Countdown to Midnight Page 3

  “Hey! Me too!”

  “Yes,” she said. “I know. I mean—I heard that we were both—”

  He kept speaking like he hadn’t noticed her stalkerish admission. “Actually, pediatric oncology. Someday.”

  “Wow,” said Jane. “That’s three years of residency and then—”

  “An oncology fellowship.” He cocked his head to the side. “You? Any special concentration?”

  Jane shook her head. “Nope. I just want to be a pediatrician. You know, family practice.”

  “Where do you want to do your residency?”

  “East coast would be my first choice. CHOP, if possible,” she said, using the popular acronym for Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia. “You?”

  “Same. But Boston.”

  She nodded at him but didn’t know what else to say. After more than half a decade of swooning over Amity Atwell in silence, sitting across from him at a table and chatting about course of study and possible residencies felt utterly surreal.

  “Hey, uh…” Amity ran a hand through his hair before propping his elbows on the table and leaning forward. “It’s almost six. Want to grab a slice and then come back and study for a few more hours?”

  Her heart kicked into high gear.

  He’s asking me on a date? No, Jane. It’s not a date. It’s just “a slice” and more studying. Don’t get ahead of yourself.

  “My treat…” he said, as though her hesitancy meant she needed further incentive.

  “Um…yeah. Sure,” she said, trying to be cool, though she could hear the loud pounding of her pulse in her ears. “Food sounds good.”

  One evening of “studying and a slice” led to two, then three, until Jane found that she was practically racing—with wings on her heels—to the library every night, breathless for more one-on-one time with Amity Atwell. Everything she’d always longed for felt possible, and her dreams—indulgent, extravagant dreams of true love—were suddenly coming true.

  As they studied for their comp exam across from one another at the same table night after night, they’d offer up bits of information from their notes or clarify facts and questions with one another, both committed to cramming as much information into their heads before June 1—and their important weekend-long exam—rolled around.

  While they ate pizza around the corner at Il Mondo almost every night, seated at the counter side by side on high stools, she learned bits and pieces about him. He had five brothers, all named for virtues like their cousins, and he was closest to Merit, who was older. He wanted to go into pediatric oncology because his younger brother, Ransom, had battled and beat childhood leukemia, and Amity had never forgotten the gratitude he felt for the doctors and nurses who’d looked after him.

  Jane learned that she and Amity had more in common than she’d realized—they’d even been at the same party once or twice, when the Englishes still hosted their annual summer fundraiser at Haverford Park, though they were practically toddlers at the time.

  “We might have been in the same line for lemonade or burgers,” said Jane, finishing her pizza on the night before their exams began.

  “Nah,” said Amity, reaching over to rub some cheese off her upper lip with his thumb. “I would’ve remembered you.”

  His thumb had lingered, and Jane had held her breath, every nerve ending in her body focused on his touch, of his skin touching hers.

  “Sorry,” he’d murmured, letting his hand fall. “You had a little…”

  “Thanks,” she’d answered breathlessly, but Amity had already jumped up to pay for their slices. The moment was gone.

  At the time, she didn’t know that that night would be their last together.

  What Amity Atwell had failed to mention during their study sessions together was that he had enrolled in three clinical electives abroad that following summer and fall, no doubt to get away from Cambridge gossip for a while after what had happened with Simone. He was leaving for Zimbabwe the day after their final comp exam, something Jane only learned after he’d already gone.

  Her heart had plummeted, but despite her grief, Jane couldn’t really blame him for anything.

  They’d only been casual study partners, she told herself, her eyes glistening with tears as she packed up to go home for a few weeks before returning for her fourth year of med school.

  They hadn’t made a plan to stay in touch after comps.

  They certainly hadn’t been dating. They’d never even kissed.

  They’d barely seen one another outside of the library and hadn’t called or texted each other to make plans.

  There had been no promises exchanged, no hopes or dreams or shared plans for the future.

  They’d been study partners for a few precious weeks—that was all—and Jane tried to take comfort in the fact that at least she’d connected with him for as long as she had.

  The problem was, it hadn’t requited her longing for him. Not at all. Not even a little bit. The small part of her heart that had crushed on him for years was bigger now, fleshed out and fuller since she’d gotten to know him. It had hurt to force herself to let him go. Badly.

  “I swear,” said Elizabeth, distracting Jane from her thoughts, “I have never liked Merit Atwell.”

  Jane shifted her gaze from Amity’s elbow to her sister’s roiling brown eyes. “What do you mean…never? You know him?”

  She shrugged. “Sort of. Not really.”

  “Sort of? When? How? In Philly?”

  Elizabeth exhaled. “It was years ago.”

  Each of Jane’s sisters had strong and distinct personalities, but Elizabeth’s was one of the toughest to navigate. As a child and adolescent, she’d been bold, bouncy, and fun, but little by little, she had changed into the cold, hard, brittle lawyer sitting beside Jane today. Never a red hair out of place. Always a snarky comment at the ready. Such a change from the warm, loving sister with whom Jane had grown up.

  “What happened, Bets? What happened with him?”

  “Nothing that hadn’t happened before.”

  “Wait. Did he do something to you? Did he hurt you?” asked Jane, fear and anger gripping her heart at the thought of Merit Atwell laying an unwanted hand on her sister.

  “No. No, Janie. Nothing like that.” She chuckled to let Jane know she was okay, but the sound was tinny. Empty. Tired.

  “Then…what?”

  “I just don’t like him, okay? No big deal. Let it go.”

  Jane had pushed for them to stay with the Atwells, and now she felt bad that she’d put Elizabeth in a position of sharing space with someone she so obviously didn’t like. Jane had wanted to stay with the brothers because of her own unfinished business, but it hadn’t occurred to her that her sister might have some unfinished business of her own.

  “I bet the room at the Mount is still free, Bets. We can take the shuttle back to reception and see if they can—”

  “Not on your life, little sister,” said Elizabeth, pushing a long strand of dark-blonde hair behind Jane’s ear. Her blood-red lips spread into a grin, and for the first time in a long time, Jane saw a glimpse of the old Elizabeth, minxy and strong, funny and full of mischief. “I saw the way you looked at Amity. Besides…I can handle Merit Atwell.”

  “Positive?”

  “Absolutely,” said Elizabeth as the shuttle rolled to a stop and the driver announced their destination.

  And Jane? Well, Jane had it in her to feel just the tiniest bit sorry for Merit Atwell and said a silent prayer that whatever he’d done so long ago was bad enough to have earned the wrath of Hurricane Betsy.

  Chapter 3

  Merit and Elizabeth

  Did Merit feel bad about calling Elizabeth Story a “nightmare”?

  A little.

  Okay. More than just a little.

  He wasn’t in the habit of insulting women. In fact, back in Philly, he was quite popular among his female acquaintances. Not that he’d had the time to date anyone seriously in the last couple of years while he establish
ed his businesses, but he definitely didn’t lack for company when he wanted it.

  Lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling that separated him—and a snoring Amity—from the Story sisters, he actually felt pretty awful about hurting her feelings. Although, in fairness, how was he supposed to know she actually had feelings to hurt? She’d stolen his parking space and been a dragon lady with the hotel clerk, after all.

  But his bravado slipped, and his cheeks burned with shame when he thought of her face after he’d insulted her. Whatever vulnerability Elizabeth Story tried desperately to keep under wraps had momentarily exploded across her face. She’d quickly concealed it with fury, but he’d already seen it. He’d hurt her.

  And he owed her an apology.

  He’d tell her he was sorry in the morning. It was the best he could do.

  Grimacing, he swung his legs over the bed. As long as he couldn’t fall asleep, he may as well crack open a beer. He could make a fire too. A cold beer and a roaring fire? What could be better? Guessing that the girls were sleeping as soundly as Amity, he still pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt, careful not to wake his brother as he slipped barefoot from their room.

  ***

  Elizabeth stared at the ceiling, watching dim shadows skate across the smooth, white surface as Janie slept soundly beside her. When they’d arrived at the cottage, Jane had cheerfully suggested that they all have breakfast together in the morning, then hit the slopes bright and early, and Amity—leading the way for the Atwell brothers—had agreed, despite the dirty looks traded between Elizabeth and Merit.

  After brushing her teeth and saying good night, Jane, who carried very little heaviness on her heart, had drifted quickly off to sleep.

  But for Elizabeth, sleep was elusive.

  Perhaps because her heart, unlike Jane’s, was heavy. There was too much turmoil in her life right now. Too much that wasn’t going right.

  Her father, who owned Story Imports and still—technically—held the role of president, had promoted her to CEO in late October, right before leaving for Paris. He was only supposed to be gone for a week or two, looking for a new exportation partner, but after three weeks away, he’d sent her an e-mail saying he’d run into an “old friend” and had decided to stay in France “for a while.” Further, he’d sent a power of attorney that allowed Elizabeth to act in his stead, “sensibly and reasonably,” from November 1 through December 31.

  When she’d called his cell phone numerous times to find out what the hell was going on, he didn’t answer, and though she had half a mind to go to Paris and track him down, her hands were too full to leave Philadelphia for more than a day or two at a time. This weekend trip to Upstate New York, in fact, was the longest break Elizabeth had taken from Story Imports since October.

  Since taking over the family business, Elizabeth discovered quickly she’d been left with a mess: an ailing company that was deeply in debt and an owner who didn’t want to be bothered with it for the immediate future. Her family’s employees were looking to her for corporate direction and guidance, while Elizabeth was just trying to make payroll.

  On Christmas Day, which she had spent with her sisters, her oldest sister Alice had pulled her aside and offered to buy Story Imports. It was a daring and exciting suggestion, especially since Alice, who owned her own import/export company, would take over as president of the combined companies and promised to keep Elizabeth on as CEO. Alice and her fiancé, Carlos, were expecting a baby in the spring, and by merging the two companies and putting Elizabeth in charge, Alice said she would feel more confident about taking an extended maternity leave.

  Technically, because her father had given her power of attorney over Story Imports through the end of the year, it was within her control to sign an agreement with her sister by tomorrow, and it would certainly be in the best interest of the company. Alice would gain Elizabeth’s decades-old reputation and contacts, and Elizabeth would gain Alice’s solvency.

  Legally, especially because she could prove that the merger was both sensible and reasonable, considering their financial troubles, she should be in the clear, and she could file the paperwork herself. She could also, with the permission of the Story Imports board, have her father voted out as president. He’d still be the largest single shareholder of Story Imports, of course, but the board had more combined shares than he.

  With twenty-four hours left to sign the papers Alice had prepared, Elizabeth had alerted the board that she would need a last-minute decision from them about whether or not they would vote to revoke her father’s position and status. After she’d had a quick quorum, she learned that should Elizabeth decide to sell to Alice, she would have the votes of approval from a majority of shareholders.

  Everything was in place. A dozen signatures from Elizabeth, and two companies would become one.

  Truly, there was no reason to drag her feet. Since the moment she’d arrived back in Philadelphia two years ago, this was her end game: to return Story Imports to her mother’s daughters. Yes, she’d hoped that she could ease her father out of control and work toward a peaceful merger, but fate had accelerated plans. Here was her chance to fulfill her goal, laid out on a silver platter.

  Her father’s face flitted through her mind, and she winced—the collateral damage of such a rash decision would be significant.

  She’d be betraying her father’s trust in no uncertain terms by making such a move during his absence. Alice and their father had been locked in an ugly power struggle for years. By persuading the board to oust him as president in favor of Alice and merging the companies together under Alice’s control, Elizabeth would certainly become Douglas Story’s most hated daughter of all. Maybe forever. Could she live with that?

  She sighed, sitting up in bed. Maybe the Atwell brothers brought a bottle of scotch with them, she thought ruefully. If so, she wouldn’t mind sneaking a glass before bed. It would make her mind stop spinning.

  Clad only in sweat pants and a T-shirt, without her usual armor—high heels, business attire, careful makeup, and perfectly styled hair—she headed downstairs for a nightcap.

  ***

  With his feet propped up on the coffee table and the fire roaring before him, Merit had just settled into the plush couch for a second beer when he heard footsteps. Leaning his head back, he looked up to see Elizabeth whip around and start back upstairs.

  “Hey!” he shouted, jumping up to face her. “Wait!”

  She turned around, jerking a finger in front of her lips. “Shhhh! You’ll wake up my sister!”

  Damn, she’s bossy.

  But she was cute too. Easy on the eyes. Amity was right.

  Dressed a lot more casual now than she’d been before, Merit let his eyes roam over her for a moment. Gone were her red stilettos, business skirt, and silk blouse. With bare feet; oversized, flannel pajama pants; a close-fitting, scooped-neck T-shirt; and her red hair back in a ponytail, she could pass for a college coed.

  “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked in a loud whisper.

  She stepped down three or four stairs, her eyes wary as she leaned against the banister. “A lot on my mind, I guess.”

  “Bartenders are great listeners,” said Merit.

  She scoffed. “Like I’d trust you with my woes.”

  The fact that she had “woes” in the first place bothered him for some unaccountable reason. Maybe because she looked like an uncertain kid in her bare feet and oversized pajamas. Fire-breathing dragon ladies didn’t have woes, but vulnerable people did. It was a reminder that no matter how people look on the outside, they might carry disappointments and despair that they hide from everyone else. It was a reminder that calling someone names added to the burden they already carried.

  “I owe you an apology,” he said.

  She lifted her chin, her brown eyes shiny in the firelight.

  “I shouldn’t have—I mean, you’re not a ‘nightmare.’ I shouldn’t have said that.”

  Still silent, she stared back at him as though weighi
ng his words.

  “I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

  “Betsy,” she whispered, taking two more steps down and resting her hand on the newel post.

  “What’s that?”

  “Betsy.”

  The name resonated in his head, reminding him of a Betsy he’d met one memorable day a long, long time ago.

  “Stay and have a drink with me…Betsy.”

  “Do you have any scotch?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “Only beer. Yuengling or Sam Adams.”

  She cocked her head to the side. “A bartender with no scotch?”

  He grinned at her. “Scotch makes it hard to hit the slopes early.”

  “Okay,” she said, nodding as she crossed the hardwood floor and sat down on the couch, tucking herself into the opposite corner from where he’d been sitting, presumably to keep her distance. “Fine. I’ll take a Yuengling.”

  And Merit, who’d decided hours ago that he couldn’t stand Elizabeth, was surprised to discover, as he popped the cap off a cold bottle of beer and handed it to her, that he very much wanted to get to know Betsy.

  ***

  One hour turned into two as Elizabeth told him about her father’s failing company and her sister’s generous offer. As a businessman with similar concerns about how to keep his bars profitable, he engaged with her immediately, asking thoughtful questions and offering her a point of view she hadn’t considered.

  “Maybe your father signed the company over to you because he’s sick of it. Maybe he wouldn’t really care if you forced his retirement and took it in a different direction.”

  “It’s been his life’s work!” insisted Elizabeth. “He loves Story Imports!”

  “But he left. And he’s staying away. Maybe it’s his way of letting you take the reins. And if that’s true, you have to do what you feel is best.”

  “And if that’s working with my sister? Whom he hates?”

  “No man hates his own daughter.”

  “You’ve never met my father,” said Elizabeth, taking a sip from her second bottle of beer.