Читать книгу The Man She Knew - Loree Lough - Страница 11

CHAPTER TWO

“HEY, BOSS, WHAT should I do with this?”

Ian inspected the document in his assistant manager’s hands. “I suppose we oughta frame it, hang it near the registration counter.”

“Si.” Sergio shifted his weight to his good leg. “Good place for patrons to see they are dining in A-plus restaurante.”

Terri, Sur les Quais’s hostess, peered over Sergio’s shoulder.

“Oh wow, Ian. That’s so fantastic! I’ll bet I can find a frame downstairs in the storeroom...”

“Think you can find a good place to hang it once it’s behind glass, too?”

“Probably...” She started for the stairs, turning to add, “But I’ll check with you before I drive a nail into the wall.”

Such a timid little thing. “No need for that. I’m sure any spot you choose will be fine.”

She gave that a moment’s thought. “Okay then, if you’re sure.”

As she hurried down the stairs, he pictured the abusive husband who’d made her afraid of her own shadow. He’d tangled with plenty of bullies at Lincoln, and quickly figured out that defending himself would only tack extra years onto his sentence. It had taken time and careful planning, but he’d found ways to end the harassment...and earn the grudging respect of fellow inmates.

And the Turners called me a thug. Unlike his parents, Ian believed in marriage, in sticking it out when times got tough. But in his opinion, Terri and her boy would have been better off if Steve had fulfilled his numerous threats of leaving. He’d done nothing to hide his disappointment at having a special needs son, not even from Avery. Despite it all, Avery seemed as determined to overcome the limitations of his disorder as his mother was to keep him enrolled at the Washburne-Avery Institute. A lot to admire in those two—the mother in particular, who was partially deaf. If only Terri believed in herself as much as Ian did.

Alone in his office, Ian took a knee and rotated the dial on the safe, and as he slid the big checkbook from the bottom shelf, an envelope fluttered to the floor. He recognized it instantly as the last letter he’d sent Maleah from Lincoln. Oh, he’d written others after that one came back. Dozens. A hundred, maybe.

But he hadn’t mailed them.

He picked the letter up and, without reading the message scrawled across the envelope’s back, buried it under last year’s tax return, the titles to his pickup and Harley and his release papers.

“You in there, Ian?”

“C’mon in, Aunt Gladys.”

He sat behind his desk and folded both hands on the checkbook.

“I can’t believe you’re still doing things the old-fashioned way. Surely you know how much time you’d save, banking online.”

“I served time with guys who could hack an account like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I don’t trust the internet. Last thing we need now that we’re in the black is identity theft.”

“That’s what firewalls are for, silly man. Why, I’ve been doing my banking online for years, and I haven’t had a smidge of trouble.”

He owed Gladys a lot. Everything, in fact. Gratitude inspired him to devise ways to divert her when she got into one of her “I know best” moods.

Striking a Zen pose, he said, “I enjoy doing things the old-fashioned way. It calms me.”

Gladys sat back and tilted her head.

“What.”

“You look...weird.”

She’d earned the right to nag him about his beard and earring, or his insistence on writing checks instead of banking online, and he’d endure it. She’d earned that much, and more.

“I’ll shave soon. Promise.”

“No, that isn’t what I mean. You look...sadder than usual.”

“Than usual?” He laughed. “You make it sound like I walk around wearing a big mopey frown on all day, every day.”

“You have a charming, handsome smile, but your mouth rarely sends the ‘happy’ message to those big brown eyes. It’s that bratty girl’s fault. If she hadn’t been so afraid to buck her family...” Gladys pursed her lips. “She knew you better than anyone. Should have known you didn’t deserve ten years for driving a car. Should have known you weren’t in on the planning of that robbery, too.”

She was right about one thing: Maleah had known him better than anyone. But she was wrong about the rest of it.

“I love you for defending me, and I realize hearing the truth is tough, but I knew what the guys were planning, and went along with it, anyway. What happened afterward is on me, one hundred percent.”

Gladys cringed. “Boy. When you tell it like it is, you don’t fool around, do you?”

Ian answered with a one-shouldered shrug.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I love you, too, nephew. And I’m proud of you. It couldn’t have been easy, overcoming the stigma of having served time. But you did it without complaint, without shirking your responsibility in it. If I’d been blessed with a son, I’d want him to be exactly like you.”

She’d said it before, and Ian believed every word.

His aunt pointed at the wall behind him. “Is that new?”

He swiveled the chair. “Sort of. I finished it about a month ago.”

“It’s gorgeous, but then, so are all of your paintings. I love the colors of the sky. And you really captured the grandeur of the Constellation.” She sighed. “It’s so unfair...”

“What is?”

“That you sucked up all the artistic talent in this family.”

“You don’t give yourself enough credit. I can’t even sew on a button, but you’ve designed your own clothes for years. And need I remind you that big-deal cooking show asked permission to use your recipes?”

“Two. Two recipes. And sewing is just a matter of manipulating the machine’s needle.”

Gladys glanced around his office. “Just look at this place. I’m sure people are impressed when they sit here to discuss booking the banquet room. No wonder there’s a waiting list.”

“Dan and Lee earned the credit for that. Their menus are what draw people in, and keep them coming back.”

“Now who isn’t giving himself enough credit! I ran this place for twenty years before you, so I know what it takes. It’s because of your leadership that the bistro runs like a well-tuned machine.”

“Keep it up and I’ll start blushing like a schoolgirl. How will that look when I check on tonight’s holiday party?”

“All right. I know you’re uncomfortable with compliments. But I just have to say...you saved my wrinkly old butt and my pride, too.”

He’d agreed to accept her gift of ownership, provided she accepted a cut of the profits. “Why, just yesterday,” she continued, “one of my sorority sisters said she and her family celebrated her anniversary here. You wouldn’t believe how she went on and on about the ambiance, the food, the service. And she isn’t the only one! Putting you in charge was the smartest business decision I ever made.” Laughing, she added, “I’m making more money now than I did when I ran the place!”

He was about to thank her for sharing that with him when Terri stepped into the doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt, but a gentleman asked to see you. He’s with the holiday party.”

Ian shoved back from his desk as Gladys got to her feet.

“How’s that boy of yours?” she asked, falling into step beside Terri.

“He’s fine. Made a rocket—and launched it—yesterday.”

“Amazing.” Terri handed him a pink While You Were Out slip.

“Brady called a little while ago. Said there’s no hurry.”

His father lived in the apartment beside his, right upstairs. So why the phone call? He scanned the note and tucked it into his shirt pocket, hoping it wasn’t one of those days.

“You think he’s in one of his moods?” Gladys asked.

“Nah. Probably just didn’t feel like putting on shoes and coming downstairs.”

Gladys wasn’t buying it. In truth, Ian didn’t believe it, either. When tempted to drink—which happened every six months or so—his dad turned to Ian for some straight talk. So now Ian had a decision to make: meet with the would-be customer, or head upstairs to check on his dad...and risk losing a future booking.

He slid a business card from his pocket and scribbled his cell number on the back.

“See if the guy can give me a few minutes,” he said, handing it to Terri. “And if he can’t, ask him to call me in the morning.”

She faced Gladys. “Good to see you, Mrs. Turner.”

“You, too. Give that kid of yours a big hug for me.”

Once the hostess was out of earshot, Gladys said, “You’re going upstairs, aren’t you?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice.”

After the life he’d lived, didn’t he know it!

“Why don’t I go up, see if there’s anything I can do for him?”

Ian started to protest when she tacked on, “No sense losing a booking just because your dad needs another pep talk.”

“Can I trust you to go easy on him?”

She did her best to look offended.

“Seriously, Gladys...”

“All right. I’ll put on my kid gloves. By the time I’m through with him, he’ll be so sick of TLC he’ll wish he hadn’t left that message.”

With that, she began climbing the stairs, stopping halfway to the top.

“Answer a question for me, nephew.”

“If I can.”

“Who has a holiday party before Thanksgiving?”

Ian shrugged. “A busy rich guy who’s going to surprise his wife with a world cruise planned for Christmas?”

“Oh, to have a husband like that,” she said, and continued up the stairs.

Grinning, Ian made his way to the banquet room. He had to give it to his staff. The place looked great. Linen tablecloths glowed bright white under hundreds of tiny lights covering the ceiling, and the napkins matched each poinsettia centerpiece. The DJ leaned over his equipment to take a request, and soon, Toni Braxton’s version of “The Christmas Song” drew guests to the parquet dance floor.

Ian scanned the crowd. Should’ve asked Terri which guy wanted to see me.

“Mr. Sylvestry?”

He shook the man’s extended hand. “Ian. Please.”

“Luther. Luther Sanders,” he said, pumping Ian’s arm. “Real nice room you’ve got here. Perfect for my son’s bar mitzvah next March...if you have an opening.”

“I’ll need to look at the book, but if memory serves, that won’t be a problem.”

“The boy is big into basketball, so the wife and I were thinking maybe a March Madness theme?”

His wife called to him and he patted his pocket. “Your hostess gave me your card. Okay if I call tomorrow to set up an appointment?”

“I’m in the office by eight.”

“Good. Good.”

Again, his wife called his name. “Be right there, dear.” Lowering his voice, he put his back to her. “Tell me...are you married?”

“No.”

He studied Ian’s face. “But you’re thinking about it?”

“No...”

“The little woman is right. I give far too much credence to my people reading skills. And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to find out what she needs...this time. Great party,” he said, walking toward his wife. Ian wondered what had prompted the are you married question.

Another partygoer led his lady onto the dance floor. The woman bore a slight resemblance to Maleah, from her long glossy blond hair, to the way she moved, to a waist so slender that her partner’s fingertips nearly met when he wrapped his hands around it.

Her stiff-backed posture told him she wasn’t comfortable. Just a date, Ian decided, not a committed relationship. So why not tell the dude to knock it off?

The question reminded him of how, a few weeks earlier, his dad pointed at a couple of teenagers necking near the mall’s food court: “Disrespectful Roman idiot,” he’d complained.

“No way he’s Italian,” Ian had said. “Swedish or Danish maybe...”

“Just look at those ham hocks, roamin’ all over the poor girl.” Grinning, he’d faced Ian and winked. “Roman? Roamin’? Get it now, Einstein?”

They’d had a good laugh over it, but Ian found no humor in what was going on under the twinkle lights tonight. He’d seen plenty of couples on his dance floor, so why couldn’t he take his eyes off this one?

It hit him like a slap...

After thumbing through her copies of Baltimore Magazine, Gladys passed every dog-eared issue to Ian. This month’s cover featured Roman, feet propped on a massive mahogany desk, with a caption that read, MEET KENT O’MALLEY, CHARM CITY’S MOST ELIGIBLE BACHELOR.

He’d scanned the article just long enough to learn that O’Malley had parlayed a small inheritance and an interest in finance into the largest investment firm in the Mid-Atlantic region.

Well, how’s that working out for you, he thought as Kent led his date nearer the DJ and turned around.

Heart pounding, Ian swallowed. Hard.

He hadn’t seen her in what, thirteen, fourteen years? From where he stood, it didn’t appear she’d aged a day. More than before, he wondered why she didn’t whack Roman a good one, tell him to keep his mitts to himself. Wondered why, despite every fiber in him bellowing Get the heck out of here, before she spots you! his shoes seemed nailed to the hardwood. She stood twenty feet away, if that. Back when things were good between them, she’d called him Spider, an affectionate reminder to slow down as they walked “...because your legs are twice as long as mine!” If he could unglue his feet, he could reach her in half a dozen steps.

And then what? Tap her on the shoulder, say something brilliant like “Hey there, fancy meeting you here” while she reared back to whack him a good one?

Ian stood behind a support post, hoping to watch without being seen. Like the song lyrics said, she looked beautiful.

Thirteen years was a long time. Maybe she’d changed in other ways, and these days, wealthy successful guys were her preference. As opposed to ex-cons who rob convenience stores...

But who was he—the guy whose immature tantrum on that night sent him straight to a jail cell—to question who she did or didn’t like?

Lady Luck must have decided to smile upon him, because so far, Maleah hadn’t noticed him, while he tried his best to emulate a potted plant. He’d slink out of the hall, let Terri know that if she or the staff needed him, he’d be upstairs, checking on his dad. In all these years, he hadn’t seen her anywhere except in his dreams. What could it hurt to take one last glance?

It could hurt a lot, he discovered as her gaze locked onto his.

For an instant, Maleah looked puzzled, and he could almost read her thoughts: That isn’t Ian Sylvestry, is it? Confusion changed to mild interest as her gaze traveled the length of him, taking stock of the small gold hoop in his left earlobe, tattoos, his ponytailed, gray-at-the temples hair.

Something told him that if he didn’t walk away, right now, he’d have to add revulsion to the flurry of emotions that had flickered across her pretty face.