Read Online Her Wicked Heart by Ember Casey - Free Book Online Page A

A couple of the other people at his table glance questioningly after him, but most of the employees don’t even notice. They’re too focused on the charismatic, well-spoken man in front of them.
    Carolson says a few more words, but I don’t hear them. I’m too curious about Ward’s reaction. I consider slipping out and going after him—at this point, I’m not sure I care whether half the room sees me walk out—but I have no idea where he would have gone. So I sit there, full plate in front of me, letting the noise of the room wash over me.
    I don’t really notice when C arolson sits down. I don’t notice much of anything until someone taps me on the arm, and I look up to find Mr. Haymore just behind me.
    “I’ve been calling you, Ms. Thomas,” he says. His mustache twitches, and I know he’s only suppressing his temper because Carolson’s sitting ten feet behind us.
    “I’m sorry, sir,” I say numbly. “I was just thinking about what Mr. Carolson said. It was very inspiring.”
    It was the right thing to say. Mr. Haymore’s eyes soften slightly, and he gives a nod of approval.
    “I need you to run to my office and fetch the schedule for next week. The revised one. With my notes.”
    “Of course,” I say, rising.
    I feel a little lighter when I leave the room. Enough that I take my time walking down the hall. It’s funny—with all of the employees currently back in the dining room, with none of the usual hustle and bustle of preparation going on around me, I can almost pretend that all of the renovations are just part of a bad dream. That nothing has changed since I was a teenager, and I’m just back for a visit after an extended trip overseas. The garish decorating job is all wrong, of course, but I can ignore that if I close my eyes. I don’t need to see to know my way around here. I stop and take off my heels, letting my toes sink down into the carpet. I never wore shoes as a kid, and the softness of the carpet against my bare soles completes the illusion.
    And just like that—eyes closed, feet bare, arms spread wide—I stroll down the hall. Pretending I’m young again. Pretending I never left home in the first place.
    For a few minutes, at least. As I near my father’s old study, the hammering starts again, pulling me right back into the present.
    I open my eyes. The hammering is coming from down the hall—from the direction of the Welcome Center.
    It’s not much of a mystery who it is. And instead of turning into Haymore’s office, I find myself continuing down the hall toward the sound. Sure enough, when I reach the door to the Welcome Center, I find Ward inside, hard at work on the window.
    He’s still angry. It’s obvious without even seeing his face. There’s frustration in every line of his body. He’s cast aside the ill-fitting button-down. The shirt’s in a pile in the corner, and his torso’s completely bare. I try not to notice the way the muscles of his back contract as he holds a piece of wood in place. Or the way that tattoo across his bicep moves with every swing of his arm.
    A flicker of something begins to burn in my belly, growing slowly and heating the emptiness from the inside out.
    “Need something?”
    I jump at the sound of his voice. He doesn’t even stop hammering, let alone turn around. So much for me being a super spy.
    “You left the luncheon,” I say.
    “And so you decided to follow me and make sure I’m okay? I’m touched.” He doesn’t sound particularly happy to see me.
    “Hate to break it to you, but I haven’t crossed the line into ‘stalker’ just yet.” I lean against the doorway, trying to look casual. “Mr. Haymore sent me to get something from his office and I heard the hammering.”
    He finally stops hammering and turns to look at me. There’s still tension in his face, but he manages a bitter smile.
    “Just getting some work done,” he says. “You heard the man. Everything has to be perfect before the press people start