Читать книгу Kiss Me Twice - Geri Guillaume - Страница 10

“T hat’ll be four seventy-nine.”

The young man standing behind the register looked to Phaedra as if he could use a dose of his own product. Bleary-eyed and slow to move, he yawned as he accepted her money and squinted at the cash register, trying to find the button that would ring up the coffee purchase.

“Iced mocha. Iced…iced…iced…mocha latte. Iced mocha…” he repeated the order as if he were trying not to let himself forget.

“On the left.”

When the clerk failed to locate the proper register key, Phaedra looked up from the PDA that she was scanning to review her next appointment and raised an eyebrow at him. She didn’t have to say a word. The lift of her eyebrow told him everything. It spoke of impatience and intolerance with the lack of service that she’d gotten. Where was Dana, the usual morning clerk? Phaedra wondered. Dana knew what Phaedra liked without her even having to order. That’s what Phaedra liked about coming here. The usual impeccable service.

“The left?” he echoed, shifting his entire body to the right as if the wires in his brain were misfiring.

“Third row from the bottom, second button from the left.” Speaking in distinct, one-or-two syllable words, she enunciated clearly to make certain that he understood her.

“Oh. Riiiiggghhhttt… Now, I see it.”

“Glad to hear it.” She scooped up the extra large iced mocha latte.

“Hey, you must come here a lot,” he remarked, indicating how well she seemed to know her way around the cash register.

“No,” she added, and then muttered under her breath as she turned away. “Not anymore I won’t.”

Phaedra raised the white-lidded cup to her lips. She scanned the shop for a quiet place to sit. It was still early in the day. Not yet nine o’clock in the morning. Yet almost every couch, every booth, every table was occupied. She finally found one over in a corner near the window. Phaedra sat down in the deep cushioned club chair, set the coffee cup on the table beside her and opened her newspaper to the business section. It took her a moment to focus her thoughts as she lamented the early days of her favorite coffee shop’s grand opening.

When the shop had opened a few months ago, she could usually count on a good hour or two of quiet contemplation before the shop filled up. She could take her purchases, browse through the newspaper or read through her notes in undisturbed silence. And everyone who’d come through that door was content to take their purchases, grab a seat and wrap themselves in their own solitude. They didn’t bother her, and she didn’t bother them. If anyone did get the idea that they could hit on her while she worked, a glare as scalding as the cappuccino machine steam was all it took to make them back off. This coffee shop was her second office, and she treated it with all the proper decorum it deserved. She’d even brought a client or two here and formed partnerships over cappuccino.

Phaedra checked her watch. Nearly an hour before her next appointment. Plenty of time to enjoy her coffee. Maybe she would send out a few e-mails. Surf the Internet looking for her next potential job before—

Phaedra’s cell phone, set to vibrate, rattled in her purse.

So much for a quiet cup of coffee.

She checked the caller ID, slipped a Bluetooth wireless earpiece over her ear and spoke softly to keep her conversation as private as possible in the crowded coffeehouse.

“Hello. Phaedra Burke-Carter speaking.”

“Ms. Burke-Carter?”

“Yes. Speaking,” she repeated and pressed the earpiece closer to her ear. “Can you speak a little louder? I’m having trouble hearing you.”

“Hold on a minute.” A few seconds of muffled noise followed by the sound of a slamming door, but not before a disgruntled shout echoed in her ear. “Knock it off out there, will you! Can’t you see that I’m on the phone?”

Wincing, Phaedra pulled the earpiece away. But then the voice came back again. Clearer this time. A man speaking with the slightest hint of a dialect that she couldn’t quite place. Definitely Southern. A low, deep drawl, rich in timbre.

“Ms. Burke-Carter, my name’s Bastien Thibeadaux.”

Bastien Thibeadaux, she mentally repeated the name. Now the accent made sense to her. Definitely Southern. Mississippi. Georgia. With a name like Thibeadaux, most likely Louisiana.

Bastien Thibeadaux.

How did she know that name? From where? She closed her eyes, part of her listening to his end of the conversation that continued. The other part of her rooted through her memory, trying to dredge up a face with a name. Phaedra was usually pretty good at making and keeping connections like that. The face didn’t immediately come to mind, so she stopped trying to remember and focused more on the caller. It would eventually come to her.

“I got your business card from a mutual friend from college. Solomon Greenwood.”

“Solly! I just saw Solly a few weeks ago. How’s he doing?”

Even though they both lived in Houston, it had been years since she’d seen Solly. Two weeks ago she’d run into him and his son at a sushi restaurant downtown. She was on her way to another appointment and didn’t have time to talk. They’d exchanged information with the promise that they’d catch up on old times.

“He’s doing fine. I’ll tell him that you asked about him.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Thibeadaux?”

“Ms. Burke-Carter, I’m not convinced you can. You’re going to have to do some fast talking to sell me on your services.”

The reply was frank to the point of bluntness. Phaedra didn’t let it get to her. She was used to getting that tone. It was the kind of attitude she always received from men who were forced to seek the professional advice of a female. Maybe she was generalizing. All of her meetings didn’t start off this way. Enough of them did, though. She knew what to do to keep the potential client talking, keep the conversation polite, but professional. The moment it strayed too far in a disrespectful direction, she was going to hang up. That’s the way Phaedra maintained control.

“You called me. You must have some reason why, Mr. Thibeadaux.”

“Because Solly told me to.”

“I see.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” he went on in a condescending tone.

“Then, if you can’t make me understand why you called within the next fifteen seconds, I’m going to end this conversation. I have a very full schedule, Mr. Thibeadaux.”

“What? You gonna hang up on me, now? Let me guess. In your rule book, time is money? I think maybe you wanna make time for me, cher. ”

That southern dialect came out thick and strong then with his casual use of a term of endearment. Cher. Dear one. With it, he resurrected in Phaedra long-buried vestiges of a memory. Less than vestiges. Flashes. A jumbled mix of chaotic impressions. Images, though disjointed and out of sequence, that told Phaedra a story that she’d deliberately made herself forget.

Oh no!

Phaedra breathed the words so softly that she was certain no one could hear her. But anyone in the coffee shop watching her would see her distress. She picked up her newspaper and held it in front of her face while she composed herself.

Bastien Thibeadaux’s voice took her back almost fifteen years. Like special effects from a science fiction show, she found herself no longer in the coffee shop but in a darkened room. A single light shone over in a far corner, casting shadows on the motions of a skinny young man in a baseball cap, tag still dangling from it, shifting back and forth between tables set up around him in a makeshift DJ’s booth. He lifted old-school vinyl albums, inspecting yellow, white and red labels and making selections to keep the mood of the house party going.

As Phaedra sat shaking with a sudden anxiety attack at the coffee shop, her back stiffened in an instantaneous reflex as she remembered the feel of a solid wall against it and the rumble of bass turned up, squeaking treble turned low. The wall thrummed, vibrated up and down her spine, her bottom and her thighs. Wasn’t too much separating the wall and her skin. A thin layer of leopard print spandex and nothing else. No bra. No panties. Just the leopard print catsuit, a headband with leopard ears and a mask covering her eyes and cheekbones.

Her back had been against the wall, but she hadn’t planned to be a wallflower. Not that night.

Junior year. Combination homecoming and Halloween party on The Hill, a familiar name for her alma mater Prairie View A&M University. Enough booze and bodies to make her want to forget that she was at a party she shouldn’t have gone to. Her back was against the wall, in the shadows, because Phaedra didn’t want anyone else to see how she’d allowed—even encouraged—one or two or maybe three of the frat brothers who were throwing that party to approach her. She was playing all of them at the same time, using her anonymity and their arousal to her advantage.

She remembered that voice now. That soft, sexy voice that was finally able to convince her to move from the shadows. That voice. How could she have forgotten it? Southern and slowed from one too many whiskey shots. Half the night, she’d watched with horrified fascination and counted each one as he’d tossed the shot glasses back, draining each of the amber liquid. Party crowd chanting. Egging on. Applause. Cheers. And jeers when he got up from the table victorious, last man standing, and looking for someone to share in the celebration.

The glow of luminous hazel eyes, more green than brown, scanned the room, finally landing on her. Her of all people! Quiet, studious, oh-so-serious Phaedra Burke-Carter determined to be freed from her chrysalis and the voice, his voice, that offered her the key to that freedom. The voice that promised to take her to paradise if she consented to ditch the party and go with him to one of the rooms upstairs. Of all the young men who’d approached her that night, he was the only one who’d gotten close enough to make her consider his offer.

What was it about him? All swagger and confidence. Hardness, heat and hormones. He wasn’t the typical Texas boy that she’d known. Something set him apart. Something about him that night caught and held her attention. The moment she’d laid eyes on him, something about him said, “That’s the one.”

Was this the same person? Phaedra was torn between wanting and not wanting to know for certain. Was this that Louisiana boy from her college days? Maybe it wasn’t. He wasn’t calling himself Bastien then, but some stupid football inspired nickname. And his friends were all calling him by an initial. B? T? She wasn’t sure. Maybe she wasn’t remembering correctly. He certainly didn’t seem to remember her. Small wonder. It was fifteen years ago. Why would he remember her? It was only one party. She wasn’t even giving her real name to any of those guys at the party, either. Or her right phone number. It was all a game back then. Play the boys before you got played.

Phaedra snapped back from her reverie to respond to Bastien Thibeadaux’s question. Enough traipsing down memory lane; this was business. A potential client.

She set the newspaper aside, folding it carefully in half and placing it on the table next to her coffee.

“Time is money. Not necessarily. In my book, time isn’t money. But my time is precious. So, tell me what you need from me, Mr. Thibeadaux, or cut the conversation short.”

“Solly tells me that you get paid to keep people safe.”

“That’s a simplistic way of putting what I do. The same can be said for bodyguards, Mr. Thibeadaux. I’m not in the body-guarding business, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Workplace safety,” he clarified. “I’ve got some trouble at work. Some…let’s say…behaviors…that I want to nip in the bud before somebody gets hurt. Really hurt. You know what I mean?” He paused.

“And…” she encouraged.

“And Solly seems to think you can help me solve them. Can you?”

“I have to be honest with you, Mr. Thibeadaux, I don’t know. I need to…” She couldn’t make an assessment without knowing more details about his situation, but he didn’t give her the chance to finish her sentence.

“Then what am I doing wasting your time and mine?” he snapped.

“I didn’t call you. You called me. I’m not in the habit of wasting time. So why don’t I hang up and save us both continued irritation?”

Phaedra noted the considerable pause. She listened carefully but could only hear his breathing. Rapid and shallow at first, then slowing as he clamped down on his anger. When he spoke again, it was with a more conciliatory tone.

“I think maybe, Ms. Burke-Carter, we got off to a shaky start.”

“I agree. Shall we start again?”

“When can you come out to discuss my particular problem?”

“This week?” She consulted her PDA, calling up the calendar. “How does Thursday suit you, Mr. Thibeadaux? Thursday at two o’clock.”

“I guess it’ll have to do.” He didn’t sound pleased that she couldn’t immediately accommodate him.

“Your address, please. And a number where I can best reach you.” Phaedra tapped the stylus against the PDA screen, keeping up with the information that he rattled off.

“CT Inspectorate,” she repeated back to him the name of the company and the address. “What type of inspection company do you work for, Mr. Thibeadaux?”

“Grain, primarily. Wheat. Sorghum. Rice. Why? Does it make a difference?”

“I can’t tailor a solution for you if I don’t know what you do, can I, now? I’ll see you on Thursday.”

“One more thing, Ms. Burke-Carter.”

“Yes?”

“How much is this going to cost me?”

“I’m not ready to discuss figures with you, Mr. Thibeadaux. Not until I’ve had a chance to assess your situation.”

“Give me a ballpark.”

“Not even a ballpark.”

“An hourly rate?”

“It varies.”

She heard him give a sigh of irritation at her stonewalling tactics, but Phaedra knew better than to toss out a number that would either lock her into a rate she could accept or would scare him off if he figured it was too high. “You know, Ms. Burke-Carter, Solly told me that you can be a bit difficult when you want to be.”

“Mr. Thibeadaux,” Phaedra said crisply, clamping down on her words. “Is there something that you need to tell me? Something before we meet on Thursday?”

“What do you mean?”

“For someone who claims to need my help, you don’t seem very accommodating.”

“You mean willing to fall over and let you shove your hand into my wallet? That’s what you consultants do, isn’t it? Rattle off some crap trying to convince your clients that you’re needed. Then inflate the hours on the invoice to charge ridiculous fees. Or skip out before finishing the work?”

“I have no intention of putting my hand anywhere near your wallet,” she assured him. “That’s what electronic transfers are for.”

Here we go again, Phaedra thought to herself. Another one who didn’t trust her profession.

“How about making my first consult free for old time’s sake? PV alum-to-alum,” he eased the question by her smoothly. He was trying to get by with something for nothing. Well, her services didn’t come cheap. There was true value to what she did.

“What value do you put on the safety of your employees, Mr. Thibeadaux?” Phaedra responded to his question with one of her own.

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for them if it’ll keep them from getting hurt or killed.”

“I’ll tell you what, Mr. Thibeadaux. Because Solly suggested that you speak with me, for old time’s sake, my first consult will be free. It won’t cost you anything for me to listen. So, let’s meet. I’ll listen to you. You listen to me. And if I can’t convince you that I can help, then we’ll go our separate ways.”

“Then, I’ll see you Thursday at two o’clock. Anything I need to do to prepare for the meeting?”

“Yes, I need you to gather all of your employee incident reports for the last two years. Especially those related to accidents and those involving lost work time.”

“I’ve got copies of most of them sitting on my desk.”

“An excellent start. And I need access to your documented policies and procedures.”

“Most of that information is passed on through on-the-job training, Ms. Burke-Carter. Some of my employees can barely speak English. Others might have finished high school. It’s extremely physical, repetitive work. Nobody’s got time to plow through a bunch of dusty books that are out of date the minute you print them. But I’ll gather what I have.”

“I can assess how effective your procedures are when I see you on Thursday.”

“You’re not going to take our company secrets and sell them to your other clients, are you?”

“I’ll sign whatever nondisclosure agreements or confidentiality contracts you have.”

“Don’t you worry your head about signing NDAs,” he said smoothly. “We may be a Southern, family-run business. But some of the old ways still work for us, Ms. Burke-Carter. Like that quaint, turn of the century practice of sealing a business deal on the trust of a handshake. Keep your NDA. I’ve learned from personal experience that they’re not worth the paper they’re printed on.”

“You don’t trust consultants, do you?” It wasn’t really a question. Phaedra was only letting him know that she recognized his hostility but was still willing to deal with him.

“And it only took you fifteen minutes to figure that out. I’m already impressed with your expertise,” he retorted, then hung up on Phaedra before she could beat him to it.

“You should be,” Phaedra muttered to the dead phone line hum that echoed in her ear.