Читать книгу The Better Man - Amy Vastine - Страница 13

CHAPTER FOUR

“SIT HER DOWN over here,” Owen said, clearing some junk off a dusty chair. The poor guy was almost as pale as the woman in Max’s arms.

“Does she have low blood sugar or some kind of medical condition I should know about?” Max asked. He wasn’t sure how she was going to hold herself up when she was unconscious, so he held on to her.

“Not that I know of.” Her business partner was flustered. “You should put her down. She’ll pass out again if she wakes up and you’re holding her.”

Max’s eyebrows pinched together. There was no way he was blaming him for this. Who passed out at the sight of someone? Although... His mother had always teased him about being a knockout. Kendall Montgomery was indeed out cold, and all he had done was smile and attempt to introduce himself. Maybe he had KO’d the K in KO Designs with his devilish good looks. He fought a smile. It was funny, even though it wasn’t.

Her eyes began to flutter open and, though it was absurd to think he had anything to do with her passing out, Max wanted to set her down before she came to. She looked up at him as he set her on the chair.

“Oh, God, did I die?” She was horror-stricken. Her eyes were wide and wild. “I can’t die. What about Simon!” Her hand covered her mouth.

“No, no, no, K. You’re fine. You’re alive,” Owen said, pushing Max aside and helping her sit up straight. “Mr. Jordan, here, brought you inside.”

“Mr. Jordan?”

The beautiful but somewhat strange designer rubbed her forehead and stared at Max. She was pretty enough to be forgiven for spilling her coffee all over his shoes. This time.

“Please, call me Max,” he said to both of them. This Mr. Jordan stuff made him feel uncomfortable. The only Mr. Jordan that Max ever knew was his grandfather, and his mother’s father was nothing but a mean, old man. He scanned the room. “Let me find you some water.”

The restaurant was a big, torn-apart space with nothing to offer but broken furniture and an empty bar. He decided to duck outside and spotted a Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner, down the street.

He bought Kendall water and a glazed doughnut, just in case low blood sugar really was the culprit. When he returned to the future home of Sato’s, the two designers were hugging. This was not how he expected day one to start. He waited for them to break apart before he handed over the food and drink.

The biggest, softest brown eyes stared up at him. This woman was the knockout. Her dark brown hair was pulled into a ponytail that fell halfway down her back. The navy V-neck shirt she wore accentuated the length of her neck, and her skin was the color of the cream he put in his coffee.

“I figured everyone likes glazed doughnuts. I’m a Boston cream fan myself, but some people don’t like stuff inside their doughnuts. I love vanilla pudding but hate jelly. I mean, if I want jelly, I’m going to put it on toast, not in my doughnut.”

Both designers stared and blinked, blinked and stared. They were beginning to make him self-conscious. He hadn’t had a pimple since the twelfth grade, but all their gaping had him wondering if he didn’t have a giant red bump on his nose.

“You should probably eat something,” he said, filling the awkward silence. “I bet you skipped breakfast this morning. Am I right?”

Kendall glanced at Owen, then nodded her head. “Yeah. I was in such a rush, I totally forgot to grab something. Thank you...Max.” She said his name like she was testing the way it sounded. As if he might correct her and tell her it was something else.

“You’re welcome,” he said with a wink. “Eat up so we can get to work.”

Kendall pulled out the doughnut and took a bite, humming in appreciation. She ate and she drank. She smiled and she blushed. She was even prettier with a little color in her cheeks. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand instead of the napkin he had stuffed in the small paper bag, and she never stopped staring.

* * *

MAX WAS HOPEFUL things would be less awkward as the day progressed, but he couldn’t shake the feeling he was under a microscope. During the morning meeting with the contractor, he caught her studying his shoes. When he was pointing out some issues in the blueprints, she seemed completely distracted by his hands. Not to mention the five minutes she spent fixated on his chin. Max had to go the bathroom to make sure there wasn’t something there.

Getting a woman’s attention was nothing new. One of Max’s favorite things about his job was working the room, sparing no one from his charm. He was used to women watching him, flirting with crooked smiles and batted eyelashes. Those looks fueled his ego nicely.

This was not that.

Kendall was currently talking on the phone, but she was also watching Max tour the room with one of the subcontractors. The crease between her eyebrows was the dead giveaway that she wasn’t flirting. She was judging. Why was she judging him? All day he felt like he wasn’t meeting some standard.

As soon as she got off her phone, he intended to find out what her problem was. He finished with Joe the subcontractor and strode over to Kendall, who, even though she was looking right at him, didn’t seem to notice he was headed her way.

“I bought you breakfast and still I feel like you’re holding the whole fainting spell against me.”

She startled when he spoke. “What?”

“Is there a problem I should know about?”

She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes as she peered at his. “Brown,” she said, barely loud enough for him to hear. She was officially odd.

“What?”

“What?” She pulled her head back and folded her arms across her chest.

“You’ve been staring at me all day,” he said, trying his best not to seem confrontational. “I’d be flattered if I thought you were simply appreciating my awesomeness, but I don’t think that’s it.”

Kendall’s gaze fell to the floor. “Sorry. You remind me of...someone.” She shook her head and made eye contact again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“Apology accepted. It’s actually good to know there’s somebody out there who looks like me. Especially the next time I get picked out of a lineup for robbing a bank. I mean, the last time, they wouldn’t take my word for it when I said it must have been my evil twin,” he joked, but she didn’t laugh. In fact, she may have thought he was being serious. “I’m kidding.”

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath the whole time he was talking. “Okay, well, I’m heading out to make sure our flooring gets delivered on time.”

“Well, until tomorrow, then,” Max said, stepping out of her way. “Don’t forget to eat something for breakfast.”

Confusion clouded her face for a moment before the light came on. She smiled and laughed at herself. It was the kind of smile that gave her lines that bracketed her mouth. She had full lips and lots of white teeth that had to have spent some time in braces when she was younger. “I will definitely eat something so you don’t have to pick me up off the floor, Mr. Jordan.”

“Max,” he corrected.

“Right.” Her smile faded for some reason. “Max.”

* * *

MAX HAD THIRTY minutes to get from the Loop to the corner of North Avenue and Milwaukee Avenue. Joe, the helpful subcontractor, told him to jump on the Blue Line because a cab would cost him a bundle and take too long this time of day. Max was used to getting around in the safety of his own car. Everyone in L.A. had a car, hence the massive traffic problems. Chicago had its issues, but many of the people behind the wheel were making money doing so or commuting from the suburbs. True Chicagoans, Max had been told, walked, got around on bikes, or unlike everyone he knew back in L.A., they used public transportation.

The CTA station was crowded and smelled like a dirty bathroom. A man in a stained shirt and muddied khakis wove his way through the waiting commuters. He held out a paper cup that contained maybe a buck in change if he was lucky. “Spare somethin’?”

Max dug in his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. He pushed it into the cup. “Get a good meal tonight,” he said.

The man’s face broke into a grin of appreciation. “God bless.”

Max tipped his head and smiled back as the man moved on.

The woman next to him snorted. “He’s just gonna buy some booze with that money, you know.” Dressed in a navy suit and flashy running shoes, she held on tightly to her humongous designer purse with one hand while the other scrolled through something on her phone. Neither the diamonds in her ears nor the rings on her fingers looked like they came from a Cracker Jack box. She could have easily spared a dime.

“Maybe. Maybe not. You never know someone’s story until you ask them to tell it,” Max said as the train pulled up.

“Pfft.” The woman rolled her eyes and made her way toward the train.

She was probably right. It was very likely the guy would use the money for some vice rather than food. Still, there was also a possibility he’d buy dinner with it. That was enough for Max. Things happened. Sometimes life threw people a curve ball they weren’t expecting and all they needed was a hand up. Max had no problem offering help to others, though he had trouble asking for or accepting it himself.

When Max was twenty-two, he found out his mother was panhandling after she had lost her job working as a blackjack dealer in a Las Vegas casino. He was thankful for the people who offered her help. Who knew what else she would have been willing to do to keep from starving. But he hated that she’d hidden her desperation from him, opting to beg strangers for help instead.

He had taken her in after that, even though he was living in the tiniest apartment in all of California. She stayed for about two months, then she met some guy who persuaded her to follow him to Denver to start a church. Thus began her “religious” period.

Max’s mom made him look at everyone a little differently. Her weaknesses taught him to trust no one to take care of him but himself. Her quirky strengths reminded him that people were interesting creatures, capable of both good and bad, depending on the day. To keep his faith in her, he had to have some in everyone else. Everyone except his father. His father lacked any redeeming qualities, he was sure of it. Anyone who would walk away from a pregnant woman and lay no claim to his son didn’t deserve forgiveness or understanding.

Max wasn’t going to be that kind of man. He was going to be a better man than his father. That was what he told himself as he rode the Blue Line to meet his lawyer. He had to believe that if he had any shot at winning joint custody of Aidan.

Wayne Faraday’s office was three blocks from the CTA station. Max managed to walk there and still be on time. The temperature had begun to drop as the sun set. Chicago weather in early fall was unpredictable. Sometimes it felt like summer wasn’t ready to go, and the next day it was rainy and forty degrees. Max dreaded his first Midwestern winter.

Wayne’s administrative assistant was a young guy with blond hair and black hipster glasses who always wore a bow tie and skinny pants. Max imagined he spent his free time in offbeat coffee shops where people drank lattes, ate organic muffins and competed in poetry slams. “Mr. Jordan. Right on time. Mr. Faraday will be with you in just a minute. He got a call right before you walked in.”

“No problem,” Max said, taking a seat—the only seat—in the reception area. The law firm of Faraday and Associates was small. In fact, the name was a bit deceiving. There actually weren’t any associates. Wayne worked alone, but he had a passion for fathers’ rights, which made him the man for this job. Max needed someone who knew what he was doing and was willing to take him on as a client, given the fact that Max’s case wasn’t particularly strong. At least not yet.

Picking up a copy of Men’s Fitness magazine, Max tried to occupy his thoughts with something other than his crazy day. He still struggled to shake the strange feelings Kendall Montgomery had stirred in him. It had been a relief when she’d explained he simply reminded her of someone else. Hopefully that meant the constant staring would come to an end. Of course, it was the way she looked at him that was unnerving. Even when she smiled, there was this sadness about her. Like it made her sad to see him. That was an unpleasant thought.

Maybe he reminded her of some horrible ex-boyfriend or a bully from high school. Whoever it was, it distracted her all day and distractions led to mistakes. Max couldn’t afford any mistakes on this job. Sato’s needed to open on schedule. The restaurant and Max’s success depended on it.

“Max.” Wayne Faraday strode out of his office and extended a hand. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Come on back.” They shook hands and Wayne turned to his assistant. “Feel free to take off, Jake. I’ll lock up when I’m done with Mr. Jordan.”

Jake nodded and wished them both a good night. Wayne ushered Max into his office, which was just big enough to hold a desk, one file cabinet, a bookcase filled with dozens of law texts, and two small office chairs. Max stepped over a pile of manila folders and sat down in one of the chairs. Wayne bent over to pick up the files, but set them down when he realized there was no room on his desk for anything else.

“Sorry. I think I need to hire one of those companies that help people maximize their small spaces,” Wayne said, taking his seat on the other side of the desk. He didn’t look like the kind of lawyer who’d be crammed into a tiny, disorganized space. In contrast to his office, Wayne was completely put together. He wore a designer suit and a TAG Heuer watch. The diploma that hung on the wall was from the University of Chicago and the picture that sat on his desk was of him and a happy bride and groom at a wedding in Paris.

Max had no idea what a guy like Wayne was doing in this dinky office instead of some corner office in a shiny building overlooking Lake Michigan, but he knew the lawyer’s track record with these kinds of custody cases, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay,” Wayne said, opening the file that lay in front of him. “We need to talk about a couple of things before we have our first appearance before the judge. The good news is you’ve consistently paid your child support.”

Max had been willing to pay whatever Katie needed to care for Aidan. The divorce was easy. They’d had little money at the time, so they shared a lawyer. They’d agreed on joint custody, but Katie was the custodial parent. Max was granted visitation, but that hadn’t really happened. As soon as everything was finalized, Katie moved Aidan to Chicago.

Max could have fought her, could have forced her to stay in California, but he hadn’t. Sadly, his only excuse was that it was easier for him to have her gone. He made plans to fly out for visits, but work picked up and he kept pushing the trips back. Weeks turned into months, months turned into years.

Max’s biggest regret was that he had thought his name was on the birth certificate and the money he put in Katie’s bank account made him a better father than his own. There was so much more he could have done and so much time had been wasted.

“I’m fairly certain we can get a judge to consider some form of visitation between appearances even if Mrs. Michaels fights us on it. It would be even better if you two would agree to arbitration or mediation.”

“I’ll do whatever. I don’t think Katie will agree to mediation, though.”

“We’ll ask for that first. I need confirmation from you that her moving was the reason your visitation agreement was not followed. Then we need something to go to the judge with that will cast you in a better light. It also wouldn’t hurt if we had some character witnesses. Friends, family, people who will testify that you’re a good man with every intention of being a good father.”

Character witnesses? His mom was the only family he had, and she was unreliable at best. Friends were a luxury he couldn’t afford. He was always friendly, of course—it was required in his profession. Max made it his job to know his patrons and keep regulars coming back by getting personal. He knew details about their lives only a friend would know, but they knew nothing about him. Did they like him? Everyone liked him. But no one really knew him.

“What if all my character witnesses live too far away?”

Wayne took a breath and held it for a second before exhaling. He held his hands out, palms up. “Then I need you to make some friends. And fast. Because right now, she’s making a fairly strong case that your lack of involvement in your son’s life is because you’re negligent. We need people to tell the judge they know you as someone other than a guy who deserted his kid.”

It felt like a ball of fire exploded in Max’s chest. “I never deserted my son! Katie moved. What was I supposed to do? I had a job and a life in California.”

“Okay, that, right there, you cannot do that in front of the judge or the arbitrator,” Wayne said firmly. “But what I’m hearing you say is, had Mrs. Michaels not left the state, you would have continued visits with your son. Am I right?”

Max wanted to say yes, but the truth wasn’t that simple. Even if she’d stayed, it probably wouldn’t have changed how much time he’d spent—or not spent—with Aidan. He hadn’t deserted his son. He’d let them walk away from him and chosen not to follow.

“I’m sure I would have spent more time with him if he’d lived closer,” Max answered, the heat of his earlier anger slowly fading.

“But was her moving out of state the major obstacle?” Wayne prompted him with a nod of his head.

“Yes?”

“Is that an answer or a question?”

“An answer?”

Wayne sat back in his chair, his lips turned slightly upward. “Don’t do that in court, either. When you answer a question, you need to answer decisively. There can be no doubt. The judge isn’t going to believe someone who sounds like he doesn’t believe himself.”

Max scrubbed his face with his hands. This was going to be tougher than he thought. “I’ll work on that.”

“That’s all I can ask.” Wayne unleashed his full smile. Two rows of perfect, white teeth. “Well, that and make some friends, Max. Quickly.”

* * *

IT WAS A short cab ride back to his condo. The sun had set and the streetlights cast an orange glow on the pavement. It was only a little after seven, but Max was tired. And hungry.

He pulled out his keys and searched for the right one to open the main entrance. Before he figured it out, the door opened and Charlie nearly bowled him over.

“Oh, man, sorry about that!” His hulk of a neighbor stepped back. “Seems like every time our paths cross, I’m running you over. I swear I make my living saving lives, not taking them.”

Max waved off the apology. “Don’t sweat it. It’s my ninja skills. They make it impossible for you to see me coming.”

Charlie’s caterpillar eyebrows scrunched together before lifting along with one side of his mouth. “You’re funny, Floor Three. Ninja skills. That’s a good one.”

Max shrugged and reached for the door.

“Hey, I’m meeting a couple of guys for some dinner and the Hawks game, you wanna tag along?” Charlie offered.

As much as Max wanted to climb those stairs and lock himself inside his condo for the night, Wayne’s voice played in his head. Make friends, Max. Charlie was a nice, upstanding citizen who worked for the city and saved lives daily. Who wouldn’t want someone like that as a character witness?

“Sure. Thanks, man.” Max let the door close and followed a grinning Charlie down the steps.

Make friends, Max. Quickly.