Page 2 of Untethered Heart
Heading back into the kitchen, I finish making my hazelnut macchiato and pour it into a travel mug as my phone chimes with a text.
ISABELLE:
Morning, boss. Will you be in soon? I’ve made a breakthrough with the Smoke and Barrel project.
Maybe this day can still redeem itself. Isabelle is one of my best marketing managers and one of my closest friends outside of my siblings. She’s only been working at Heart Assets for about a year, but she’s quickly proved herself as someone I can depend on.
ME:
Meet me in my office in ten.
We're moving into spring, so I opt to walk the short distance from my penthouse to the office. I started working at my grandfather’s investment company as soon as I graduated from highschool, learning everything from him, and then later completing my MBA.
You might say the Heart family are celebrities in Australia. Most people know our names, and even more people would know our reputations, especially in the business world. From a young age, I was constantly in awe of the way everyone seemed to know my parents and grandparents, no matter where we went. People would talk to them with such respect and admiration. I wanted to be just like them. The rest of my siblings had no interest in Heart Assets, or H&H Mining, which my parents and Aunt Henrietta mainly run these days. When I turned thirty, Grandpa retired and left sixty per cent of the company to me, with the remainder being split between my siblings. They were free to follow their passions and find their own success. With the help of our trust funds, of course.
Early mornings in Heart City always bring a calming quiet to my senses. The multistorey buildings hinder the sun from creeping in completely, painting the sidewalk with a soothing mix of blue and orange. The smell of leaves and soil that are slightly damp from the cooler night, and the manicured garden boxes that line Callahan Terrace swirl around me like a balm of earthy sweetness. There’s nowhere better.
I make it to my office building with a clear mind, ridding the last of my sour mood over this morning’s bedmate, as I step through the door.
I nod to Desmond, my chief of concierge, as I pass him at his desk.
“Good morning, Mr Heart.”
“Morning, Des. All good this morning?”
“Yes, sir. Just Miss Isabelle and Riley so far.”
I chuckle. “Nothing unusual then. Did your wife enjoy the anniversary date last night?”
Desmond’s eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. “Yes, thank you for arranging those VIP passes for us.”
“My pleasure.” I give him a wave as I continue towards the elevators. “Thanks, Des.”
The doors open as soon as I push the call button, and I make my way up to the twelfth floor. Riley, my assistant, is tapping away at his keyboard. His jet-black hair is pushed off his face, the long strands twisted together almost like dreadlocks from the constant assault of sea water. Riley’s a surfer when he’s not organising my calendars down to the millisecond.
“Morning,” he says without looking away from his screen. “I just received the details of your meeting with James Huxley in two weeks. I’m rearranging your Friday meetings. Did you want to fly out Thursday night or Friday morning?”
“With the time difference, we should be able to leave at six a.m. and make it to Royal Harbour around noon.”
“Okay, I’ll organise the jet. Isabelle’s waiting for you.”
This floor consists of only my office and two large meeting rooms. Crossing the foyer, I head toward the open door. Isabelle hovers over her laptop as she sits on one of the couches, glancing up at the projector screen she’s trying to link in with.
“Morning,” I say.
She’s in her usual boho get-up. A stark white top tucked into high-waisted light-wash denim and a floor-length caramel lace cardigan.
Where I prefer a suit, I like to let my staff dress in their personal style, as long as they’re tidy. Isabelle loves long skirts with bold prints, textures from lace to suede, pastel and neutral colours. She’s a loud mish-mash of things, but somehow remains a calming presence.
“Hey, OG.” She smiles, her rogue golden ringlets that always shape her face bounce as she turns her head to me.
OG.The annoying nickname she’s given me. It might sound cool, but that’s not the way Isabelle intends it. She meansold and grey. For the record, my glasses make me look debonair, not old. She’s the only one who can get away with calling me that,and it’s simply because Isabelle is sunshine. Joy and sweetness. Incredibly hardworking and loyal. So, I let it slide.
I place my laptop bag on the shelf behind my desk, fire up my computer and grab my glasses from the top drawer. With my coffee still in hand, I make my way over to the couches to join Iz.
“You already have something for me? We only spoke details yesterday morning,” I say.
Her excited energy is radiating off her as she speaks. “Yes, but I went to a whiskey bar last night, for research, and the biggest spark of inspiration hit me. I was up until three this morning finishing it.”
