble between us before bracing his forearms on the desk, broad hands clasped together in the perfect image of composure.

He nodded at the chair opposite him and gave me a curt, “Have a seat, Ms. Rhodes.”

Dammit. I knew I should have waited until four fifty-nine. Refusing to let him see the volcano inside me just waiting to explode, I spooled myself into the chair, with only the slick black expanse of stone as a barrier between us. Crossing my ankles, I leaned onto the desk to mirror his position. Those intense hazels locked on me a beat before a more pronounced v carved the olive skin between his eyes.

“Permission to speak candidly?” His request threw me so far off guard, all I could manage were two perplexed blinks and an unsure nod. The man gave orders—he certainly didn’t ask permission to eviscerate me on the regular. Like a child in the principal’s office, I shifted my weight in my seat before reminding myself that I would no longer squirm for Greyson Hart.

I’d held my own here. Challenged him. Advanced our projects. Saved deals that were half-sideways. I’d become a pillar of the department despite his blatant disapproval. He would not intimidate me now . Permission granted, he continued, “You’ve been moving up the ladder here, Alessandra. Aggressively for someone your age, with your…background.” My background. For pity’s sake, the man hadn’t held back when I’d interviewed for Oliver’s department—his younger, actually humanoid brother—a few summers back. Told me there was no way some country bumpkin would cut it in the big leagues. What part of third-generation Alaskan fishing family said I’d grown up throwing hay bales? And if I had, how in the hell would that disqualify me? Elitist prick . That lovely analysis was leveled about ten minutes before Ollie brought me on board, anyway.

And how was it that every single person in my life could get their head around the fact that I preferred being called Alice—his brother and niece included—but he insisted on using my full name?

Somehow, not three months after Ollie brought me on, I was transferred into Captain Hartless’ direct clutches. And the bastard hadn’t let go since.

“What inspired the sudden disregard for your prior efforts?”

Swallowing, I stepped into the wet blanket facade of a personality that was obligatory in the corporate climate and explained, “My vision for my life no longer aligns with your expectations of my performance.”

“ My expectations?” he asked, the tiniest quirk of his head the only indicator that his perplexed tone was authentic. “Please, tell me which expectations contradict your… vision .”

I wanted to burst out laughing. I wanted to tell him that repeatedly calling me while I stood with my big sister as she got married was so far over the goddamn line he couldn’t even see the line anymore. My older sister and her now-husband painfully pined for decades before finally taking the plunge and admitting what so many of us saw coming for years. Instead of enjoying the kismet caress of the sun on our skin as they exchanged vows in our perpetually cloud-shrouded hometown, I was praying to all that was holy that nobody else could hear the unending vibration of my cell. I wanted to tell him that his barging in on my first date in three years and calling a mandatory meeting was such a ridiculous display of entitlement and a severe lack of boundaries that his mother should be ashamed. I wasn’t sure what I was born to do in this world, but it certainly needed to be more important than covering up a grown-ass adult’s mistakes.

Instead, I weighed the reality that there were few men west of the Mississippi who held as much influence as my boss and simply said, “I’m sorry to admit I am no longer an adequate fit for the position. My work-life balance has become a priority that the demands of my role will not responsibly accommodate.”

“Would it sway your decision if I assigned an assistant?”

My head snapped up from where my eyes had settled on the white veins in the marble, and my throat tightened. Was he…pushing back on my decision to quit? The formal request was more a nicety than actually asking for his permission. “An assistant? For your assistant?” He gave the briefest of nods, and I quirked my head, “Why would you do that?”

An invisible fishhook snagged the left side of his mouth as something like disbelief sparked in his eyes. Greyson ran his fingers through his chocolate hair, freeing an uncharacteristic stray from the meticulous style I’d grown so accustomed to seeing. When I saw him for the first time, I was struck by how gorgeous the Hart brothers truly were. You always see men like them in magazines and plastered over social media—especially American royalty like the Harts—but they don’t often live up to the hype in person.

But…not Greyson.

If anything, he was more breathtaking in person. At least, right until he opened his too-pretty mouth with his too-straight, too-white teeth and told me I’d never make it in Emerald Bay. Just like that, the broad shoulders, sharp jaw, strong brow, and thick head of dark hair lost their appeal. Mostly, it stayed that way. Only the occasional navy suit that hugged his biceps a little too tightly or the unfortunate run-in on the beach where more skin than clothing was on display reminded me that he was more than adequately attractive beneath those walls. Or, you know, moments like this, where he looked the tiniest fraction disheveled— human .

“Turnover is expensive, Alessandra. We’ve invested a great deal into equipping you to do your job effectively and consistently, and frankly, I find your company far less grueling than most during mandatory travel days. Replacing you is a rather cumbersome task, so if I can simply assign a pawn to lighten your load?—”

I laughed—I couldn’t help it. It was strangled and somewhere in the ballpark of a Chihuahua sneezing, but it was a laugh.

Greyson leaned further back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Something entertaining, Ms. Rhodes?”

“I just…I think that was the closest you’ve ever come to complimenting me, Mr. Hart.”

A flicker of insult crashed through his eyes before vanishing just as quickly. “Surely that’s an exaggeration. You’ve been my right hand for the last?—”

“Twenty-one months.”

“Right.”

“I think the last time you affirmed my efforts was after I found the plagiarized content in Molly’s blogs, and you told me I made ’a decent cup of coffee’.”

“You make a more than adequate espresso.”

“Going for two in as many minutes?”

Where a laugh should be, a frustrated furrow took root instead. “Well, what do you think?”

“About the coffee or the assistant?”

“The latter.” Hands braced together below his chin, he stared me down. Right. Back to business faster than we detoured. There was a human male inside that robot somewhere. I just no longer cared to find him.

“As I said before, thank you so much for the opportunity and the experience here at Hart Investments . This is my two weeks’ notice,” I rephrased the statement. Because it was a statement. I wasn’t pleading with the man. “Unless you’d prefer I leave immediately? I would understand?—”

“That won’t be necessary,” he gritted out. “Your assistance in finding and training your replacement would be very appreciated if you’re willing to lend us a hand.”

“Of course. This should expedite the process,” I replied, nodding to the folder between us. His throat bobbed.

“Well. Thank you for compiling candidates. As per usual, that was above and beyond.”

Confused, I stared across the desk at what appeared to be a sincere face of neutrality. I had to get the hell out of here before I lost my gumption. “I, unfortunately, have somewhere to be. If you’ll excuse me.” Standing, I headed for the door, only to have his voice freeze me on the threshold.

“Purely of curiosity, what are your aspirations from here?”

I turned back to face him, but before I could answer, he continued.

“Your name has become synonymous with mine , Ms. Rhodes. Which means unless you intend to share that hand for espresso for a living, I don’t see anyone in our circle risking a slight against our name by bringing you on. As it is, our confidentiality agreement renders you virtually useless to our competitors beyond?—”

“Bringing them coffee?” I chirped, still refusing to grind my teeth. His shrug reminded me why I had to get as far away from Hartless as humanly possible. Perhaps I’d join my siblings, Elora, Finn, and Paxton, on the East Coast.

But I loved it here. Loved the year-round sun and the yoga studio within walking distance from my condo. Unease stirred in my belly. The Harts held ‘investments’ in nearly every sector of the business world—financials, media, public relations, sports teams, bars, restaurants, hotels, and high rises. You name it—they dabbled in it. Much like his father, Greyson had a habit of forcing out or buying up shares in the companies that crossed them in ruthless takeovers that left his enemies unemployed and fleeing the city with their tails between their legs. He’d rehab the business, then sell it for profit in a matter of years. I might call him Hartless, but the industry knew him as The Titan.

Surely, he wouldn’t be so petty for someone as low on the totem pole as me.

Clearing my throat, I clarified, “I don’t intend to compete with you, Mr. Hart. I’m certainly not going to violate the confidentiality agreement, even if I were placed with a competitor. As for being known in your circle, I think that I have proven to be an invaluable asset, not a hindrance. Should someone be concerned with crossing you, I’m sure you could put in a call on my behalf to clear up any confusion.”

“Could I?”

Don’t squirm, don’t squirm, don’t squirm. That intense gaze, beguiled by an arched brow, would not make me cave. “Well, it’s you they’d be worried about offending, correct?”

“I don’t have time to hash out your future employment with my rivals or associates, Ms. Rhodes. I’m afraid leaving Hart Investments is leaving the industry you just clawed your way into.”

Refusing to let him see me clench my jaw, I lifted my chin, slapped on a smile, and said, “I have plenty of connections back home and could use a little quiet.”

“What a waste of talent, retreating to that island when you’ve laid roots down here.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Hart, laying roots requires spending enough time out of the office to plant them in the first place. And, seeing as you video chatted me during my last OBGYN appointment, I can assure you I have nothing in this city holding me back.” Heat scaled my neck and face like ivy up a brick wall. That was certainly the boldest I’d ever been with the man.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” he muttered but glanced at his watch like he always did when he was uncomfortable. “I’ll see you on Monday, Ms. Rhodes.” And with that dismissal, he turned his attention back to his computer, leaving me staring daggers at the man who’d done nothing but make my life miserable for the last two years. No more . No more would I settle for a job that paid well but sucked the soul from my body. Irritated, I turned to leave the room, but his last statement hung like a guillotine over my head.

I wouldn’t be so sure of that.

What on God’s green earth did that mean?

Greyson

“Well, that’s a fucking shame,” a tiny voice, muffled through a barrier, crept into my office the moment the door closed behind my assistant. I chuckled under my breath and shook my head, pushing my wheeled chair back. Turning, I bent to the cabinets in the hutch behind my desk and pulled one open.

“Mattie,” I growled, staring at my niece, where she’d crammed herself into the tiny cupboard. She was too big, really. It was a wonder how she even folded herself in there like human origami. For as long as she’d been mobile, she’d always been searching for cubbies. Places to hide, I supposed. Couldn’t exactly blame her. Rolling her eyes, she set her paperback on the black sweater over her chest and glared my way as I added, “We’ve talked about this.”

“The cupboard is a perfectly adequate space to study,” she stated flatly. Ten going on nineteen, apparently. This girl had always been too bright for her own good. She ran laps around my brother by the time she could articulate.

Odd, but brilliant.

It took all my years of training not to crack a smile when she lifted the novel and adjusted her book light. With an exasperated sigh, I snatched it.

Examining the cover despite her protests, I scowled down at The Hobbit before turning my glare in her direction. “I wasn’t talking about hiding in corners, Mattie. I was talking about your trucker’s vocabulary.”

Hazel-blue eyes rolled like loose marbles as she lolled her head my way, extending her expectant hand. “Come on, Uncle Grey, Dad’s still in his meeting.”

“And where are you supposed to be?” I carefully marked her place, although what a ten-year-old was doing reading Tolkien, I didn’t understand. Shouldn’t she be into Judy Bloom or crime-solving dogs or something?

“I have a fever,” she announced victoriously, curling her little fingers as if I’d return her contraband. The book thudded against my marble desk, earning a groan of protest from a mutinous-looking pre-teen. Kneeling beside her, I swallowed my smile as she reared back, meeting the unforgiving back of the cabinet and muttering another curse as I set my wrist against her perfectly temperate forehead.

“What’d you do this time? Hot pad in your locker?”

A wicked smile curved her little mouth when I sat on the floor beside her. “Hand warmers,” she admitted, tucking her light brown hair behind her ear.

“ Christ , Mattie.”

“And you’re worried about my mouth?”

“I’m not ten.”

“Nona would have your?—”

Brows raised, I clamped my palm over her mouth, shaking my head. “You were saying?” I flicked open the other cabinet door so she could at least be exposed to proper ventilation, then leaned against my desk.

For a solid ninety seconds, we stared each other down. My niece was unwilling to compromise why she’d—yet again—gotten herself sent home, while I would not let her continue to get away with this cycle. Finally, evidently sensing impending defeat, she sighed, resting her head against the wood surface as she scratched behind an ear.

Wrinkling her freckled nose, she confessed, “They were going to make us dissect frogs today.”

“Ahh,” I murmured with a nod.

“And Mr. Koraski paired me with Fisher.”

The downside to being born with more brains than anyone knew what to do with was being pushed grades beyond her age. Her parents had to make the impossible decision between allowing her to be intellectually challenged or socially accepted. Bullies were always wretched in middle school, but especially so when you were two years younger—and a good head and shoulders smaller—than your peers. When I was a kid, a little asshole named Dalton had ceaselessly tormented me. Hocked into dumpsters like yesterday’s trash. Blindsided by right hooks coming out of the locker room. It wasn’t until I outgrew the bastard in high school that I could finally fight back.

Fisher was Mattie’s Dalton. His assaults weren’t physical, but he loved to torment her, steal her things, or dump chocolate milk on her on picture day. It was his daddy’s fat wallet that kept him at Emerald Prep .

Sighing, I asked, “That hasn’t improved since your dad met with the headmaster?”

She shook her head, explaining, “Fisher’s just an angry kid, but that doesn’t mean I want to deal with his bullshit.”

“ Mattie ,” I growled, and she rolled those stubborn eyes again.

“Ugh, sorry. I don’t want to deal with his asinine behavior while he projects his unhappiness on me. Happy ?”

“That you have the vocabulary of a thirty-five-year-old divorcee? Not really.”

“So. What are you going to do?”

“Talk to your daddy?—”

“About Ms. Alice , Uncle Grey.”

“Oh, that.” Great. I was being patronized by a ten-year-old. With a resigned sigh, I smacked my head on the wood desk leg, studying my ceiling. The perk of your best buddy being four feet tall was the lack of pretense for composure.

Alessandra Rhodes . If you’d asked me two years ago whether she’d still be working for Hart Investments , I would have unequivocally said on a cold day in hell. Everything about those big grey doe eyes and too-young face said Emerald Bay would chew her up and spit her out. But within days of my stubborn asshole of a brother offering her a position, she’d assimilated with the staff—memorizing not only their names and their children but dietary restrictions and important life events like a pretty little walking Hart Investments encyclopedia. After that, she’d doubled the productivity of her team.

Then she did the impossible. She won over my Mattie.

That alone was all the testament of character I needed.

Despite being nothing but a royal prick, Alessandra sidled up beside me at the first gala she attended, having memorized the roster like she’d been born into high society rather than some desolate rock in the Alaskan sea. Drink in hand, she’d hovered at my elbow, a demure smile on her gorgeous face as she subtly supplied the name of each attendee before they reached us, along with their spouse and a random fact about their work or whose kid was graduating from whatever university. The woman belonged in investigative work, not marketing.

With allies, enemies, and people of interest, I could spout off stats for days, but the same diligence seemed wasted on B-list attendees at stuffy soirees. At least, it did before Alessandra. But the show of goodwill landed us accounts like only Ollie had ever managed.

It was at that point that I stole my brother’s acquisition for the PR team. My team. Me, more specifically. Because the woman looked like a cartoon princess but had the mind of a goddamned shark. A mind I’d used to my advantage for the last…well, twenty-one months, as she’d so aptly pointed out.

“That is unfortunate news, isn’t it?” I said, looking down to find my niece had rotated out of her hiding space, planted her black, unlaced Converse on the floor, and braced her chin on her knees. At least she still looked tiny. Innocent. I knew better.

“I thought she was your prodigy.” Even as she said it, those blue greens narrowed, like she knew— “That’s wrong. Apprentice? ”

“Protégé, kid. You were thinking of the word protégé .”

“P-r-o-t-e-g-e. Someone guided by an older, more experienced person.” I chuckled at her memorized recitation, reaching forward to ruffle her hair, which earned a defiant wrinkle of her nose. She ran her tiny fingers through mussed strands and demanded, “So, what’s your plan? You seemed pretty confident she wouldn’t end up leaving.”

“Ms. Rhodes doesn’t know about our most recent acquisition.”

“Like, a company?”

“Like, an asset.”

“Hmm, what kind of asset?”

“Talent.”

“Like…a new player?” Heart Investments was the umbrella above the empire this pint-sized genius would inherit, but we owned a decent share of the West Coast when it came down to it. My father—for all his faults—and his father before him had built a dynasty to pass down the line. I might have denied my heritage for the better portion of my adolescence and into my twenties, but it was Matilda entering the world that made me first set aside my resentment and realize if I dropped the ball—walked away—it likely wouldn’t keep running long enough for her to step into her place at the top. Mattie and her baby brother Beau were the only reason that Ollie and I didn’t sell everything.

Everything except for our football team, the Emerald Bay Bombers . Our most recent acquisition. Ollie bought it on his thirtieth birthday after a humiliating run of losses. His first action as owner was canning the arrogant coach. The second was bringing in our cousin to run it. The program had improved a bit in the two years since, but this trade would be his magnum opus. This trade was going to make waves, not just in the media but in the rapport of our guys, and in the team’s strategy. Because he’d just pushed our new coach, Nico Sartori, into stealing Windy City’s star quarterback. America’s Prince Charming. The prodigy kid. With an arm like a canon and an unshakable head on his shoulders—much like his little sister—hopes were soaring that he’d rally the team. Be the difference we needed to return the Emerald Bay name to its former gilded glory.

Miming ringing a bell, I said, “ Ding, ding, ding . You got it, kiddo.”

“Why would Ms. Alice care about a new player?” She blinked in confusion.

I expelled a long breath, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Because I wasn’t going to tell her until it was finalized, but Coach Sartori just made the biggest trade in team history. We’re about to sign Alessandra’s brother, Paxton, for a five-year contract.”