Читать книгу A Baxter's Redemption - Patricia Johns - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

“HOW LONG HAS it been, Izzy?” Carmella asked, hitching her apple-green Coach bag higher up onto her shoulder. She looked away from Isabel’s face uncomfortably and shot a smile at a passing waiter instead. They stood inside the foyer of the little bistro with Britney, the tinkle of cutlery and the clink of glasses melting into the murmur of chatting customers.

“Only a couple of years,” Isabel said with a chuckle. “Remember, I was here when you got married.”

“Feels like longer, doesn’t it?” Carmella cast Isabel a tired smile, then lowered her voice. “Are you and Britney okay being in the same room together?”

“Perfectly,” Isabel replied. It was mostly true. She could be polite. Carmella and Isabel had been friends in high school, and with Isabel gone, Britney and Carmella had gotten chummy. Girlfriend loyalty went only so far in a town this size, where there weren’t many people to choose from.

Isabel glanced around the little restaurant. She remembered this place well. This was where her father used to take her to celebrate her birthday every year. It hadn’t changed since she’d been gone. The same watercolor art hung on the walls, and even the smell of the place was the same. A server approached them—a young man with a mane of dark hair and dark, smoldering eyes. His smolder didn’t seem to be very discerning, however, since he gave each of them the same sultry look, including a woman in her seventies behind them. He knew how to get tips, that much was obvious.

“Hi, Carlo,” Carmella said. “Just us girls. Are you going to be serving us?”

“Of course,” Carlo replied with a smile. “Women as lovely as yourselves need the best service.”

Isabel winced. Carlo was probably barely out of high school, and if she’d been the babysitting type as a teenager, she probably would have babysat him. Britney pursed her lips into an oval mirror in her hand and dabbed at her lipstick, looking up only when Carlo led them into the dining room and over to a table by a window.

“I hate to intrude on your brunch,” Isabel said as they sat down.

“You aren’t intruding, right, Brit?” Carmella rolled on without waiting for a response. “Carlo, let’s start with some mimosas. What do you say, girls?”

“Make mine virgin,” Britney sighed. “You want one, too, Izzy?”

“Sure.”

Carlo winked, mostly for Carmella’s benefit, it seemed, and disappeared once more, leaving them in quiet.

“Britney said you were back in town,” Carmella said, “but you didn’t call.”

“I’m sorry,” Isabel replied. “I meant to. I’ve been busy getting things set up.”

“Set up for what?” Carmella’s brows rose.

“I’m moving back. For good.”

This didn’t seem to be news to Carmella, and she and Britney exchanged a look. Then Carmella leaned closer. “I see there’s no ring on your finger, but is there a guy in your life at all...?” She let the question hang there.

They didn’t have much else to talk about. That was the problem with leaving town for several years—you were no longer part of the same rumor mill. Carmella was trying to make conversation, but the question still grated.

“No. Not at the moment,” Isabel replied.

“Well, Britney and I could take care of that,” Carmella suggested. Her gaze went to Isabel’s scars once more and she cleared her throat. It was a friendly offer that Carmella couldn’t make good on. Not anymore, at least. Besides, the implication that the kind thing was to “get her a man,” chafed.

“Let’s just get this out into the open,” Isabel said. “I’m badly scarred. Things are different now. And I’m not looking for a boyfriend.”

Just as the words came out of her mouth, Carlo returned with three champagne glasses filled with mimosas—just orange juice for Britney—and set them in front of each woman at the table. They all smiled weakly up at him, and when he’d left, stared at each other in uncomfortable silence.

“What about plastic surgery?” Carmella asked at last.

“I’m not doing any more of that. I had one reconstructive surgery done after the accident and I had a bad reaction to the anesthetic. I just about died. So this is me. I’ll just have to get used to it.”

The table went silent, and Isabel glanced at the tables around them. Most people were engrossed in their own conversation, but an older woman across the dining room was looking at Isabel, an expression of pity on her face. She dropped her gaze when she was spotted.

“Maybe some good makeup?” Britney asked weakly.

Isabel wasn’t pleasantly disposed toward Britney on a good day, and she held back her desire to snap in response.

“It would take a pound of foundation to cover this up,” she replied with a wry smile. “And the men that we’re talking about wouldn’t be interested anyway.”

“That’s not true,” Carmella protested, but her tone said even she didn’t believe it.

“Sure it is,” Isabel replied. “These guys can get any woman they want, and they want a beautiful wife. That boat has sailed.”

Britney’s cheeks blushed pink, but Carmella shrugged coolly.

“They aren’t all that shallow,” Carmella replied. “Besides, you’re still a Baxter. Don’t lower your standards now. If you want a comfortable life, you’d better marry a man who knows how to provide it.”

Isabel understood Carmella’s sentiments perfectly. She’d been the same up until the accident, expecting to “marry well” so that her lifestyle wouldn’t change. That meant marrying money that could match her own. She used to look down on plain girls, pitying them because she knew that she had something they could only dream of. Well, now she’d joined their ranks, and she was intimidated.

“You both still have your looks, and you’re married to wealthy men,” Isabel replied evenly. “I’m playing in a different game now.”

“I didn’t marry for money.” Britney’s voice was low, and she was clearly offended.

Isabel regarded her young stepmother evenly.

“I didn’t!”

“My dad is old enough to be your father,” Isabel retorted. “There was a teeny, tiny incentive there.”

“I love him.”

“Would you have married him if he had no money at all?” Isabel asked.

The atmosphere around the table got uncomfortably silent again. This had been a bad idea. If she couldn’t make nice, she shouldn’t be sitting around drinking mimosas.

“What about Greg Cranken?” Carmella asked. “He comes from a good family.”

Greg Cranken was short, balding and narrow-shouldered. He was the pariah of dinner parties since none of the women wanted to be stuck sitting next to him. His father was in the beef business, but even all that family money hadn’t been enough to entice a woman to marry him. Isabel shook her head.

“I’m not looking.”

“So what are you doing,” Carmella asked, lifting her drink to her lips, “if you aren’t looking?”

“Starting a business.”

Carmella choked on her mimosa and coughed delicately into her napkin. “You’re what?”

Carmella had been privy to a couple of her past business schemes, and Isabel felt a wave of mild embarrassment rising. Friends from her youth weren’t going to see her any differently now than they’d seen her then. But then again, she hadn’t exactly done anything to change their view, either.

“Starting my own business,” Isabel repeated. “A chocolate shop.”

“And having someone else run it, of course...”

“No, running it myself.” Isabel chuckled. “Is it so shocking?”

“That’s just wrong.” Carmella leaned back and shook her head. “I mean, if you really like running a business, do it. But don’t let it take over your life. That’s what men do, and they drop dead from the stress. Look at it this way—” Carmella put her glass down onto the tablecloth and leaned forward again. “You could work your fingers to the bone, or you could marry a nice but boring guy like Greg Cranken, and live a comfortable life. I mean, starting a business might be fun at first, but before you know it, it turns into actual work. Do you remember those scarves? Actual work. Trust me. I tried making purses and selling them online. I don’t like to speak of it. You’d think I’d have learned from your scarf debacle.” She shuddered. “I made, like, three purses before I couldn’t do it anymore.”

“I’m not husband hunting,” Isabel replied with a shrug.

Britney cleared her throat. “She knows what she wants to do, Carmella. Let her be.”

“Thanks, Britney.” It wasn’t often that they were on the same side.

“Fine, fine.” Carmella heaved a sigh.

“So how are you and Brad?” Isabel asked, changing the subject.

“We’re good. He’s in New York for a couple of weeks on business, and when he gets back, I’m going to London for a bit of shopping. You should totally come.”

“Thanks, but I’ll be busy,” Isabel replied.

“With the business. See?” Carmella shot her an annoyed glance. “Your sudden interest in making money instead of spending it is already getting in the way of a perfectly good shopping trip.”

Isabel laughed. “I love how you just say what you’re thinking.”

“Someone has to,” Carmella muttered.

Carlo came by their table once more, a pad of paper in hand and a smile on his lips. “What can I get you ladies today?”

Carmella sucked in a deep breath and half closed her eyes in thought. “I’ll take a green salad with goat cheese and olives, quiche and a side of quinoa.”

“And for you?” He turned to Isabel. His smile flickered, his adoring attention slightly more difficult to maintain when it came to her. This was the way it would be from now on. While she’d been used to the fawning attention of every man within a mile’s radius, she was now no more than a plain woman with pretty friends.

“Actually, I’ve got to get going, girls,” she said, hoping she sounded more apologetic than she felt. “I have another appointment.”

It wasn’t entirely true. She wasn’t meeting James for another two hours, but she felt stifled, and she desperately needed to get out into the fresh air. Britney pulled out a mirror and checked her eyeliner, batting her lashes as she inspected herself yet again.

“What appointment?” Carmella demanded. “Don’t tell me this has to do with business, because I’ll scream.”

Isabel laughed. “You’ll survive. I’ll call you, okay?”

“You’d better.”

“I will,” Isabel insisted. “And I’ll see you later, I’m sure, Britney.”

Britney fluttered her fingers in farewell, snapping her compact mirror shut. Isabel slid from her spot and dodged around the waiter. She beelined out of the bistro and into the welcoming air. Then she directed her steps toward her SUV across the street.

She wasn’t the same woman she used to be—her beauty queen crown had been hung up for good. Beneath her irritation with her scarred appearance and her annoyance that she was no longer the prettiest one at the table was a certainty that she wanted more than the life she’d taken for granted.

Much more.

She wanted the people who knew her to look at her with respect. Not jealousy. Not attraction. Not even admiration. She wanted someone to respect her for her mind.

* * *

JAMES GLANCED AT his watch, then took a sip of coffee. Ruby’s Diner was a low-key place, located just outside town along the highway. It was an old-fashioned diner with a striped awning over the front door and red, plastic-covered stools along the counter. It catered to travelers and truckers, but the Haggerston locals also took advantage of the down-home cooking. Ruby had died several years ago from a stroke, but her niece took the place over and kept the name. Ruby was still part of this place, in name and in spirit.

This wasn’t a Baxter sort of establishment, and maybe that was why Isabel had chosen it.

It was two o’clock, and Isabel was due anytime now. He sat at a table near the back, assuming that Isabel might appreciate some privacy when it came to her business concerns. He’d been surprised that she texted him to begin with. He had a feeling that she didn’t trust him—whether that stemmed from her relationship with her father, or some “first” impression, he had no idea.

After a milk shake at the local ice-cream shop—heavy on the cream—he’d taken Jenny back home and dropped her off. She seemed to be in relatively good spirits, but he always worried. Life wasn’t easy for Jenny. People didn’t always understand Down syndrome, and they oftentimes expected things from Jenny that she couldn’t deliver. She lived in a world that didn’t “get” her, and she was always trying to prove that she wasn’t any different. Except that she was.

The front door opened and James turned to see Isabel step inside. She wore a white, breezy summer dress that scooped down in the front—not enough to sacrifice modesty—and flowed over her figure in the most flattering way. A broad, pink belt cinched her narrow waist, and she pressed a matching pink purse between her side and her elbow. She glanced around the diner, and a few truckers looked up from their meals admiringly. She still had it—the ability to draw all the attention when she walked into a room. She just didn’t seem to realize it.

James stood and she smiled and headed in his direction. James sat when she did, and he gestured for the waitress.

“What can I get you?” he asked.

“Oh, nothing.” She shook her head. “I’ve already eaten.”

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Sure. Thanks.”

The waitress came by and poured another cup for Isabel.

“Anything else?” the waitress drawled. “We have some specials today—”

“No, thank you.” Isabel smiled up at the waitress easily. “Coffee is fine for me.”

The waitress retreated, leaving the two of them in relative privacy, and Isabel heaved a sigh. “Thanks for meeting up with me. I have a lease for you to look over.”

“Oh?” James accepted the papers that she slid across the table, his trained eye moving down the page, identifying the typical clauses and subclauses of a commercial lease. He raised his eyebrows in interest and looked at her from over the pages.

“You’re leasing the old bakery?”

“Yes.”

He turned back to the lease and perused the last of it. It looked like she’d negotiated a surprisingly low price for the place, too.

“This looks pretty straightforward,” James said. “It’s a month-to-month lease—open-ended so that you can get out if your business fails or you want to take down your shingle, for whatever reason.”

“No surprises in there?” Isabel asked.

“Not one.” James handed the paperwork back and regarded her curiously. “Do you mind me asking what you’re planning?”

She arched a brow. “So that you can report back to my father?”

James leaned back in his chair. “If you were afraid of that, why did you ask to meet me?”

She shook her head. “You said before that you were willing to keep my business private. Does that still stand?”

“Of course.”

She nodded. “Do you know how difficult it is to be watched all the time?”

“No,” he admitted.

“It’s hard. People think that money brings freedom, but my father taught me early on that nothing comes without strings, and that money he signed over to me comes with so many strings attached.”

“Only if you let it,” he said. “It’s in your name. You can do what you want with it.”

Not exactly the advice Mr. Baxter wants me to give.

“I’m willing to bet that my father wants you to keep an eye on me,” she said.

James didn’t flinch, but he didn’t answer, either. They sat in silence, and he wondered if Isabel would say more. Her dark hair fell past her shoulders, and for a moment, her reserve slipped and he saw conflicted emotions in those big, dark eyes. Men had always fallen for Isabel, and it wasn’t only her beauty that drew them to her. She was gentler than she liked to let on, and he felt himself softening toward her despite his best intentions. She was like Helen of Troy—men would go to war for her. Andrew had gone to war early because of her...not quite the same thing, but a woman like Isabel could stir a man’s heart and shove him into battle. The end result for Andrew had been the same.

“I’ve decided to open a chocolate shop,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “That’s why I’m renting the old bakery.”

James pulled his mind back to the job at hand. George had given him a brief description of Isabel’s business ventures so far. Did she have what it took to start up a new business like this?

“I didn’t know you made chocolate,” James said.

“I imagine there is a lot you don’t know about me,” she said, a smile flickering across her lips. For a moment, he thought she might be flirting, but just as quickly, the playfulness evaporated. “And I have no idea what my father will say about it.”

“You should ask him,” he said. He’d much rather that father and daughter hashed this one out alone.

“I will.” She nodded. “Eventually. I don’t really want to listen to his depressing lectures right now.”

George’s lectures could be a bit tedious—James knew this firsthand—but the man did have a great deal of business experience that his daughter could benefit from.

“So you don’t think he’ll approve...” he guessed.

Isabel sucked in a slow breath and held it. “He liked my chocolatier classes because he saw it as a hobby. I let him believe that. It was easier. He was more supportive that way.”

“What did he want you to do instead?” James asked. “You’re his only child, right? The logical one to take over the business eventually.”

He was fishing here—he knew his boss’s opinions about his daughter’s business abilities, but maybe she didn’t.

“I’ll pry the reins out of his cold, dead fingers. He’s never been one to actually think about his own mortality. As far as my dad’s concerned, he’ll live forever.”

James smiled at her imagery, then took a sip of his coffee. “So in the meantime, you open your own business.”

“You make it sound like I’m killing time until my dad dies,” she retorted. “First of all, he’ll live to be ninety-five, and probably have another wife after Britney. And secondly, this isn’t a hobby. I intend to prove to him that I can start a business, build it and make it flourish. I’m going to come out of this with a profit. He did it with Baxter Land Holdings, and so can I.”

“Fair enough.” He eyed her with grudging respect.

“So I have one more question,” she said. “Is there any legal reason why I couldn’t use the Baxter name for my business?”

“No legal reason,” he said. “As long as the company name is different from your father’s.”

“I’m calling it Baxter’s Chocolates,” she said. “And my father is going to hate that.”

James was inclined to agree. “So why not call it something else?”

“Because I don’t want to. My father is a Baxter and so am I. I’m no less a Baxter because I’m a woman, and I have every right to use my own name.”

James laughed softly. “Miss Baxter, you are a force to be reckoned with.”

For the first time, a smile lit Isabel’s eyes. “I certainly hope so.”

“So here is the issue.” James pushed his coffee cup aside. “Your father would like me to give you legal advice about using your money. Do you want it?”

She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged. “James, I’d be an idiot to turn down legal advice when I’m starting up a business. As long as you don’t try to talk me out of my dream, I’m grateful for all the advice I can get.”

“Great.” He smiled. “You have my number. Contact me anytime.”

She gathered her purse and folded the lease. Then she held out her hand and shook his firmly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Isabel walked briskly out of the café, every eye following her. She either didn’t notice, or was accustomed to ignoring the attention.

Her father hadn’t given her enough credit, but neither had James, for that matter. He knew it went against his better instincts, but he was curious to see what Isabel did with herself now that she was back in town. Would she stay? Would she prove her father wrong and actually make some money off this venture?

He wasn’t the type of man who wished anybody ill, but he didn’t trust her, either. While beauty was a great factor in her ability to manipulate men, so was pity. The minute she discovered that she had a whole new kind of power, she’d be back to her old tricks. She just hadn’t figured that out yet. His bet wasn’t on Isabel having changed.