Breaking the Ice by Esme Taylor
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hettie
Mike was nice enough to drop me at home from Reid’s, so I could get ready for work and collect my pass to get past security.
After I had showered, blow dried my hair, and straightened it, I slipped into a short-sleeved, v-neck black dress with large green flowers that landed just above my knee. I paired it with some thick black tights and my dark green Doc Martins.
As I took in my appearance in the mirror, I was reminded of the bruising on my face. While I was grateful the signs of my mugging had started to fade, it hadn’t healed completely and I couldn’t bring myself to walk into the office looking like I did. I glanced at my watch and saw that I still had a few minutes before I needed to leave. Quickly applying some light makeup, I attempted to hide the fading bruises, finishing with a dab of lip gloss.
For someone who had spent half of the night with a naked Viking, screaming his name, I don’t look too bad, I thought to myself as I grabbed my aviators and slipped on my denim jacket, woolly hat, and scarf before heading out the front door.
I hadn’t spent more than half an hour in the house this morning, but as I was leaving, I noticed the camera Reid had installed above the front door and my blood ran cold. Encapsulated in the safety of Reid’s massive house, I hadn’t really thought about the person who had mugged me and most likely attempted to break into my house.
Heart racing, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath while trying to shake off the feeling of impending doom.
You have cameras and an alarm system now, Hettie. You’re safe. Even the police aren’t concerned. They think it’s someone trying their luck. You have to try to relax and remember why you love your house so much.
Releasing the breath I was holding, I opened my eyes, determined not to let this experience ruin my life. I’m not going to let some scumbag make me too scared to be in my own home. Hell no, not gonna happen.
The walk to work didn’t take long, as I decided to skip my normal trip to the coffee shop. Since I was going to be meeting up with Heather tonight, and I didn’t want Lewis to think I was taking advantage of his kindness after my time off, I planned to make a tea at work instead.
I flashed my badge at the two security guards on the door. “Good morning, gentlemen.”
“Good morning, Ms. Saunders,” they greeted as I stepped onto the lift and pressed the button for the third floor.
It was only a short ride until the lift doors opened just outside the double doors that led to our open-plan office. As I approached my desk, the first thing I noticed was the enormous vase of lilies sitting on the corner of my desk. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a bunch of fresh flowers as much as the next girl–and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful–but lilies really stink.
Assuming they were from Reid, I took a moment to think of a way I could thank him while steering him into buying something less stinky, like tulips. I do love a good tulip, I thought to myself as I pulled out the card that was tucked in the front.
Hettie, you felt amazing in my hands.
R
A strange sense of unease filled me. The message felt a bit weird. It didn’t seem like something Reid would say. For starters, he didn’t call me Etta. And then there was the fact that I’d just left him and I was going to see him later. He didn’t exactly strike me as the clingy type, so it didn’t make sense why he would send me flowers.
I popped the card into my bag before going off in search of everyone. I needed to find Lewis to see if he liked the story I’d emailed him late last night about the ball. I smiled as I recalled sitting in Reid’s lap, naked while typing up the story in his office. Unable to keep his hands off of me, Reid worshipped my breasts and rubbed my clit until I was too distracted to string a coherent sentence together. Given the circumstances, it may very well have been some of my best work.
Following the sound of voices filtering from the kitchen at the back of the office, I stepped inside to find Lewis making a pot of coffee while chatting with Ellen, who was sitting at the dark grey Formica table.
As soon as Ellen saw me, she jumped up from her seat and rushed over, wrapping me in a huge hug, completely ignoring whatever Lewis was saying. “Hettie, we’ve missed you. What trouble have you been getting yourself into? What were you thinking, walking home in the dark on your own? Promise me, you’ll be more careful in the future.”
I smiled as I hugged her back. “I promise, Ellen.”
Lewis gave me a nod as he held up a cup. “Coffee?”
“Lewis, how long have I worked here? You know I hate coffee, yet you always offer it to me.” I chuckled. “No, thank you, I’ll take a tea instead. But I’ll make it myself. You can’t make it right,” I half-joked as I pulled a mug out of the cupboard and found the teabags.
“Well, one day you might surprise me and drink the good stuff instead of the pathetic dishwater you call tea. Shall I meet you in my office in five minutes?” I nodded.
“Roger will be joining us with the pictures from the ball. I figured we could choose some to add alongside your story, which was great, by the way. I’m glad the bang to the head didn’t affect your writing ability,” he smirked before heading off to his office.
While I finished making my tea, I took a few moments to chat with Ellen. Before leaving, I promised to find her at lunchtime so that I could sample the raspberry and white chocolate muffins she’d made in honor of my safe return.
I had almost reached Lewis’ office when I spotted one of the photographers I’d seen at the ball heading in the same direction. I didn’t know his name at the time, but I now knew he must be Roger.
I tapped lightly on the door before stepping inside of Lewis’ corner office To be honest, it was more like a man cave. A large black leather sofa sat along the side wall, to the left of his dark oak desk, which he’d positioned in the middle of the room.
When I entered, Lewis was sitting in his black, high-backed leather chair that I knew for a fact he liked to spin in when he was thinking or trying to make a decision. Much like he was doing now.
On his desk were a number of photos of his wife and twin teenage boys, as well as a potted plant that changed almost monthly when he forgot to water it and it died. It didn’t matter how much we reminded him to water that plant, he always seemed to kill them. And like clockwork, his wife would send him in with a new one.
“Hettie, you know Roger Cunningham, right?” he asked, motioning to the man that walked in ahead of me. “I don’t recall if you two have worked together on anything or not. Roger, this is Hettie Saunders. She covers town events, weddings, funerals… all the exciting stuff. Right, Hettie?” He gave me a wink, shaking his mouse to wake his sleeping computer.
Roger smiled and held his hand out in greeting. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, but I’ve heard wonderful things about you, Hettie.” I smiled politely as his eyes scanned my body, lingering for far too long.
A shiver of unease washed over me. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but there was something in the way he looked at me that made my skin crawl.
Shaking it off as stress from everything I had been through in the last several days, I stepped behind Lewis and looked over his shoulder at his computer screen. Roger was probably completely harmless. Still, I decided to put as much space between us as possible while making a mental note to turn down any job where he is involved.
“Your article is great, Hettie,” Lewis informed me as he handed me a paper copy of my story. “There are a couple of suggestions that I’ve added in red. If you can make the appropriate changes when we’re done here, then I believe we’re good to go. I also need you to choose five photos from the evening. Roger has a number to choose from. Since we’re going to do a double page spread on it, we thought it might be nice to have several different shots.”
“Of course. That won’t be a problem at all,” I confirmed with a smile.
“Finally, given how you and the infamous, Mr. Hudson, are friends now, do you think we could arrange an interview with him about the event and the charity he chose?” I noted the hint of sarcasm in his voice when he referred to Reid and I as ‘friends’.
“Yes, Lewis, Reid and I are friends. As far as the interview, I don’t see why that would be a problem. I will run it by him next time I speak to him,” I replied, using the same tone he’d used. Lewis laughed.
“Right. Roger, could you leave the photos here? I need to speak to Hettie alone.” Without a word, Roger threw his pile of photos onto the desk and turned to leave.
“Rude,” I whispered to myself as the door closed behind him.
“He’s usually okay. He’s just been in a weird mood all week,” Lewis explained with a sigh. “If you ask me, I suspect it’s woman troubles. Anyway, shall we get down to business? The reason I asked you here is because I wanted to run another idea by you. It’s a project I want you to focus all of your attention on?” I sat on the sofa and listened, intrigued.
“You know Spenser Johansson’s books, right? I believe I’ve seen you reading them on your lunch break.” I nodded, blushing slightly at having been caught.
“I know this might sound a little crazy, but hear me out. I believe Mr. Johansson is a local. He might not be local to Bridstone, but definitely from somewhere nearby. And I would like you to find out who he is and where he is from.”
I twisted my head in confusion as I continued to listen.
“No one knows anything about him. There’s nothing about him online, he has no website, no social media of any kind. I can’t even find anything about him from his publishers. It’s like he’s a ghost. His new book is coming out later this year, so if we can work out who he is––or at least if he’s from around here––it could be a great opportunity for the paper. It might even bring in some new advertisers. Not to mention, the story could very well get picked up by the Nationals and you know what that could do for you and our readership.” He paused, taking a sip of his coffee.
I took the silence as an opportunity to think about what it would mean to search for the world-renowned, Spenser Johansson. Truth was, I loved his books. Like, proper fan-girl loved them. His books were the perfect mix of myth, love, heartbreak, anguish, and Happily Ever Afters.
The best way I could describe them would be like taking one of the classics and rewriting it, making it feel more like a real-life, modern-day love story. That’s exactly what Spenser Johansson did. Honestly, I could get lost in them. It’s words like his that make me feel completely inadequate as a writer.
“What makes you think he’s local?” I questioned, curious about how he had come to such a ridiculous conclusion.
“You’ve read his books… you must have recognized the familiarity of the places he describes.”
“Lewis, you know I’m not exactly that observant. You could wear a wig to work and I’d be the last one to notice.”
“Are you saying I need a wig, Hettie?”, he questioned sarcastically. “Just think about it for a second. We live in a stunning corner of the country and he seems to use it as the setting in all of his books. Town squares, hidden beaches, secret viewing points, those tiny streets that you’d only know about if you’d walked them yourself––it’s all there, Hettie. He’s writing about here. I believe he was born here, lives here, or he lived here at one time and it left a mark on him. You know what they say––write what you know.” He shrugged.
“He’s our own international best-selling author, Hettie, and I want to share that with our readers. All I’m asking is that you do some research and see if I’m right. Find out if the places he’s described are local and then see if you can work out who he is. It’s time for your first investigative story, Hettie. I believe you’re ready. Take a month, make this your top priority. Work out who the elusive Spenser Johansson is and let’s share that knowledge with the world.”
I wasn’t sure how I felt about digging around in someone else’s life, especially when they had gone to so much trouble to stay hidden, but the thought of spending the next month emerged in his books sounded like heaven.
“What if I can’t find anything?” I questioned.
“I have faith in you, Hettie. I know you’ll find something good for the story. Now, shall we go find Ellen and her cakes?” he suggested as I nodded excitedly.
◆◆◆
“I can’t believe the little shit came back for seconds!” Heather seethed as she took my hand in hers at our Friday night catch-up at Pete’s Place. “I hope someone chops his balls off.”
She stared at me, assessing the state of my bruises that were now fading into a lovely yellow-green hue. “You’re okay though, right?” she asked, her voice much softer.
“I’m good. Honestly, guys, I’m fine. I’ll admit, I was scared shitless. I’m just grateful the police came so quickly.”
“And then apparently, you came, is that right, Hets?” Heather smirked at me. “Come on, we need details. Did you really bang a Viking?”
“A lady never bangs and tells,” I mumbled with an exaggerated wink.
“While that might true, you’re no lady, Hettie Saunders. Now, dish,” Lou ordered. “We need to know everything that happened. Don’t leave anything out. Honestly, it’s been so long that I’m surprised your bits still work.” Lou burst into laughter. Leaning forward, she rested her head on her hands and looked at me wide eyed in anticipation, waiting for every last filthy detail.
“Well, it’s actually quite simple. I called him when I heard the person at the door. And before you say anything, you lot would have been no help, and you know it.” I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of them trying to ward off a burglar.
Heather once thought she had an intruder and she grabbed a baguette to protect herself. Her excuse? ‘It was a bit stale, so it would have made the perfect weapon.’
“He told me to call the cops and he rushed over on his bike to make…”
“Wait…” Lou interrupted. “He came to rescue you on a push bike? That is the lamest fairy tale ending I’ve ever heard. Where was his stallion?” she sniggered.
“It was a motorbike, you wally.”
“What kind was it?” Max asked.
“Umm, a green and black one.” I shrugged.
Max shook his head in disbelief.
“What?” I cried.
“Get back to the story. When did he poke you with his aubergine?” Lou demanded, hardly able to contain her excitement.
“The police didn’t want me to be alone, so he offered to stay with me. We ended up falling asleep on the sofa. The next morning, I told him I was too scared to be there by myself, which was true. He offered to let me stay with him for a few days. I’ve been there ever since.”
“And...?” Heather prompted, quickly losing patience.
“And, I kissed him.” I shrugged, intentionally winding her up.
“Hettie,” she scolded, “Get to the good stuff.”
I chuckled. “Nothing happened. The next day there was a bit of a misunderstanding while I was in his pool––”
“He has a pool?” Lou questioned, her eyebrows raised.
I nodded. “Anyway, after I got out of the pool, I decided to take a shower. Next thing I know, Reid is in the shower with me, kissing my neck. And then, well, then I shagged a Viking. Multiple times. And it was pretty epic.” I blushed as I recalled all the delicious details. Memories of his tongue, his hands, and his cock inside of me flashed through my head like a porno. I was wet just thinking about it.
“Better than The Weasel?” Heather asked sarcastically. Of course, she already knew my answer.
“Really, Heather? You have seen the man, right? He doesn’t even compare.”
“Are you seeing him again?” Max asked warily.
“Actually, he and his friends are meeting us for cocktails later. That’s okay with you guys, right?” I asked, taking in each of their expressions.
“Boys!” Lou shouted, clapping her hands excitedly. “Yay!”
“Hey, boy, right here.” Max scolded feigning insult. “You’re going to give my masculinity a complex.” We all burst into laughter having momentarily forgotten about Max being a boy too.
“I’ll hang out with him, but if he hurts you, Hettie, I’ll crush him like a massive bug.” I shook my head as Max’s protectiveness, hoping that he would eventually warm to Reid.
In an attempt to change the subject away from Reid, my sex life, or my relationship status, I asked, “So, what’s been happening with you guys this week?”
“I got someone to help me run the bookshop so I can take weekends off before I die of exhaustion,” Lou announced with a smile, before laying her head back against the booth and dramatically throwing her arm over her eyes, pretending to faint.
After an hour or so and a number of cocktails, the conversation eventually wound its way back to me and Reid. “So, did he make you come?” Lou questioned without a hint of embarrassment. That girl was always so relaxed about sex, I blushed for her.
“Once or twice,” I replied with a wink.
“With his cock?” she clarified. I nodded while taking a sip of my drink.
“Amazing, now you know what you’ve been missing out on,” she squealed.
Leaning in so the others couldn’t hear, I whispered, “And with his fingers and his tongue, multiple times.” Lou threw her arms around me with an excited squeal as I tried my best not to die of embarrassment.