Beyond Business. Elizabeth HarbisonЧитать онлайн книгу.
and … everything. I’ll wash them.”
“You really don’t have to do that.”
“Stop saying that. Just give me the clothes, would you?”
“You’ve sure gotten bossy over the years.”
“Evan.”
He put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I hear you. I’ll strip for you. No problem.”
She sighed. “You know all that stuff I said about being able to work with you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m starting to think I should ask for a raise.” She smiled. “They’re not paying me enough for this.”
He laughed. “I’ll talk to the boss on your behalf.”
“Good.” She led him to the bottom of the staircase. “Now go. Toss your stuff down to me when you’ve got it off.”
“Fine.” He made his way up the stairs and she leaned against the wall and waited for him.
About two minutes later he tossed his things down and said, “No starch!”
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Eleven
It was a strange feeling having Evan Hanson sleeping in her house.
A very strange feeling.
As Meredith sat by the washer and dryer, waiting for them to complete their cycles so she could take Evan’s clothes to his room and go to sleep, she had to keep reminding herself that this was all really happening.
There was once a time when she would never have imagined herself forgiving him and facing him again, but that was fading now. It wasn’t Evan’s fault that her father’s business had been ruined, it was George Hanson’s. The more she dug around Hanson Media Group, and the more people she spoke with, the more obvious it was that he had been a completely ruthless businessman for whom nothing was personal and everything had been war.
Now, instead of blaming Evan for his father’s misdeeds, she pitied him for having had that sort of man for a father. As rough as it was to compete with him in business, it had to be almost as rough to live up to his standards as a son.
As a matter of fact, she remembered some of Evan’s struggle with George Hanson. Not that Evan had talked about it much, but he’d gone through periods of quiet introspection that had worried her sometimes, and it wasn’t until she’d drawn him out that she knew it was because of his father’s heavy hand.
For her, it was just one more thing to hate about George Hanson.
When she’d taken this job, she’d thought it would be easy because of the unpleasant connotations she had with the Hanson family name. She thought she’d feel no hint of conscience or betrayal because any personal warm feelings she’d had for anyone in the family had long since died and been replaced by the opposite.
In a way it had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get back at them, even though they’d never know it was her.
Now … well. Now things were getting a little more complicated. She’d still do her job; she was nothing if not professional.
But she was going to have to get some perspective where Evan was concerned. And that she would get by reminding herself how, even though he didn’t have anything to do with the greatest tragedy of her life—her father’s ruin and death—he was directly responsible for the greatest heartbreak of her life.
There was no way around that one.
The dryer stopped and she took the warm jeans out. Size 32 waist. He’d filled out.
But of course she knew that.
She started up the stairs and remembered a conversation she’d had with him once. The memory hit her with crystal clarity and hit her so hard she had to stop and sit down.
They’d snuck out in the night once because it had seemed so romantic. It had been her idea, as she recalled, but Evan had indulged her. He’d come to her window at 2:00 a.m. and she’d climbed down the trellis, just like a cliché in a movie.
It was summer, and hot. Even the nights were hot, and the air was damp with humidity. They’d gone to a small private cove he knew of on Lake Michigan and they’d sat on the beach and talked for hours.
She couldn’t remember most of what they’d said. It was a lot of talk about their pasts, their dreams and the other typical things that kids that age could expound upon.
She remembered the night specifically because a quick but wild thunderstorm had come out of the blue, interrupting the clear starry night with about ten minutes of drama.
Kissing in that thunderstorm had been one of the most romantic moments of her life.
It was amazing that she could remember anything else, but she did. Evan had asked her if her father had ever thought about selling his newspaper business.
“I don’t know. Why?”
Evan had shrugged. But now, when she saw it again in her memory, she realized he had looked tense.
“Just seems like a really competitive business. I’ve heard sometimes it gets ugly, one paper accusing another of publishing lies and whatnot. It’s hard for a newspaper to come back after that kind of accusation.”
She’d laughed—laughed!—seeing no significance in what he was saying at all.
“Oh, come on, Evan, no one takes that stuff that seriously. Look at all the tabloids at the grocery store that say aliens are walking among us. Everyone knows they’re full of lies, but they’re still in business.”
“It’s different, Meredith. I wouldn’t want to be in the news business for anything. I’d hate to see a nice guy like your dad get into trouble in business.”
“As long as he keeps the aliens off the front page, he’ll be fine.” She could remember saying that, because then she’d looked up and seen a shooting star.
She’d wished for a long, happy future with Evan.
Maybe the star had been an alien.
She started up the stairs with his warm clothes now, playing and replaying his words in her head. How on earth had she forgotten that hugely significant conversation until now?
Or, on the other hand, how had she remembered it at all? Given how little thought she’d put into it at the time, and how many other things had happened that night that were a lot more interesting to the mind of a teenage girl, she was amazed that it was still in her head at all.
She wondered if Evan remembered.
She stopped at the door to the guest room she’d directed him to and knocked softly.
No answer.
Slowly she opened the door and peeked in. Light from the bathroom spilled in and she could see he was on his side, breathing softly and rhythmically.
She set his clothes down on the dresser and started to leave but then she turned back.
As if watching someone else, and completely incapable of stopping them, she walked back over to the side of the bed and looked down at him. She told herself she just wanted to make sure he seemed all right, in case he had a concussion, but the truth was she wanted to be closer to him, to see him without his knowing it.
It might have been ten minutes that she stood there, looking at that handsome face half hidden by the shadows of the night. It was a face she’d thought about many times over the years. At first with love, then later with pain and confusion, then finally with anger.
Now she wasn’t sure how she felt.
And that scared her more than anything.
She turned to leave and stepped on a creaky floorboard