The Beginning [Working Title]

PROLOGUE.

        I remember the day we met.  The sight of an oak tree or the smell of coffee still sends me straight back to that crisp fall morning on campus fifteen years ago.  Finally free of my mother and step-father, college was supposed to be this big, wonderful adventure and yet for the first three weeks I had done nothing but go to class and hide in the library.  That morning was different.  That morning I had decided to brave the late September chills and study for my upcoming French test out among other students.  I just hadn’t counted on being the only student dumb enough to study at 7am on a 20 degree day.
         Later that year, and even for a few years after that, when I had looked back on what happened next, I considered myself the luckiest girl in the world.  Now, I know it hadn’t been luck at all.
         “You look a little cold…here, have a coffee.”  The voice had been like honey coating my ears: soft and sweet.  I found myself thinking that I could stare into those cavernously deep blue eyes forever; they just went on and on.  And then he was smiling at me and nothing else mattered; the temperature outside might have been five hundred degrees for all I knew.  I finally managed to thank him for the offer, accept my coffee, and stop smiling like a moron.  But as we sat under that oak tree, drinking coffee and talking, my smile couldn’t resist returning every now and again.     
         “I haven’t seen you around much.  Are you a freshman?” 
         “Freshwoman” I had corrected, giddy with joy when I received a warm smile for my efforts rather than an eye roll. 
         “Freshwoman, ok” he had agreed, moving closer.  I inched away, my internal instincts unfortunately choosing that moment to kick in.  For the first time, his outer confidence flickered.  “I’m sorry…do you…do you have a boyfriend?”  The idea of me having a boyfriend was so laughably ridiculous that I couldn’t help my giggly reaction, but this just seemed to offend him.  “Maybe I should go.”           
         He got to his feet and my laughter died at once.  “No!”  I couldn’t get the word out fast enough, scrambling into a standing position as well.  “I mean, I’m sorry.  It’s just that, to be honest, the guys in my life haven’t been all that nice.  Adding another one to that list just…I don’t know…”  I had a whole speech whirling around in my brain about why spending time with him was probably a bad idea for both of us but he was staring at me with those extremely blue eyes again.  My voice had somehow forgotten how to form words.
         “Maybe you need to start hanging out with better guys.”  Taking both of my hands in his gently, he had smiled that crooked smile at me and I was lost.
         “Maybe I do.” 
         And that was the day that my life took a turn for the worse…
         I just didn’t know it yet. 
 
CHAPTER ONE.

         “Are you excited?”  Nick squeezed my shoulder in what I’m sure he thought was a comforting gesture but only served as fuel to the erratic pounding of my heart.
         “Sure…if by ‘excited’ you mean, going to hurl at any second, then yes.  That’s exactly what I am.”  My eyes stayed fixed straight ahead on the solid wooden door that led to the office where people were discussing my future at this very moment. 
         “Relax, Em.  You’re a great writer.  I’m sure you’ll get the job.”
         “You’re sure about everything” I reminded him, only half paying attention to the words exiting my mouth.
         “Well…I am sure you are right about that.”  Turning towards me, Nick’s smile was probably the only thing in the world that could distract me from my inner woes. 
         I shifted in my plastic seat so that I could reach his hands and I took them both in mine.  “I’m sorry I’ve been so crazy lately.  I know that you probably can’t understand why I’m panicking over a simple low level job like this when you’re probably going to just go work at one of your multi-million-dollar corporations, but”-
         “Whoa…slow down.”  Nick pulled his hands free of mine and stood up.  “Those companies are my father’s legacy.  Sure, by name I still own them, but I gave up the managing rights about a year after my parents died.  I want to be a lawyer, not some businessman.  You know that.”
         I seemed to have touched a nerve.  See, this is why my mouth should be on lockdown until stressful situations are over with.  “Nick, I didn’t”-
         “Most of those companies sell socks in bulk.  Who wants to sell socks for the rest of their life?”  Most of Nick’s agitation had evaporated by this comment.  Now he simply looked bemused, as though he was truly trying to figure out who woke up one morning and decided to be a sock seller. 
         “I’m sorry.”  I stood up and wrapped him in a hug, which he promptly returned.  We stood nestled in each other’s arms like that until the sound of a door opening reminded me why were there and I leapt backwards.  Catching my heel on the bottom of my vacated plastic seat, I toppled over it and landed with a hard thud. 
         “Oh god, please don’t let them have seen that” I prayed to myself as Nick, after having seen that I was ok, stifled his laughter in the corner.
         “Miss. Emma Parker?”
         I raised my hand from the ground, trying to ignore my complete and utter embarrassment at the whole clumsy situation.  What a way to make a first impression.  “Down here.”
         “Miss. Parker, I don’t know how you are used to behaving at interviews, but let me assure you that if given a job here at the Cambridge Chronicle, this type of behavior will not be tolerated.  Floors are for standing, not for sleeping.” 
         “Oh no, but I…this wasn’t…I didn’t mean…”  I hurried to push myself into a standing position, dusting off my pants and palms. 
         The middle-aged woman who had implied I liked doing nothing better with my time than lying on germ-infested floors was squinting at me with a shrewd look from behind a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.  From within her large black purse she withdrew a notebook and pen, which she then began to take notes with, speaking aloud as she did.  “Wants to be a journalist and yet can’t speak in complete sentences…”  She raised her eyes to meet mine, clicked her tongue disapprovingly and then pointed towards the door she had come through.  “Let’s go.”
         I would have given anything to back up a few minutes and just stay planted in my seat until I was called.  But how was I supposed to know that the lady who was going to interview me was recovering from a humor-ectomy??  If I wasn’t so scared that I had totally just blown my one chance, I would have called over to Nick smugly, “how sure are you that I’ll get the job now?”  As it was, I only managed a desperate look that plainly read “HELP” before I was whisked away behind that door which had once looked so promising and now looked more like the wooden top of a coffin…my coffin to be more specific. 
         “Right this way, Miss. Parker.”  She led me to a small, windowless room at the end of the corridor and pointed at the row of straight-backed chairs.  “Take a seat.” 
         I felt my last hope of turning this thing around slipping through my fingers as more and more time passed.  I didn’t even know the woman’s name.  Selecting the chair closest to the desk where I assumed she would sit during the interview, hoping this showed confidence and bravery, I sat as tall as possible and waited for her to begin asking questions.  But she didn’t; she simply stood in the doorway, watching me like a hawk would watch its prey.  When I couldn’t stand the silence anymore, I decided to try and salvage what I could of this disastrous interview.  “Um, excuse me…Mrs.…”
         Instead of answering me by filling in the blank with her last name as most would do when prompted like that, she opened her annoying little notebook again and added another note, accompanied by her vocal recitation of it like before.  “Takes a very long time to begin interviews.”
         “Oh no, but I thought…aren’t you…”  My palms were sweating enough to fill a river, I swear.
         “More incomplete sentences…”  She made a little tally mark in the notebook, her disapproving frown deepening.
         I was baffled.  I thought she was supposed to be interviewing me, not the other way around.  But, giving it a little more thought, I realized belatedly that of course they would have to know how well you could interview if you were going to be a journalist.  I just wish she would have given me fair warning and not expected me to jump right in.  Feeling very much like I was in the worst dream of my life and wishing it would just end already, I cleared my throat weakly.  “Right.  Sorry.  How long have you been”-
         “Miss. Parker, I feel it would be a waste of both of our times for this to continue.”  She had closed the notebook and set it aside; her decision clearly made.  And, to be honest, if I were her, I wouldn’t hire me either. 
         Ducking my head to conceal the sudden glassiness of my eyes, I tried to come up with the most professional sounding good-bye I could think of.  “Good luck with the other interviews” sounded too catty and “Please reconsider” sounded too desperately pathetic.  However, before I could come up with one in between, Nick’s casually confident voice was echoing up and down the hall.  “Excuse me, ma’am…may I speak to you for just a minute?”
         I wasn’t sure how he had gotten past the lady at the counter who was only supposed to let staff and potential staff down this particular hallway, but at the present moment I didn’t care.  He was my knight in shining armor…my one final chance.  If anyone could help, it was Nick.  He drew Mrs. Whatshername aside and they began conversing in low tones that unfortunately didn’t make it to my ears. 
         I tried reading body language, but as Nick always looked cool, calm and assured, and as Whatshername, as far as I knew, always looked like her favorite snack was a lemon, this didn’t produce very helpful information.  In fact, no helpful information was produced at all until well after Nick had finished speaking to her, said goodbye and left the building, promising to call me later.
         Only then did Mrs. Whatshername give me an appraising look, as though considering me in a different light for the first time.  “Miss. Parker.”  She adjusted her tortoiseshell glasses.  “Against my better judgment, I am going to offer you a job here at the Cambridge Chronicle.”  I did all I could not to scream with joy, knowing that she could take back her offer just as easily as she had made it.  After a beat of silence, probably waiting to see if I would scream or not, she pulled a card from her purse and extended it.  “This is the contact information of your immediate supervisor.  Caroline Walker.  Her office is down the hall; room three-oh-three.  She will be expecting you in ten minutes.  Don’t be late.” 
         “I won’t.  Thank you so much.”  Refusing to let my fingers shake, I reached out, slipped the card from her fingers and held onto it tightly.  This little rectangular slip of paper was the start to something big.  I just knew it. 
 
CHAPTER TWO.

         “So you’re our new writer.”  Caroline Walker was not what I was expecting at all.  She couldn’t have been more than 28 years old and instead of wearing a skirt or dress pants in the office like most working folks, she wore a tie-die tee-shirt over stretchy black yoga pants and no shoes.  When I had first walked into the office, I hadn’t even seen her because she was behind her desk, on the floor, meditating. 
         Still, I knew that first impressions weren’t always accurate (oh boy, did I know that), so I was ready for anything.  Maybe she was just as spiteful and cruel as…oh god, I still didn’t know the other lady’s name.  So when she made the statement about me being the paper’s newest writer, I braced myself for some critical follow-up comment, ready to turn defensive.  Because now that I had this job, I was not walking away from it.
         But Caroline simply unfolded herself from the pretzel-position and got to her feet with a cheery smile.  “Your writing is phenomenal.  I only read the first few from your portfolio but you really have a way with words.”
         I blinked.  “Really?  You think so?” 
         Caroline perched on the edge of her desk, picking up a bottle of lime green nail polish and beginning to touch up her fingers.  “Of course!  That story you did on the oldest dog in the state dying just before its sixteenth birthday when it got hit by the man delivering the cake for the party…it had just the right blend of sad and funny.  I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh or cry at the end!” 
         I wasn’t 100% sure that out of all the articles I had written for my college newspaper and put in the portfolio, the dog story would be the one I would use as an example of great writing, but I nodded energetically, taking all compliments I could get at this point.  “Thanks.”  I watched her cap the polish, waiting to see if she was going to say anything else.  When she didn’t, I started to stand.
         My sudden movement seemed to remind her I was there.  “Oh!  Before you go, you need to fill out these forms.  Big pain, I know, but they’re for taxes and other fun stuff so just fill them out and you’re good to go.  I’ll be emailing out assignments later in the week.
         I picked up the nearest pen and quickly completed each form.  When I had finished and looked up again, Caroline was now sitting cross-legged on top of her desk, blowing on her freshly painted fingernails.  “Um…so I’ll just wait for your email then?”
         Caroline’s eyes were now closed and one hand was facing palm-up on each knee.  Her parting word to me was really more of a syllable than a word.  “Ohm….”
         I ducked out of the office, so wrapped up in my own thoughts about this bizarre day and the way it was going that I walked right into someone else.  And for the second time that afternoon, I found myself staring at the ceiling.  “What do they polish the floors in this building with?  Butter?!”  I grumbled as I slowly sat up.  I was so going to have a bruise in the morning.
         “Actually I think it’s canola oil” the girl I had walked into responded cheerfully.  She, naturally, had managed to remain standing, though I saw with some satisfaction that the stack of papers she had been holding was now scattered up and down the hallway. 
         Then I felt bad for thinking negatively about this girl just because she was fortunate enough to not be a klutz and keep her balance when I side-swiped her.  So I shifted onto my knees and began to collect all paper within reach.  “I’m so sorry.  I didn’t mean to bump into you…I just…I’ve had a long, strange day.”  I rocked back onto my heels, then stood and offered her the re-formed stack of papers.  “I’m Emma by the way.”
         “Charlie.”  She took the papers, holding out her other hand to shake mine.  With a closer look at me, an expression of mixed understanding and pity crossed her face.  “This strange day of yours…did King Kong get to you by any chance?”
         “Who?”  But even as I asked, I knew who it had to be.
         Charlie tucked the papers into an envelope and taped the envelope to Caroline’s closed office door.  “King Kong…Elinor King…also known as”-
         “Humor-ectomy recipient” I interrupted before I could stop myself. 
         For a heart-stopping second, I was sure that Charlie was going to announce that she was Elinor’s daughter or something equally as horrible and that insulting her like that was a one way ticket out the door.  But then Charlie was dissolving into a fit of laughter so intense that she was forced to grab onto my shoulder to stay upright.  When she could stand under her own power again and the laughter had subsided, she gave me a broad grin.  “That’s a good one.  I’m going to use that from now on.  You don’t mind, do you?”
         Mind?  I was flattered.  No one had ever considered anything I said funny enough to use it themselves.  “Go for it” I assured her, beaming.  “I can probably think of others to use too” I added confidently, before feeling a little stupid and adding, “I mean, if you want.” 
         “Absolutely!”  She draped an arm around my shoulders.  “The other guys are going to love you!  Especially at out weekly “King Ring”.”  She must have seen the look on my face because she didn’t wait for me to ask before explaining.  “We get together every Sunday night, eat snacks and vent our frustrations about the King of…France.”  Her voice suddenly got very up-beat and chipper.  I might even call it on the verge of panicky.  “Nobody likes him these days…oh hello Mrs. King.”
         Now I understood the tone and topic shift.  I heard her before I saw her.  “Explaining the ropes to our new reporter, I hope.”  Her voice was crisp, no two syllables slurred together.
         “Yes, ma’am.”  Charlie removed her arm from my shoulders and stared straight ahead, unblinking.  I was reminded of a drill sergeant addressing his troops and half expected Charlie to salute. 
         I couldn’t help giggling softly to myself at this picture and found out quite quickly how impressively sharp King Kong’s hearing really was.  “Miss. Parker, given the shaky way your interview process went this afternoon, do you think it’s wise to push your luck any farther?” 
         My smile vanished.  “No ma’am.”
         Her answering nod was curt.  “Well.  You aren’t entirely brainless.  I’ll give you that.”  She put one hand on Caroline’s office doorknob, preparing to turn it.  “Oh and Miss. Hawthorne?”  Charlie nodded raptly.  “Be sure to tell Miss. Parker about my husband.”  With this final, very cryptic, message delivered, she disappeared into Caroline’s office.
         The stiff tension melted out of Charlie’s shoulders immediately and I let out the breath I had been holding.  “What happened to her husband?”  Even though King Kong had given Charlie an order to tell me this information and even though she was out of ear shot, I didn’t feel comfortable speaking at anything more than a whisper. 
         “Not here.”  Charlie took me by the shoulders and led me outside.  The fresh air on my face made it impossible to remember why I had been so stressed inside.  But then Charlie started talking again.  “So it’s rumored that King’s husband was a deadbeat lover…didn’t want to have kids or look for a job or even help out around the house.  All he wanted to do was sit around and drink beer.  So she warned him that if he didn’t clean up his act, she would give him an attitude adjustment.  Well he laughed at her, gave her the finger, and went back to watching TV.”
         “What happened next?”  I wasn’t surprised to hear myself whispering again.
         Charlie’s voice dropped dramatically.  “When he woke up the next morning he was missing all ten of his fingers.  When he screamed for his wife, all she said was, “try flipping me off now”. 
         There was a pause, in which I swear I heard my heart literally skip a beat, and then Charlie shrugged half-heartedly.  “I doubt it really happened but it gets the point across.  She’s definitely not a woman to cross.”
         I took a seat on the top step and plunked my chin in my palms thoughtfully.  “I don’t get it.  How did a rumor like that even get started?  And why has she let it continue?  Most people don’t like being gossiped about and she could easily stop it.”
         Charlie gave me an odd look.  “She hasn’t stopped it because she’s the one who started it.” 
 
CHAPTER THREE.

         “Seven days of being a fully employed journalist complete.  How does it feel?”  Nick popped open the champagne bottle and filled our glasses.
         “Incredible.”  I took a sip of the celebratory beverage.  “Aside from Elinor, everyone is really nice and friendly.  And I turned in my first assignment yesterday morning and Caroline said I was a natural.”  I took another sip.  “And I owe it all to you.  I don’t know how you did it, but you got me that job.  I couldn’t have done it without you.”
         Nick leaned back in his chair, swirling champagne around in his glass with one of his breathtaking smiles.  “I may have gotten you in the door…I won’t deny that…but your writing skills are what is keeping you there.” 
         “Nick…”  I reached across the table so that our champagne-free hands were linked.  “The day we met was one of the best days of my life.  You don’t know what you mean to me.”
         Nick put down his champagne glass and placed his hand on top of mine so that both of his hands were cupping one of mine.  “And you don’t know what it means to me that you have let me into your life.  I know you have a valid reason for not trusting guys…” 

         “So what’s the deal with you and guys?”
         I jumped about a foot in the air as Nick appeared at my elbow.  “What are you talking about?” 
         “Oh come on, Emma, give me a little credit here.”  He moved around so that we were facing each other.  “The first time we met you told me that the guys in your life haven’t been nice people.  You haven’t said more than three words to a guy who isn’t me.  And as I was walking over here, I actually saw you hide from that kid Garrett.  Every girl on campus wants him to talk to them.  But not you.  We’ve been hanging out for almost three months now.  I deserve at least some kind of explanation if you’re going to keep avoiding the rest of my gender.” 
         I knew he was right but I had sworn to myself that my past was going to stay in the past.  When I had put the last of my bags in the car, looked directly at my mother and stepfather on the front porch and said “good-bye”, I was shutting a door on that part of my life.  Forever. 
         Nick seemed to guess how I was feeling because he offered up a compromise without me having to say a word.  “If you tell me something from your past that no one here knows, I’ll tell you something from mine.”
         Knowing it was the best deal I was going to get, I started talking before I could change my mind.  “My parents married young.  They were both in their late teens and thought they were in love, but the only parts of them that felt that way were their hormones.  I was born two months after their wedding…I’m sure a pre-law student like yourself is smart enough to understand what the story is here.  So I’ll give you the cliff notes version.  My dad resented being tied to my mother and I when he was supposedly in the prime years of his life.  He’d stay out late, come home plastered and beat my mother until she couldn’t stand anymore.  Then I got to be old enough to take a hit or two myself.  I was trying to protect my mother…she never stood up to him.  I thought that when he died…liver failure, of course…maybe things would get better.  Well, I mean, I guess you could say they did.  Bright spot…the new guy in mom’s life didn’t whack her around.  Just me.”
         The entire time that I was speaking, Nick had listened patiently, his expression showing concern, horror, and disgust in all the right places.  When I fell silent, he hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, and then pulled me into a comforting hug.  “I am so sorry that you had to go through that all by yourself.  I wish I could do something to help…”
         “This is helping” I admitted, enjoying how safe and protected his arms were making me feel.
         “I don’t know if this will make you feel better or worse” he went on, directing his comments to the top of my head since I had my face buried in his chest.  “But I did promise to tell you a secret about my own past.” 
         “Why would that make me feel worse?”  I lifted my head from his chest curiously.
         “I don’t want you to think I’m comparing my petty troubles to the terrible things you’ve been through.”  He looked down at me with those sincere blue eyes.
         “Why don’t you just tell me the story and let me decide if it’s petty or not?”  I ducked out from under his arms and danced backwards a few steps, finally coming to rest under our special oak tree and dusting some snow from its branches.  As odd as it sounded, you could almost say I was flirting with him.  As if telling him why I had always been so uneasy around guys had given me the chance to change all that.  At least with him.
         He joined me under the oak; the snow was too thick to clear out a place to sit so we huddled together under its branches, leaning against the trunk.  Nick took my hand in his.  “My parents were never around much when I was a kid.  They worked all the time so I was raised by nannies mostly.  Anyway, one night when I was 16, my parents were going to this fancy dinner and on the way back…they got into a car crash.”  His grip on my hand tightened.  “My neighbor had to wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me.” 
         “Oh, Nick I”-
         He kept talking.  “I spent two years with my aunt and uncle on a farm in Kentucky before I came up here to study law.  I figured maybe one day I’d be a high powered lawyer and could finally put away the scum who hit my parents’ car so hard that it fell through the guard rail, into the river, and then drove off without a care in the world.”  He took a deep breath, slowing his words down to a normal speed again.  “I may not have seen them much but they were still my parents and even if I have to use every last cent of the billion-dollar fortune they left me, I will catch their killer.” 
         There were so many things I wanted to say.  I wanted to hug him like he had hugged me after I had been the one to talk about my past.  I wanted to assure him that his parents’ death was most certainly not petty troubles as he had claimed it might be.  I wanted to say something that might let him know how truly sorry I was for his loss.  But, tactful as ever, the words that came out first were, “you’re a billionaire???”

         “Can I ask you something?”  I put down my fork halfway through dinner.
         Nick’s own fork paused halfway to his mouth, a piece of chicken balancing dangerously.  “Sure.  What’s up?” 
         I had really been hoping I could ignore my desire to know the answer to this particular question.  I had been directing my thoughts away from it for a whole week, but curiosity had won out.  “King Kong doesn’t like or listen to anyone.  But you got her to hire me.  Did you pay her?”
         Most people might be offended by a question like that, but against all odds I had found myself a guy that wasn’t most people.  He lowered his fork with an amused smile.  “Elinor is a reasonable woman.  All I had to do was explain to her that you were just flustered and star-struck because you are a huge fan of her writing and you’ve saved everything she’s ever published.” 
         “And she bought that?!”  This was the same woman who had just assigned Charlie two weeks of being stuck on answering questions in the advice column because she had brought her coffee with half a squirt more cream than she had asked for.  I was strongly reminded of the movie, “The Devil Wears Prada”.
         Nick settled back in his chair with a mysterious edge to his otherwise delightfully charming smile.  “Sometimes it’s just all in the way you say things.”
         Deciding to let the matter rest, I raised my half-empty champagne glass in the air.  “Well, regardless of the way you managed it, I am extremely grateful to you, Nick.  I will never ever begin to be able to pay you back for what you’ve done for me.”
         “You could say yes.”
         I frowned in confusion, looking down to select a roll.  “Yes to what?  You didn’t ask me a que...”  With my chosen roll in hand, I looked up…and dropped it.  It rolled and rolled and rolled, only stopping when it hit Nick’s knee.  My eyes moved from his knee all the way up to the square velvet box in his hand.
         And then to the diamond ring inside.