Taking Heart (20 page)

“Hi, Eric,” Ren said in a soft voice. “Did I wake you?”

“No. I just got back from boozing and womanizing, you know, my usual
fare,” he said more caustically than intended.

“Well, I just wanted to talk to you about my date.”

The muscles in his jaw worked. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“That’s too bad, because I’m going to tell you.”

“I’m serious, Ren. I’ve had a little too much to drink, and I don’t want
to get nasty with you.” He ground his teeth together. “So please, just hang
up.”

But the contrary woman would not listen. “Colton and I went for a walk
along the riverbank, which was cold but romantic. It gave us reason to snuggle
closer.”

He huffed through his nose, unable to combat the images that were forming
in his head.

“Then we had dinner at this nice little café. Then he kissed me.”

“Are you doing this to hurt me? Because, game over. You win, okay?”

Ren kept on talking as if he hadn’t said a word. “The kiss was nice
and—”

“Ren!” he shouted in frustration then added less harshly, “I’m going to
hang up now.”

“We went back to my place…” Her voice tapered off.

He hated himself for wanting to know, but he asked in a broken voice, “So
you slept with him?”

After a silent heartbeat, she said quietly, “No. I couldn’t do it.”

His heart thumped wildly in his chest, but he was afraid to speak lest he
discover it was all a joke.

“I couldn’t sleep with him. So I told him I wanted to go a little slower
and he accepted it and went home.”

“Why?” he croaked.

“You seem to have all the answers, so you figure it out,” she said and
hung up.

He stared at his phone for a long moment, trying to rehash the
conversation in his head. But no matter how many times he replayed it, he came
to only one conclusion: she was still not over Ben. Eric felt vindicated,
wanted to call her back and yell, “I told you so!” into the phone. He should
have been glad that she hadn’t slept with the guy, but Eric just couldn’t find
it in himself to rejoice in a friend’s disappointment. So he just lay in bed
with his rumpled clothes and stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep and
dreamt that it was he that Ren could not get over.

Eric was having a confusing dream where Ren and Karen kept morphing into
each other when a loud buzzer awakened him, ripping him away from the horrific
nightmare.

He stood up and popped his neck before making his way to the front door.
He pressed the intercom button and said with a gravelly voice, “I don’t want to
sponsor your stupid school, I don’t want to talk about my soul’s salvation, and
I certainly didn’t order pizza this early in the morning.” He turned to go then
changed his mind. “But if you’re selling Girl Scout cookies, come back in an
hour.”

The person on the other side cleared his throat. “Eric, open up. It’s
your father.”

“Fuck. Shit. Balls.”

“Son, I can still hear you.”

Eric stared at his finger on the button and rolled his eyes at his own
stupidity. “Come on up.”

A second later he jumped into action, tucking his wrinkled shirt into his
jeans and breathing into his hands to check his gnarly breath. It was just like
his stepfather to conduct a yearly visit on the very day Eric was sporting a
major hangover.

Eric was in his bathroom, his eyes watering as he gargled Listerine, when
he heard the loud knock at his door.

Darth Vader hath come.

“Jens,” he greeted the tall, blonde Scandinavian shipping magnate at his
doorstep.

“Eric,” the man said and stepped inside without waiting for an
invitation. Eric knew better than to object; it was Jens’ money that was paying
for the expensive apartment after all. Jens’ eyes bounced around the relatively
neat living room—the maid had come the day before—and finally
rested on his rumpled stepson. “If you don’t mind my saying so, you look
awful.”

“Thanks,” Eric said. “Actually, I have a bit of a hangover. Not really
the best time to catch up.”

“Well, that’s too bad.” Jens stepped closer, and though they both stood
at a little over six feet, Jens seemed more imposing, mountainous even. “Now go
take a shower. I’m taking you to lunch.”

Eric looked at the clock behind Jens' head and realized it was almost
noon already. He hadn’t meant to sleep half the day away.

A half hour later, the two Sorenson men were sitting at Pickerman’s, a
high-profile restaurant, with a martini, a Bloody Mary, and a lifetime of
disagreements on the table between them.

“So,” Jens began, folding his hands across his lap. “Tell me more about
this furniture business you’re proposing.”

“I’m not proposing it. I was just telling Mom about it.”

“Nevertheless, I’d like to hear about it.” Jens’ eyes were bright with
interest.

“I’ve decided to start a business making furniture. Carson has agreed to
be my patron, to help get my name out there.”

One golden eyebrow rose on Jens’ face. “And how is the end product?”

“It’s fine. Better than fine, actually.”

“How much money will you be needing from me?”

Eric pursed his lips, irritated that his stepfather would forever think
of him as a mooching lowlife. “Actually, I have some money saved, and I’ve also
applied for a loan.”

“And you were approved?” Jens said, surprise written on his face. “I
wasn’t aware that you had any credit.”

Eric flushed. “Actually, if you were around more, you’d know that I have
been slowly but surely building my credit.”

“With what? That bartending job?”

“Yes. Amongst others.”

“And the bank approved you?” Jens pressed.

“Well, not yet. But they will. My credit’s good, Jens.”

Jens’ eyes held his. “I believe you,” he finally said.

“Thank you. I appreciate that.”

“If it falls through, you know where to find me.”

Eric hid his fists under the table before Jens could see how successful
he had been at provoking his deadbeat stepson. “Thank you, but I think I’m
going to do this on my own,” he said through his teeth.

“How?”

“I’ll find a way.”
I’ll show you.

Jens smiled then, a proud sort of smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”

Eric wasn’t so sure Jens was completely on board, so he said, “Do you
want to see something I’ve made?”

“I would like that, yes.”

In a swanky black town car, Jens and Eric were driven to Carson’s Beverly
Hills mansion. Carson himself greeted them at the gate, jumping into the car
beside the startled driver. He turned around to Eric and his father and flashed
the smile that had jumpstarted his career. “Long time no see, Mr. Sorenson,”
Carson said, holding his hand out for a hearty shake. He turned to Eric and
gave a serious nod. “Master Sorenson.”

Eric grinned at his best friend’s theatrics, glad he was around to lighten
the mood. It was no secret that Eric and Jens had never felt completely
comfortable around each other, sometimes even treading into animosity, but the
tension was diffused whenever Carson was around. You really couldn’t help but
be entertained by one of Hollywood’s brightest stars.

“Karen’s not with you?” Carson asked with a cheeky grin, knowing full
well that it would pique Jens’ interest.

Jens, for his part, rose to the challenge. “Who is Karen?”

As they climbed out of the car, Eric took the few moments of distraction
to throw Carson a nasty look and made a slicing motion across his neck.

Carson only grinned in response and led them up the steps. “Welcome to my
humble abode,” he said, throwing open the ornately carved wooden doors to
reveal a massive entrance hall laid out in white marble.

“There’s nothing humble about this abode,” Jens said with a chuckle. He
turned back to Eric. “Who is this Karen?”

Eric sighed through his nose. Jens reminded him of a Rottweiler biting
down on the subject with all his might. It would do Eric no good to prolong the
conversation any longer. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“The same one he had back in college,” Carson added. “They recently
reconnected.”

Eric gave his best friend a warning look. “Time for you to reconnect with
a shut mouth,” Eric said. “Now can you please just show us that table you had
me make?”

They walked into the enormous foyer, past the entrance to the
state-of-the-art home theater, and into the dining room, where an immense table
stood in the center. Eric’s chest puffed out with an unusual sensation,
something that he later realized was pride. He was proud of his work, and no
matter what, Jens could never take away from him the fact that he had made that
table with his own two hands. Nobody could ever call him a talentless
freeloader ever again.

“You made this?” Jens asked with an air of skepticism. He walked over to
the table and ran a hand along its rustic top.

“Yes, is that so hard to believe?”

Jens looked up and gave him a pointed look. “It’s impressive.”

Carson stood at the head of the table and put his hands down as if he was
chairing a meeting. “When I commissioned this table I asked Eric for two
things: something huge and something fit for a medieval king. I asked for a
simple stick drawing and my friend here delivered me a Mona Lisa.”

Eric snorted, crossing his arms across his chest for lack of anything
better to do.

“I’ve invited several other people to look at it,” Carson said. “The rich
ones who are looking to find one-of-a-kind things.”

Jens turned to Eric. “And?”

“And I have three orders already. One for exactly the same table—”

“Which you are not going to replicate,” Carson said quickly, wagging a
finger.

“One for a headboard/footboard, and one for a widescreen TV stand.”

Jens took one last look at the underside of the table before walking over
to Eric. “So,” he said, clasping his hands together. “I would like to become
your financial backer. I’ll pay for everything to start your business and I
will give you five years to pay me back.”

“What’s the catch?”

“That catch is that you do what you say you will. That you will follow
through with this career choice.”

Eric’s nose flared. For a second he had mistaken doubt with support. “No
thank you. I am going to do this on my own.”

Jens nodded. “If you insist. But when you run into problems, you know
where to reach me.”

When, not if,
Eric thought in irritation, feeling like a fool for thinking he could
make anything that would convince Jens his step-son was actually capable of
achieving something other than a hangover. “Oh, I’ll succeed,”
Eric
said with bravado, false or otherwise. “And what’s
more, I’m ready to ask Karen to marry me.”

chapter
thirteen

“Ren, I need you,” Lisa called from the office.

Ren put down the piping bag and wiped her hands on her apron. As she
walked away, she took one final look at the wedding cake, pleased with the
effect of white lace-like icing against the dark brown fondant.

“What’s up?” she asked, finding both her sisters inside the tiny room.
One glance at the expressions on their faces revealed that they were up to
something. “Whatever it is, my answer is no.”

“You haven’t even heard what we’re going to say!” Jolene said, jumping up
from the couch. She grabbed Ren’s arm and sat her down on the spot she had
occupied a moment earlier.

“Colton told me what happened,” Lisa said, crossing her arms across her
chest like a stern teacher

“Hey!” Jolene said irately. “I thought we were going to start off with
pleasantries, ease her into the conversation?”

Lisa shrugged. “Might as well get straight to the point.”

Ren grew defensive. “Which is?”

“That you didn’t close the deal with him.”

Ren snorted. “And what, I hurt his feelings?”

“No,” Jolene said. “He was just confused. He said one minute you were
getting hot and heavy, and the next minute you said you wanted to take it
slow.”

“I do want to take it slow.”

“And we want that as well,” Lisa said more gently. “But we can’t help but
wonder if maybe the reason why you didn’t sleep with Colton is because you’re
still hung up on someone else.”

Ren felt her face growing hot. She had just confessed this very thing to
Eric a few nights ago and yet she still felt embarrassed.

Jolene gave her a long look. “Your face says it all, Ren.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Ren asked.

“Yes!” came the united answer.

“You’ve got to move on, sister,” Lisa said, putting an arm around Ren’s
shoulders. “This is not healthy.”