Page 30 of The Heiress

Georgia’s eyebrow arched as she studied me. Then she waved at the open door behind her. “If you’ll follow me.”

I visited Key West many times over the years, sometimes with my parents, sometimes with friends on vacation. I wondered how many times I walked by this very house and admired the architecture. I may have even imagined what it was like to live in one of these old, grand homes.

How wild it was to be inside it now. To be part of it.

The outside was painted a clean white with a blue accent, but inside everything was darker. The doorways and windows were trimmed in dark wood that matched the built-in bookcases in the drawing room. The furniture also carried the dark wood accent theme, standing in contrast to the rich cream upholstery. There were expensive paintings on the walls and treasures on display between books on the shelves.

It was eclectic like Key West, but decidedly expensive like Georgia.

“Do you prefer orange juice or grapefruit juice in your mimosa?”

When she said refreshments I pictured tea or coffee. Maybe some pastries. Instead there were ten different kinds of fruit, two different cheeses, some sort of wafer, and the mimosa bar.

“Uh, orange please.”

She smiled. “I call this a Key West tea. My mother always offered a tray just like this to her guests. I suppose it's become a family tradition.” She handed me the flute of bubbling alcohol. “To family?”

“To family.” We touched the rims of our glasses.

Then an uncomfortable silence settled around us.

“It’s so strange, isn’t it?” she finally said. “To read all about a person but know nothing at all.”

I had to agree with her there. I spent the last few days pouring over the documents provided by Dombrowski, as well as the reports from Excel Research. The papers told me Georgia was smart and involved in the company. At twenty-one she graduated and began working in Stroman Research’s software department. She married Bernard at twenty-two and had me at twenty-six. She was about my age when I was taken from her.

Maybe it was my years of friendship with Hazel, but I could tell when someone was faking happiness pretty quickly. Hazel loved to put on her game face and pretend all was well. Georgia was doing the same thing, and I didn’t think it was an occasional act. The way her eyes pinched created crow's feet that even expensive creams and injections couldn’t hide. Her eyes were sharp but almost blank. She held herself like this stiff, straight-backed, tensed shoulders pose was totally normal.

I cleared my throat. “I’ve found I never really know someone until I’ve sat and spoken with them, gotten to hear the cadence of their voice, where their eyes track, how they hold themselves.”

Her hands froze as she realized I was analyzing her performance and attempted to change things up. She threw on a wide smile and tried (and failed) to relax. “I was happy to hear that you had a good childhood but I must admit I didn’t understand your line of work.” She gracefully selected a berry from the tray and slid it onto her tongue.

And for a moment I caught a real glimpse of Georgia Roark as she relished the rush of flavor, closing her eyes for a moment and sighing.

Interesting.

“It’s an unusual job. Most of the time I don’t have to explain it because people either hear the word research and stop caring or they get so confused they don’t want to hear anymore.”

“I’d like to hear about it,” she said very honestly.

So I told her how I stumbled into the job as a graduate student, how David took me under his wing and I found something I was really good at, that happened to come with a lovely work environment and my best friend.

“So Hazel is your best friend and Jace is...?”

I shrugged. “My other best friend? Honestly it’s a little complicated.”

She smiled. “I’m sure.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but I explained anyway. “He was my best friend growing up. He was like a big brother but the same age as me. But then we had a fight and I went off to college and we didn’t see each other for a long time.”

“And so you have two best friends?”

I pulled a face because while her description should have been accurate, it also felt all wrong. “Hazel is my best friend. She’s the one I would call if I needed to talk. Her house is where I go for dinners and where we stay up way too late drinking wine. She knows everything about me. But Jace only knows my past. He doesn’t really know who I am now.”

“And yet he’s the one you brought with you to meet me.” Her right eyebrow arched and for a split second she looked a lot like Scarlet O’Hara. She had that same attitude and gleam of determination, plus the dark hair and glowing eyes.

I tried to laugh it off with a joke because her pointed comments were getting to me. “Yeah, well Jace is bigger and stronger than Hazel. Don’t get me wrong, you donotwant to meet Hazel in a dark alley, but Jace was the better option for bodyguard duties.”

“And meeting your biological mother with the boy who knew you as a child, who knew your adoptive mother, is also a better option, I’m sure.”

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