Lost (Lost & Found Book 1) Read online

  “Hello,” she said, hoping confidence and a smile would go a long way. “I need some help.” She stopped walking, but didn’t receive any acknowledgement. “I need a ride out of here.”

  “You the one screwing the groom?” the older of the two guys asked.

  “No,” Poppy said, reminding herself that a groan wouldn’t ingratiate her. “Definitely not doing that… Can someone give me a ride?”

  Glancing at the vehicles nearest to them, she noticed a small wooden sign driven into the grass at the edge of the gravel, which stated “employee parking.”

  “Where you headed?” the guy asked.

  “Anywhere,” she said. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “Well, we’ve got work to do here,” he said. “You hang around a few hours and we’ll—”

  “No,” she said. “I really need to go now…” Hesitating, she caught her lip in her teeth as she considered the options. “I can pay you.”

  The guy’s brows went up and he looked around at the others. “Yeah? What you gotta pay with?”

  No cash, if that’s what he was hoping. The diamonds of her grandmother’s jewelry dug into her palm. Instead of giving them the exquisite gems, she shook her head to highlight the sparkle of her earrings.

  “Take me to the nearest pawn shop, you won’t be disappointed.”

  The older guy prodded the younger one. “Keep an eye on things. I’ll be back later.”

  She had a ride. Progress. Even if it was slow, Poppy had to appreciate every increment. One step at a time was the only way she’d get through.

  TWO

  Getting a job answering customer service calls for an online shopping company was a great leap forward. A job meant earning money. But still living in a hotel, Poppy was spending faster than she could earn. Trying to find an apartment was next on her agenda. Actually, it had been for a while. With each day that passed, she became more desperate.

  It had been a month since she’d walked away from Violet’s wedding. A month of living in a hotel, and not a cheap one. Her job hunt hadn’t been straightforward either. Few people had a need for a classical pianist and she wasn’t about to start trying to make a name for herself. Music had been her passion as a child, studying and performing gave her something to do, but she’d never loved it enough to dedicate herself to the craft like a true professional would.

  As far as family went, so far, she’d only spoken to her grandmother. From what she’d heard about home, that was a reprieve. Things weren’t going well. Everyone was at each other’s throats. Holden was still hanging around. Her parents were at their wits end. Primrose and Violet were terrorizing each other much more than usual too. Everyone wanted to know where she was, but Marigold was keeping quiet.

  Poppy got the impression her grandmother might be enjoying the drama a little. She definitely enjoyed living vicariously. Every time they talked, her Grammie wanted to hear all about her new life. To hear about where she’d been… and who she’d met.

  Thus far, her father hadn’t put a lot of effort into looking for her. Grammie was holding the reins on that one without a doubt. If he wanted to find her, he could. If he heard that she’d been injured or attacked, it would be much more difficult for Marigold to hold him back. For all his faults, her father was protective of his daughters.

  In the breakroom, she scanned the apartment listings in the local paper. Poppy needed something close to work. Something that wasn’t too expensive, but it couldn’t be in a terrible area either. She wanted different experiences, that didn’t mean she wanted to start carrying weapons or worrying about being jumped on her way home.

  “Hey, are there car listings in there?”

  Glancing up, Poppy saw Charlotte, one of the women on her team, coming around to join her at the table, a vending machine coffee in her hand.

  “Uh… yes,” Poppy said, searching for the section. “They’re on the back of this page though. Can I give it to you in just a minute?”

  “Sure,” Charlotte said, shrugging as she sat down.

  The woman was younger than her, beautiful and bright with a blonde, pink dip-dye thing going on. Having only worked there a couple of weeks, Poppy hadn’t had the time to make friends with anyone, but Charlotte made an impression, even from across their team’s open plan work area.

  “I won’t be long.”

  “What are you looking for?” Charlotte asked, pushing up from her seat a little to peek over the table.

  “Somewhere to live,” Poppy said. “Why do you need a car? Do you live far away?”

  “It’s a long story,” Charlotte said, sinking into her seat, sipping her coffee. “What kind of place are you looking for?”

  “Somewhere cheap,” Poppy said, taking a deep breath. “And close to work… ish. I don’t mind walking so long as I don’t have to worry about getting mugged on the way home.”

  She was still reading so missed Charlotte lunging across the table until her hand landed flat in the middle of the page Poppy was reading.

  “Look no more,” the young woman declared. “I know the perfect place! Perfect. Perfect.”

  Poppy’s brows rose. “You do?” she asked, surprised a colleague would make such an offer.

  “Sure,” Charlotte said, grabbing an abandoned pen from the table to jot something down on the corner of the newspaper. “This is the address. Go straight up to the fifth floor. Just ignore the no entry sign and head for the sound of the radio… or power tools.”

  Poppy wasn’t sure she followed. “Power tools?”

  Charlotte was careful about tearing off the corner of the paper to present her the address. “Trust me. You won’t find a fairer or safer landlord.” Poppy reached for the proffered paper, Charlotte’s fingers flicked back to hold it just out of her reach. “Sometimes he’s grumpy… it’s just his way.” She grinned. “Push past it, don’t let him dismiss you. It’s always better when he knows his mood doesn’t put you off. He likes determined women.”

  Taking the piece of paper, Poppy couldn’t deny her curiosity. A fair landlord was something she hadn’t considered. Now that the point had been raised, she liked it.

  Fair and safe, she couldn’t ask for more.

  Maybe it was curiosity that took her to the address after work. Desperation was an equal motive.

  Cashing in most of her and her grandmother’s jewelry gave Poppy a substantial nest egg. More than most people would have starting out. That didn’t mean she enjoyed squandering it.

  The more time she spent away from her family’s estate, the more she loved her independence. Poppy didn’t want the break from her family to be a short-term adventure, she was starting to think about her future. About what kind of future she could build for herself away from the Grangers.

  The building on the corner was seven floors high. Outwardly, there was nothing spectacular or repellant about it. Everything seemed to be in good repair. The window treatments on most of the windows suggested tenants, or a landlord, cared about the space. Compared to the other places in her preferred price range, the building before her was better than The Ritz.

  When she opened the wood framed front door her stomach flipped. The frosted glass panel was etched with a beautiful design around the building number, so she knew she was in the right place… according to Charlotte’s address anyway.

  The Art Deco tile flooring was so gorgeous that she almost didn’t want to tread on it. The nook for the matte brass mail slots was pristine. She loved the dark wood accents too. Going forward, Poppy slid her hand up the beautiful smooth wood of the bannister and paused to look down the long hallway that ran along behind the mailboxes. A burst of light at the end of that space intrigued her. Some part of her wanted to explore what lay in every corner before ascending higher, but being caught snooping wouldn’t make for the best first impression, so she kept on going up.

  Given how she’d been raised to be polite and follow rules, Poppy had to fight her natural resistance to stepping over the “no entry” barrier when she rea
ched the fifth floor. It was just a notice attached to some red tape that was tied around the bannister at one end and stuck to the wall at the other.

  There were no guards or cameras or guns… as far as she could see. Nothing bad would happen just by stepping over the tape. Still, it was there for a reason. The fifth floor could be dangerous for all she knew. Poppy reminded herself of her decision to take risks. Nothing ventured, nothing gained had never been more apt.

  On the other floors, she’d noticed five doors on each. The fifth floor was just the same, though the hallway wasn’t as well kept. The floor looked okay. The boards were bare, but it looked solid enough. The walls weren’t treated either. It didn’t seem there was a lick of paint or wallpaper in sight. There were chips and holes in the plaster, revealing the concrete beneath.

  The sound of the music coming from the radio was quiet. Poppy didn’t really think about the fact that she was listening to it as she crept down the hallway, wondering why the décor had been so neglected. It was the abrupt ring of some kind of power tool razing the air that startled her to a halt. The power tool. Right. The radio.

  Remembering why she was there, Poppy sidelined her curiosity and followed the sound. It was coming from what had to be one of the apartments. While turning to go through the open door, she was full of confidence. The view inside stole both her poise and her ability to think.

  The flip of her stomach at the main door paled in comparison to what it was doing while she gawked at the figure standing fifteen feet away. The guy, and it had to be a guy, was bent over, giving her a saliva-inducing glimpse of quite the ass wrapped in blue jeans. It took a second for her to absorb anything more than that. The jeans were grubby, soft… well-worn. Damn, the man wore them well.

  Men didn’t wear jeans where she was from, not as anything other than a novelty. It was all slacks and chinos. Formalwear was more common. Once in a while, if the occasion particularly called for it, a pair of khakis or shorts might sneak in, but they had to be event specific. She couldn’t even remember seeing her father in any kind of sweatpants or denim. He went to the gym, so had to have something appropriate for working out in his closet, but she never saw him like that.

  Her mind was still wandering when the sound of the tool stopped. Music. It was the music that snapped her out of her trance. He wasn’t bending over anymore, he was at full, dominating height. His arm moved, the light scrape of his fingers on wood put a smile on her face.

  Her eyes actually closed. Was it nuts? The sound reminded her of what her grandmother used to say about her grandfather’s hands being rough. Nothing like her father’s. Marigold always said rough hands were the sign of a man who worked for a living.

  The rich scent of sawdust filled her nostrils. It was enchanting. So… unusual. Poppy got lost in it and forgot herself again.

  “Where you packing the candy?”

  The gruff, unimpressed masculine voice pulled her from her basking. Her eyes popped open to see he was twisted around, examining her. Doing the same in return, she registered the short pencil behind his ear and safety glasses on his head. The scowl pulling at his brow was impossible to miss.

  Since she was little, Poppy had been taught about introductions, about first impressions, about always smiling. Girls, women, they should always smile, especially at a first meeting. Unfortunately for her, although the thoughts were darting through her mind, none managed to manifest.

  “I… I have no candy,” Poppy said, glancing at the small clutch in her hand. There was barely room in there for her cellphone, let alone anything superfluous like confectionery. “Why would you—”

  “I can smell it.”

  “Oh,” she said. Thoughts of smiling did encroach again, but they didn’t get further than her brain. Poppy needed all of her available energy to take another step. “My perfume smells sweet, so maybe—”

  “Take that and the neat little body back down the stairs,” he said. “I’d think by the look of you that you can read. Guess appearances really can be deceiving.”

  He turned away to bend over a little again, snagging something from the tool belt that she only just noticed he was wearing. Another coarse sound vibrated through the air, though Poppy didn’t have any idea what it was.

  “Actually, I need to talk to…” He straightened up without going to the trouble of looking at her again. “Whomever is in charge, I suppose. Uh… your boss.”

  He tossed something light down onto the workbench and turned around slowly, stopping to fold his arms across the broad chest that was testing the limits of his once-white tee-shirt.

  “My boss, huh? What’s the problem?”

  “No problem,” she said, fearing he might think she intended to complain about something that might have been his responsibility. “There’s really no problem. I… I need a place to stay… to live.”

  “There’s no vacancies here,” he said, turning his back to return to the scraping.

  “Please,” she said, taking another step his way. “I’m sure something could be worked out.”

  The apartment they were in was empty, in definite need of some love. The floor was covered by lots of large canvas drop cloths, so she couldn’t check its condition. But the walls looked good. Freshly plastered, maybe.

  “We don’t do deals like that around here.”

  She frowned, unsure exactly what he was getting at. For a second, she thought about giving up, but her grandmother’s words about her fire came back to her just in the nick of time.

  Poppy inhaled, inching closer. “This is your place… or it’s your responsibility? You’re the man I’m supposed to speak to.” Maybe she wouldn’t have figured that out if Charlotte hadn’t warned her about his tendency to be moody. “I’m sorry if I offended you.”

  “You didn’t offend no one,” he said, blowing on something. “Careful on your way out, I don’t need a lawsuit.”

  “I need somewhere to live,” she said. “This building is within walking distance of my work.”

  “Don’t need a life story,” he said. “I just filled the last unit, paperwork’s signed, nothing I can do about it. Sorry, Candy.”

  Poppy didn’t need an apology or a nickname, she needed help. “How many buildings do you own?”

  Maybe if he had more than one, he could offer her something somewhere else. It might not be as close, but it was worth a shot.

  “Just this one.”

  Damnit. She sighed and glanced around, considering how long it might take to get the present apartment ready for habitation. “How many people do you have working on fixing the place up?”

  “How many you see?”

  Surprised, her mouth opened. “You do it yourself? All of it?”

  “Yep.” He lowered his voice to mutter, “I’ve got enough mouths to feed as it is.”

  Chewing on her lip, Poppy could only admit defeat. The guy couldn’t conjure an apartment out of thin air. Charlotte couldn’t have known he’d just leased his last place.

  Still, she was curious, and it wasn’t like she had anything but room service to run off for. “How long does it take you to do each apartment?”

  “Depends,” he said, still working.

  “On?”

  “How many candy-canes come wandering in looking for conversation,” he said then twisted to glare at her. “You need a map to find your way out?”

  “I’m curious,” she said, actually adjusting her angle to wander deeper into the room, admiring the light coming from the doors on the left wall. They led to one of the small balconies she’d noticed outside. “You really do all the work yourself?”

  “Practice makes perfect,” he said.

  Despite the obvious irritation in his voice, she threw a smile over her shoulder before continuing to the window. “Looks to me like you’re pretty good at it… How long have you owned the building?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  Spinning around, Poppy got a look at the huge workbench he had sat up in the middle of the room. A
scary looking circular saw lay not too far away from the length of wood laid out in front of him.

  “I could help.”

  She’d been looking at the wood, not really thinking, not until he responded.

  “Excuse me?” His incredulity was written on his face as well as thick in his tone. “You could what?”

  She shrugged. “I’ll stay here. Right here…” Poppy took in the space again. “It has walls and a ceiling… it’s watertight, right? I’ll stay here while you fix it up…”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No one stays anywhere without a lease agreement and I don’t have one that would stand given the condition of the place.”

  Yeah, no doubt his official lease agreement suggested the apartment had things like… electrical outlets and maybe even a kitchen… She didn’t see either. Just holes in various places around the room. Probably they’d become something… eventually.

  “Come on,” she said, finding her smile again. “What’s the harm? I’ll pay something… reduced rent until the place is up to your lease agreement standard… Then when it is, I’ll sign a lease and pay full rent.”

  That would work out for her too. By then Poppy might have actually figured out her future. She’d need something. Something like this guy had, a passion that could become an earner.

  “Who you running away from?” he asked, more discerning than before. “Husband? Boyfriend? Bookie?”

  “None of the above,” she said, not deterred by his questioning. “I just need a new start… I’m not averse to taking a few risks… or put off by a little dust.”

  “A little?” he asked. “How many construction sites you lived on?”

  Broadening her smile, she sashayed her way closer to the workbench. “If you’re nice to me, then maybe I’ll answer your personal questions.”

  While Poppy was learning the virtues of flirting with a stranger, he didn’t seem as intrigued or as interested.

  “No.”

  A simple, straightforward answer.

  Her smile dropped. “But I—”