Читать книгу The Better Man - Amy Vastine - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

MAX JORDAN WAS a punctual man. Always on time. Never late.

Except when meetings were scheduled before noon, that is. He tended to be a little tardy for those.

In his defense, he was still adjusting to the time change. It was only eight-thirty in Los Angeles, and the only time Max saw eight-thirty was if he was getting ready for bed after an extremely late night. In the restaurant and night club business, daytime was bedtime.

Even though the restaurant he was here to run wasn’t open yet, it was difficult to change his sleep schedule. There were plenty of places for him to scope out, as competition in the restaurant business was tight in the Windy City. He wanted Sato’s to be a success. He needed it to be.

Managing a successful restaurant would look good, and right now, Max needed to look good—in the eyes of the court, his ex and, most important, his son. Being late to his first meeting with the interior designers was not going to help.

The invitation to sit in on the presentation had been unexpected, especially since Max knew Mr. Sato had the only vote that counted. Sato was a shrewd businessman who only hired the best of the best. Whomever he chose to design the restaurant’s dining area would be top-notch.

That didn’t excuse Max’s lack of punctuality, however. He should have been there. On time. How he was going to explain his late arrival was the only thing on his mind as he raced down the steps and out the door toward the cab he had called. Just as he reached for the car door handle, he heard a voice.

“Dad! Wait! It’s us!”

Max stopped, looking up and across the street. Nobody called him Dad. Not even Aidan, his own son. It wasn’t the name that captured his attention, but the desperation.

The boy across the street looked much older than Aidan, but they shared the same brown hair and strong lungs. Aidan’s scream rivaled that of any horror movie leading lady. Max glanced around, searching for this other child’s father. There wasn’t anyone on his side of the street and the boy looked like he was about to dart into traffic.

Max felt his heart skip a beat until he noticed the boy held a woman’s hand, his mother most likely. She’d keep him from getting hurt.

Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and he could’ve sworn she recognized him. But that was impossible. There was one thing he hadn’t made time for since he moved to Chicago and that was women. The only person he’d spoken more than a couple of words to was the nice—almost too nice—guy who owned the condo under his in their three-flat.

Max slid into the back of the cab and rattled off the address and a plea for haste. Rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he tried to refocus on his excuse for being late. He had texted Mr. Sato’s assistant that he’d be late the moment he’d woken up and realized the time. He hadn’t, however, given a reason.

An accident. A boy ran into the street and was hit by a car. Max had to stop, wait for help to arrive.

Nah. Boys being hit by cars would probably make the news. He needed to think less dramatic.

Traffic? Traffic in Chicago was almost as terrible as in L.A. Almost. Unfortunately, it wasn’t bad enough to make him an hour late.

He could almost hear Katie now. His ex-wife would be reading him the riot act if she knew. This is what you call being responsible? The only thing you’re good at, Max, is lying. Doesn’t this prove Aidan deserves better than you?

Some days he hated her. Her, her sanctimonious attitude and her new attorney husband. Nothing bugged him more than the way she acted like a saint. As if he didn’t know who she used to be. As if her life in L.A. never existed. Sadly for her, he did remember and she wasn’t perfect.

Max took a deep breath and stared out the window as the buildings grew taller and the streets more crowded. He swore things would be different in Chicago. He would be different. He came here to prove something and he wasn’t going to blow it. He was not going to be like his deadbeat father. Not if he could help it.

* * *

MR. SATO’S OFFICE was in the heart of the West Loop. Max knew they were close when they passed the Willis Tower. He threw in a couple of extra dollars of tip for the speedy service and jumped out of the cab.

With no excuse but the truth, he marched into the building and headed for the elevators. Hopefully he hadn’t missed the entire presentation. Perhaps they’d waited for him. The designers were sure to be less than pleased with him if that was the case. That accident excuse felt less wrong for a minute until the elevator reached the correct floor.

The dark gray marble beneath his feet matched the color of the imaginary cloud above Max’s head. He approached the receptionist seated behind a curved glass block desk, buttoning his jacket closed before smoothing down the lapels. He smiled, hoping the friendlier he was, the friendlier others would be in return. “Good morning. Max Jordan. I’m here for Mr. Sato’s meeting with the interior designers.”

The woman pushed her red glasses up her nose and tucked her jet black hair behind her ear. Everything about her was severe, from her hair color to the angle of her chin. “Mr. Sato’s nine-thirty meeting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“That’s the one. Better late than never, right?”

The woman’s lips didn’t even twitch. “Let me see if it’s still happening,” she said, her tone as judgmental as the look she gave him. She picked up her phone and dialed. “I think the designer left,” she told Max.

That figured. Max bounced on the balls of his feet and patted his pockets for the cigarettes that weren’t there because he’d quit. He needed to figure out a way to make it up to Mr. Sato. Work harder. Do more promotion. Put in more hours when the place opened.

“Through those doors and to your right. The conference room is at the end of the hall.” The receptionist glanced over her shoulder at the glass double doors.

“Thank you,” Max said, trying to still appear professional while nearly sprinting to his meeting.

He ran a hand through his hair and rolled his neck around before pushing open the conference door. Mr. Sato’s eyes were the only part of him that moved when Max entered the room. His son, Jin, wore a look of disapproval that spoke louder than any words could. A third man stared like he was seeing a ghost. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head.

“Mr. Jordan, how nice of you to join us,” Jin said, without an ounce of sincerity in his tone.

The designer approached him cautiously and held out his hand. “Owen Sung, the O in KO Designs.”

Max shook it firmly and apologized for being late.

Max turned to Mr. Sato. “I wish I had a better excuse than sleeping through my alarm. I will not let it happen again. I assure you, sir.”

Mr. Sato’s head bowed ever so slightly in acknowledgment.

“Shall I go over our design for Mr. Jordan?” Owen asked, handing Max a folder filled with the breakdown of the design elements and cost.

Mr. Sato whispered to Jin, who relayed the man’s wishes. “Just a brief overview. Time is of the essence.”

Max felt the sting but took a seat. Owen quickly outlined his firm’s vision for the restaurant and Max listened with rapt attention. It was a beautiful, contemporary design. There was a hipness that would attract the younger crowd but a sophistication that would lure the more established money in the city.

“Where in the world are you going to find an artist to paint a mural of this size for nothing?” Max asked as he reviewed the price points, hoping to win back Mr. Sato’s approval by finding a hidden cost.

Owen immediately squashed that dream. “My partner will be painting the mural, so her services are already paid for.”

Mr. Sato whispered a few questions to Jin while Max asked about project management. Owen stated both he and his partner would be overseeing everything on a daily basis.

“Where is your partner today?” Max asked. His tardiness was troubling, but for the K in KO Designs to be missing seemed inexcusable.

Owen puffed out his chest, an offended tone coloring his words. “Kendall was here earlier, Mr. Jordan. She had a family emergency and couldn’t wait on you any longer. I assure you, there is no need to worry about her dedication to this project. She put her heart and soul into this design.”

Properly put in his place, Max decided to stay quiet for the rest of the meeting. There was little fault to be found in the design. He could see why Mr. Sato had solicited KO Designs to make a bid. At his father’s whispered request, Jin called the meeting to an end and informed Owen they would be in contact soon. Escorting the designer out, Jin left Max and Mr. Sato alone.

A full minute passed before Mr. Sato broke the silence. “I hired you because I believe you are the best at what you do, Mr. Jordan.” His voice was deep and gravelly. He was a man of few words, and when he spoke it sounded like he hadn’t done so in years.

“Thank you, sir.”

“As manager, I expect you to be a role model. Being late is unacceptable. Understand?” Max nodded and tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. “You will be at the site every day. Early. No excuses.”

Mr. Sato’s warning had magically tightened the tie around Max’s neck. Slipping his fingers under his collar and giving it a tug, he promised, “I’ll be there every day, sir. I won’t let you down.”

“I hope not.” Mr. Sato stood, his stature not nearly as intimidating as his usual silence. At six foot two, Max was a giant in comparison. “I will accept the bid from KO later today and request we begin as soon as possible.”

Max got on his feet. “That sounds perfect, sir. I’ve been scoping out the competition to ensure we’ll be better than all the rest.”

“Glad we have the same goal, Mr. Jordan.” As if on cue, Jin opened the door as Mr. Sato made his exit.

Jin shut the door after his father left the room and began to circle Max like a lion stalking his prey. He had voiced his displeasure with his father’s choice to hire Max from the beginning. Jin had been under the impression the job would be his simply because of his last name.

Jin wasn’t exceptionally good at hiding his dislike for Max. The man was more of a boy, fresh out of college and overeager. His sense of entitlement was annoying. He believed himself worthy of the same respect his father had spent decades earning. He was child with a lot to learn.

“It won’t take much for me to persuade him to let me run the restaurant if today is any indication of your work ethic,” Jin said.

“It’s not.” The only job Max had ever handed over to someone else was parenting Aidan. He planned to earn that job back and prove himself worthy of this one.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Jin said snidely. “For some reason, I have little faith in you, Mr. Jordan.”

Get in line, Max wanted to reply. Instead, he smiled and wished the junior Sato a good day before leaving. He certainly wasn’t going to prove anyone right or wrong standing in a conference room arguing with someone who had no idea what he was talking about.

* * *

MAX TIPPED HIS cab driver less generously on the ride home. Feeling deflated, he headed up to his condo with much less vigor than when he’d left. The guy from the second floor, who’d previously introduced himself as Charlie, was the hare to his turtle, nearly running Max over as he dashed down the stairs.

“Sorry about that, Floor Three.” Dressed in jeans and a navy T-shirt with the Chicago Fire Department logo on the front, Charlie gave Max’s arm a friendly punch. “I need to remember someone lives above me and might be on these stairs now and again.”

“No problem,” Max assured him, hoping for a quick escape.

“You home for lunch or something?”

“Or something.” Max continued his ascent.

Charlie stopped him. “I’m grabbing lunch down the street. Best burgers on this side of the city, and as a good neighbor, I feel it’s my duty to expose you to the finer things we have to offer around here. You have to come with me.”

“Maybe another time.” He didn’t want to be rude, especially since Charlie was nicer than anyone he’d ever met in L.A., but right now, he wanted to be alone.

Charlie relented with a smile. “I’m gonna hold you to that.”

Max didn’t doubt he meant it. He retreated into his condo and loosed his tie, pulled it over his head and tossed it on the couch. Stepping around a stack of boxes, he made his way to the kitchen to grab a drink. He’d had big plans to unpack and make this place a home, but work was always his default. His apartment back in L.A. had been spotless because he was only there to sleep. This place was going to take a little more effort once Aidan started coming around.

Max bypassed the television and headed for his music. His records were the first thing he unpacked when he got to Chicago. The vinyl collection really belonged to his mother, but she had lost her love for it long ago and he had happily taken it over.

Joanna Jordan currently lived in Portland, where she was exploring her newest fascination—healthy living. Max couldn’t complain. It was much better than her former love affair with alcohol or her cosmetic surgery phase. She’d traded her vodka in for kale shakes and did hot yoga instead of Botox injections. But Max knew it was only a matter of time before she moved on to something else. Another obsession. Another addiction. His mother re-created herself every couple of years. He never knew who she’d become, but he could always count on her to be different from the last time he saw her.

Max rarely benefitted from her frivolity, but the record collection was a wonderful exception. He had everything a music lover could want, from the Beatles to Buddy Guy. He slipped his favorite Pink Floyd album from its sleeve and set the record on the turntable. The music filled the room and Max lay down on the couch and closed his eyes, letting it take him away for a moment or two.

He patted his chest pocket, looking for something he knew wasn’t there. Old habits died hard. As a teenager, Max spent more afternoons than he could remember blowing off class, listening to music and smoking his mother’s cigarettes. It used to be what calmed him down, allowed him to escape his life.

Responsible parents didn’t expose their children to secondhand smoke, however. And Max was determined to be a better parent than either one of his had been. He’d failed thus far, but that was going to change. Giving up cigarettes was step one.

Scrubbing his face, Max sat up. Step one of a hundred. Maybe a thousand. He got up and went to the kitchen for more water and something to eat to keep his mouth busy.

The catalyst for his reform was taped to the refrigerator. The single sheet of monogrammed stationery was wrinkled from being crumpled up into a ball and thrown across his apartment back in L.A.

A little over four years ago, Max met Katie, who was on the rebound from some guy who had failed miserably at giving her the attention she desired. She was the stereotypical wannabe actress working as a waitress. Max’s nightclub was a favorite hangout for her and her friends.

Max, being Max, made her feel like the most important person he’d ever met. She was fun to be around when she wasn’t partying too hard and didn’t seem any more ready to settle down than he did. Neither one ever spoke of marriage or of moving things along too quickly. Not until she told him she was pregnant. Proposing was his first attempt at not being like his father, who hadn’t bothered to stick around when his mom dropped the baby bomb.

The marriage lasted about as long as the pregnancy. They fought about everything—Max’s work schedule, his friends, his cleaning habits or lack thereof. Things didn’t get any better when the baby came along. Aidan was born with what Max thought had to be the worst case of colic in medical history. He cried and wailed day and night.

Katie warned Max she would move back to Chicago to be closer to her family if he didn’t help out more, and he prayed she would. Aidan was three months old when she made good on that threat, and he had shamefully felt nothing but relief. Katie and Aidan left California and Max went back to the way things were before he met her. For the next three years, he worked hard and made a name for himself in the restaurant business. Life was good.

Until the letter came.

She had handwritten it, which made it that much more personal, more real. Her words leaped off the page in attack like they had fired out of her mouth when they were together. Her low opinion hadn’t changed over the years.

He was a deadbeat dad. He was an unfit parent. He was a pathetic human being. She wasn’t looking for any more of his money. She didn’t want anything from him except his signature.

Katie had remarried. She was Katie Michaels now. A swirly K and M were embossed in glossy black on the top of the heavy ivory paper. Her new husband was a brilliant attorney in Chicago. He was rich and well connected. He was the man Aidan called Daddy. He wanted to adopt Max’s son and change his last name. All Max had to do was give up his rights. When he refused to do that, Katie filed for sole legal custody of Aidan with no visitation rights, effectively finding another way to cut Max out of Aidan’s life forever.

It was the wake-up call of a lifetime. He had not only done what his own father had done, he’d let someone else be the father he had promised he was going to be.

He was Aidan’s father and it was time he acted like it. Every decision he’d made since that letter arrived was made with Aidan in mind. Those decisions brought him here to Chicago, where he was going to do things right. Max and Katie weren’t made for each other, but Aidan was made for them. Both of them. And no one was going to replace Max in his son’s life. Not anymore.

Max made himself a sandwich and pulled the lid open on one of the boxes. A father needed a home for his son to visit. This would be that home for Aidan.