Stolen Hearts (Hearts 1)

There was a second of silence on Zilla’s side. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. I mean. I appreciate your effort but—”

“My effort?” She laughed. “God you’re such an infant sometimes, Poppy.”

That stung. Really stung. But it also worried me. “Are you all right?” I asked.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” she said. “For once this isn’t about my mistakes. You owe Eden Morelli a favor, Poppy.”

“I know.”

“Do you know what kind of favors she wants?”

“No.”

“Bloody ones. Criminal ones.”

“Zilla—”

“And you don’t have the senator there to protect you.”

“Protect me!” I scoffed, the sound scraping through my throat. “Is that what you thought he did?”

“No,” my sister said, reeling herself in. “Of course not. I’m just saying the Constantine/Morelli world works differently.”

“I know how the world works,” I snapped. “The world kills your mother when you’re sixteen and gives you a father who burns through all the money. The world gives your sister a psychotic break—”

“Poppy,” she breathed.

“And takes away every choice we have except one. One choice. One choice who broke my finger because he could. Who threw books at my head. Who left bruises on my body. Who was so driven to have a baby that my feelings on the matter did not count.”

I closed my eyes and pressed my shaking fingers to my eyes. “Don’t tell me how the world works,” I whispered. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Without giving her a chance to say anything, I hung up. And because I knew she would call back with all her apologies, I turned off my phone.

The Halcyon Building was a skyscraper in midtown. Walking up to it I always felt like a character in Legally Blonde. A little out of place but determined to try. There was a jazzy little number playing in the background, something plucky. Today I felt that so keenly it was like a laugh or a sob caught in my throat. I was going to do this. Executive director of a million-dollar foundation. If I had doubts, I was trying hard to squash them under some undeserved optimism. Unearned confidence.

But Caroline was right. I had ideas. Good ones. And now I had a lot of money to put them into action.

I was new at believing in myself so it took a second, but by the time I got in the front door I was swinging my new briefcase around like I was about to burst into song. The foundation was on the 24th floor, and when the elevator doors opened there was a big wide desk with ‘Better Families, Better New York’ in gold and black lettering against a white wall.

Justin was sitting there and looked stunned to see me. And I was a little stunned to see him.

“Poppy?” he said, getting to his feet. “I didn’t know you were coming in today?”

“I told Caroline I’d be coming in today.”

“Oh no,” he said. “My mistake. Let me call her, and she can be here in twenty minutes.”

“Actually.” I leaned forward, speaking conspiratorially. “I don’t want a big fuss, and we both know that Caroline is the definition of a big fuss.”

Justin smiled, and I smiled back at him, relieved that he wasn’t offended by the joke. But also suddenly wondering if he was going to go and tell Caroline. But then that thought was disloyal, so I shoved the whole thing aside.

“Seriously. I just want to look around. But what are you doing here?”

“Caroline wanted me to come down to set up some systems.”

“Oh. Well, systems are good.” What kind of systems did people have to set up? I wondered.

“The phones are working. Interoffice email. The official receptionist starts next week.”

Oh. Those systems.

He began to pull documents off the desk and hand them to me. “Here’s a list of applicants for the position of your assistant. We can call them for interviews whenever you’re ready.” There was another stack of papers. “Here are the first rounds of funding requests. I haven’t vetted any of them.” He handed me another stack. “And here is the old funding criteria from Caroline’s other foundations. We thought that might be a good jumping-off place.” More stacks of paper. More and more and more. “Here are media requests. Again. I haven’t vetted all of them. But if you’re ready to start, flag the ones you like, and Caroline will look over them.”

“Sure,” I said, overwhelmed and trying not to be. “Where’s my . . . desk?”

He smiled at me, and I had to admit I did like Justin. He was competent and kind. It wasn’t his fault that he always looked like a little puppy.

“Follow me. I think you will be very pleased.”

We rounded the desk into a small open concept room with two desks. One of them positioned in front of another closed door. Justin opened it and stepped back, smiling.

“Oh my gosh,” I whispered, stepping into the office. One whole wall was nothing but windows, floor to ceiling. A beautiful cherry wood Queen Anne desk with a sleek computer monitor on top. The wall opposite the windows had a massive white board and calendar. Three chairs set up with small tables between them. Morning meetings with my team. It was feminine and majestic and so, so amazing.