Hart All A Flutter

"Call for you, Miss Edwards."

Jennifer was distracted by what she was reading in Forbes Magazine when the phone rang and the receptionist spoke to her. She blinked herself back to the present putting the magazine down for now. "Put it through, thanks," she replied.

There were a few clicks on the line and she heard a very familiar voice. "Jennifer?"

A grin she couldn't contain spread over her face. "Pa!" Jennifer exclaimed. "Pa, it's so good to hear from you, where are you now?"

"I'm sorry to say I'm in Tokyo," he father replied.

Her brow furrowed. "Why are you sorry to say that?"

"Because I'd hoped to call you from Paris today and tell you I'd be in London tomorrow, but plans have changed, I'm afraid. I wanted to call you anyway, though. I've missed you."

"Oh, I've missed you, too," Jennifer told him sincerely. "I'm sorry we couldn't meet up here. Maybe we'll intersect in my next posting. I'm probably going to be going back to New York soon, and I don't know where to after that."

"The Herald treating you well?"

"Very well," Jennifer answered. "And you know I love London. But my contract is for four stories, and I'm on the hunt for that final one now."

"Any good leads?"

"Maybe. There's an American industrialist due to arrive here in a couple days. Jonathan Hart. No one seems to know why he's coming, and I'd like to figure it out. Might be something good."

"Hmm, I think I've heard of him. He's out in Los Angeles, I think."

"Yeah, Hart Industries is headquartered there. He seems to be an interesting character. Saving companies and jobs wherever he goes, unlike most industrialists who tear things down and send jobs overseas for cheaper wages," Jennifer said with disdain.

"Well, if there's a story there, I've no doubt you'll find it, darling. How are things other than work?" he asked, changing the subject.

Jennifer resisted the urge to roll her eyes and grind her teeth. "I've mostly just been busy with work, but I've gone to a few museums, and I've seen a few shows while I've been here," she reported.

"By yourself?"

"Some by myself. Some with friends."

"I see," Pa replied with an air of disappointment.

Jennifer heard the loud and oft-repeated message that wasn't being said. She was over thirty and unmarried. She was beautiful and successful and unmarried. She was focused on her career and missing out on other things in life. And while Jennifer certainly didn't see it that way—after all, her father didn't need to know the details of her quite healthy romantic life, thank you very much—she did understand where Pa was coming from. He'd been a widower a long time. And he wasn't getting any younger. He worried about Jennifer, she knew. He didn't want to leave her all alone in the world. Jennifer knew her parents had loved each other very much and enjoyed a very happy marriage. Pa just wanted the same for Jennifer. And really, Jennifer wanted that, too. But instead, she had her pick of journalism jobs anywhere in the world she wanted to go, and she could find herself a date for the weekend whenever she wanted one. There was certainly no use in tying herself down to some man who would just get sore at her for picking up and jet setting wherever her stories took her.

Some noise on the line sounded and Pa spoke distantly before coming back to the phone. "Jennifer, darling, I'm headed off to dinner, trying to get myself in the right time zone, and I know you're at work, so I'll call you at your flat sometime this weekend, alright?"

"That sounds great. I'll talk to you soon. I love you!" she told him as he hurried to say goodbye.

Jennifer hung up the phone and sighed, a little sad to not have anything happier to share with her father. He was proud of her for her work, she knew. But discussing the potential story about Jonathan Hart was not really what Pa wanted to hear.

She picked up the magazine again to read up more on the profile they'd done on Hart Industries from about two years earlier. It included a photograph of CEO and founder, Jonathan Hart. "Now he'd make a nice weekend date," she murmured to herself. She might have been looking for some information about Hart Industries, but that Jonathan Hart was something rather nice to look at all on his own.

Trying to sleep on a plane never worked out as well as Jonathan Hart wanted it to. He was going to be jetlagged as all get out. Hopefully he could take a nap when he got to the Ritz.

"Sorry to wake you, Mr. H, but we're about to land," Max said, his voice low and gravelly and apologetic, but Jonathan always found him comforting.

"That's alright, Max. I've been trying to sleep all the way across the Atlantic and I was just starting to nod off. If you hadn't woken me, I'd be halfway to a deep sleep when we did get to Heathrow," Jonathan answered.

And soon enough, the winding snake of the Thames appeared below the plane, and they were on the ground before they knew it.

"I'll get the car and the bags and everything," Max said as they stood up from their seats.

"Thanks, Max," Jonathan answered. "I've gotta put a call into the office."

"Time zone, Mr. H," Max reminded. "Might wanna wait another hour or so when we get to the hotel. No one'll be in the office in LA at this time of day."

To Jonathan, it felt like the middle of the night. To London, it was mid-afternoon. And to LA, it was about the time the morning newspapers were being delivered. He never could seem to adjust to time changes very well. As much as his head and his instincts were suited to international business—not that anyone outside of Hart Industries and Kingston Motors knew that's why he was coming to London—Jonathan felt like his body just wanted to go home.

That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy travel. Jonathan loved to travel. Pick up at a moment's notice and take a girlfriend to Paris. Hell, he and Nikki Stephanos had taken a yacht all around the Mediterranean that one summer on a whim. But he didn't have to have his wits about him for pleasure trips like that. He could relax and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman and recover from the jet lag at his leisure.

He sighed to himself. He and Nikki had come to London for a weekend during that summer in Europe. It had rained the whole time and that dark, naturally curly hair of her Greek heritage had gone all frizzy. She'd hated it, and Jonathan thought it was real cute. A lot of things about Nikki were cute. But his life and his work were in LA, and she hadn't wanted to leave Europe for anything. They ended on good terms, but he missed her now and again. He hadn't seen her in about three years, actually.

In the car, Jonathan's mind wandered. He might be a little happier to be in London if he had someone with him. Some woman to distract him and throw the press off the scent. The story that he was here on vacation didn't really sell too well when he brought Max and no one else. Maybe he could meet some nice girl to spend his evenings with during this trip. Tomorrow, though, after he'd gotten a good night's sleep. He could dream about a blonde and then wake up and find her, maybe. He was in the mood for a blonde.

But all thoughts of women, blonde or otherwise, went right out of Jonathan's head as soon as he got to the Ritz. The manager, as always, greeted him personally and took him up to his suite. Max went to deal with the luggage and whatever else while Jonathan took off his jacket and had a cup of tea from the service waiting for them in the room. He finished it quickly while staring out the window onto the busy London road below. It really was a beautiful city, and a shame he was here for business.

"Here are your latest phone messages," Max announced, thanking the bellman who bought them up along with the suitcases.

"Oh thanks, Max. I'm going to lie down for a few minutes. My inner clock is on LA time." He flipped through the messages as he made his way into the bedroom. They were all from various press outlets. "London Times, London Dispatch…Since when have I become so important with the fourth estate?" he wondered aloud. Then he noticed the last four messages were all the same. "Jennifer Edwards, London Herald. Who's Jennifer Edwards?"

"She's some American writer who's working over here," Max explained. "She won't take no for an answer."

Jonathan had no time for anyone like that. He tossed the messages aside and flopped down on the bed just as the phone rang. Max answered it, as usual.

"It's her."

"Huh? Jennifer Edwards? Persistent, isn't she?" He waved it away for Max to deal with and closed his eyes while listening to Max deal with that newspaper lady in his usual efficient manner.

Max hung up on her, and Jonathan smiled. Peace at last.