“No! Of course not. Everything’s fine. I meant it’s hard to choose a person you can trust to run a business for you. That’s the reason I do it myself.”
Diane frowned at her son. “If there’s one thing your dad taught me, it was to hire the best. Treat them well and earn their trust. That way he could share the responsibilities and have more time for the things he loved.”
“Yeah, okay,” Wolfe conceded. “I’ll work less and put myself out there and meet someone nice and get married and have tons of children.”
Diane laughed. “You’d better, or I’ll hand over my share of the company to Bruce so you won’t have a choice in sharing the responsibility.”
Wolfe stiffened. “Has Bruce ever suggested that to you?”
“He jokes about it. Bruce says that having shares under his name will make him feel relevant instead of like a male mistress to the Hawkins fortune.”
Warning bells rang inside Wolfe’s head. Diane might think it was just a joke, but he knew Bruce was a manipulative bastard.
Before he could reply, Jenna knocked and entered the room. “You have a call from the catering company, the one distributing the food packs at the health center this afternoon. I tried taking the message but he insists on talking to you personally.”
Diane studied the secretary, her frown increasing as she took in Jenna’s habitually low cut blouse. “Surely you can see that Wolfe is busy—”
“Jenna wouldn’t interrupt unless she thought it was important.” Wolfe picked up the phone, nodding to the secretary. “I’ll take the call in here.”
As Jenna slunk out of the room, Diane folded her arms. “Men! A woman shows some cleavage and she can do no wrong—”
“Jenna’s a very good secretary — despite how she dresses.” There was a click from the receiver, as Jenna transferred the call. “Wolfe Hawkins speaking.”
Diane made her feelings clear at the interruption by flipping through the magazine with more vigor than necessary.
After a second, Wolfe barely noticed her. The report from the other end of the line had his complete attention. “Of course. I’ll be there immediately. Make sure those packs aren’t delivered.”
He slammed the phone down, striding to his office door. “Jenna, have Simms meet me
outside the foyer immediately.” He turned back to his mother. “Sorry I have to cut this visit short. I need to go to the center. That was Mr. Rodriguez, our contractor for food for the company’s outreach program. He thinks the food packs being delivered are spoiled.”
Diane started. “Good Lord! How did that happen?”
“I don’t know. That’s the reason I have to go now.”
“Can’t someone else go instead? Why does it have to be you?”
Wolfe pulled his office door shut. “Each of those food boxes has our company logo emblazoned on them. If someone gets sick and the media picks it up, they’ll have a field day. We can’t risk the negative publicity.” He grabbed the keys to the car. “That’s why I’m going there myself.”
There was no one else he could trust.
Chapter Three
Wolfe maneuvered his BMW expertly through the downtown traffic. “Simms, I need a couple of your men at the outreach center. Stop that food truck from distributing those food packs.” He braked, as once again, the traffic came to a halt.
Simms whipped open his cell phone. “They’re on their way, Sir.”
Wolfe clenched his jaw. He knew Simms well enough to know the calmness in his voice belied deep agitation. Like himself, Simms knew just how disastrous this could be. The traffic began to move, and Wolfe put his foot on the accelerator. The car glided forward, and he slipped through a gap in the traffic, stealing a second’s advance. “How far are we from the center?”
“Three blocks away from the next corner—Look out!”
Wolfe slammed on the brakes before Simms finished speaking. He stared, open-mouthed, at the woman who had dashed into the road without looking.
She stood frozen, only inches from the front of the car. She was braced for impact, her eyes scrunch tight, arms curled against her chest. Slowly, she opened her eyes. She looked around, staring at the car. Her eyes met Wolfe’s, and she offered a trembling smile. “Sorry,” she mouthed, and then she turned, plunging into the crowd on the sidewalk.
“Shit!” Simms said weakly. “If it hadn’t been for your reflexes...”
Wolfe realized that he was frozen in place. He took his foot off the brake, sending the car back into traffic. He didn’t want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t stopped in time.
***
Miranda pushed open the glass doors leading to the center. She was drenched. Her clothes clung to her body like wrinkled skin, and her hair hung limp and heavy on her shoulders. She thought she could outrun the impending storm by taking the bus and be at the center before the rain came. She was so wrong.
Miranda shook her head. Should have heeded the warning signs. She’d seen the sky turn overcast. And that lightning! Though the storm was a lot less scary than her near-escape from New York traffic. Her legs still trembled and her heart pounded. If that driver hadn’t slammed on his brakes, I’d be dead! Miranda suppressed a giggle. Being hit by a BMW... “Talk about a swanky way to go.”
A chorus of greetings demanded her attention. Miranda took a deep breath, focusing on the job in front of her. The center was always full. But today it was jam-packed like sardines. Even those from surrounding areas came to seek shelter from the rain.
“Miranda, you here to cook for us today?” a man called. Miranda recognized Ben. He called Prospect Park his home and lugged his remaining possessions around with him in a beat up suitcase.
“No. Sorry, Ben. I heard some fancy corporation donated the food today.”
“Where is it then? We’ve been here for hours.” A barrage of complaints echoed across the room.
Miranda smiled, projecting calm. “It should be here anytime. Traffic’s really bad because of the rain.” As she looked around the room, tucking her damp hair out of her face, Miranda’s heart sank. She’d never seen the center this crowded before. While she knew her ‘hungry regulars’ at the restaurant, the majority were strangers. Miranda noted bloodshot eyes, angry mutters and faces turned towards the kitchen with trepidation. For many in the crowd, their last ‘meal’ could
have been a bottle of cheap whiskey, leaving them nursing a hangover. Any provocation could turn nasty. It was a volatile situation. She needed to watch out for signs of any trouble.
She walked over to the other volunteers. “Any idea where the food is?”
The nearest volunteer shook his head. “No—and I’m starting to get worried. I don’t know how much longer these guys are prepared to wait.”
“There it is!” Someone from the crowd yelled.
There was a mad rush for the door. Miranda and the volunteers fought their way to the front. If we don’t contain the crowd, these hungry folks will swarm the truck! “Form a line! Everyone will get a share,” Miranda yelled at the top of her voice.
Some obeyed. Others pushed and shoved to be first in line.
Miranda looked to the volunteers and nodded. They knew they had to do this quickly while there was still some semblance of order. She barreled her way to the doorway and waited for the truck to begin unloading.
Suddenly two SUVs screeched to a halt beside the truck. Burly men poured out from the vehicle and surrounded the truck.
Not here—not now! Miranda gasped, her chest tightening.
The memory of heavy-set men in uniform seizing her roughly, and forcing her into a van came back to her. She was unable to move, filled with terror at the idea of being deported again.
Then she realized they weren’t after her. Instead, the men had formed a barrier around the truck, preventing the boxes from being unloaded.
Miranda took a deep breath, pushing back the fear she felt. “What’s the meaning of this?”
A man stepped forward. “
Are you the head of the center?”
“No I’m not. I’m a volunteer here. But why are you preventing those boxes from being unloaded? These people are hungry and have been waiting for hours just to eat.”
“We have orders to stop the distribution of these boxes.” The man turned his back on Miranda and nodded to his men. “Stay put. Not a single box is getting off this truck.”
Miranda’s eyes flashed. “Answer the question! We need to know why.” She gestured to the open door where the crowd could be seen, watching the scene. “Unless you want a riot in your hand, you’d better give us an explanation.”
“Yeah, asshole! Give us the food!” A barrage of angry voices followed.
We’re really close to losing control of the situation! Miranda took a deep breath. She pushed aside the memory of her harsh treatment at the hands of the police and approached the leader. “Mister, please. You and your men can’t possibly stop this crowd once they go berserk. Some of them haven’t eaten in days. Do you know what that does to a person?”
The man glanced at Miranda, then the waiting crowd. “I’m sorry, but I have to do my job. My boss called and said to stop the food truck at all cost.”
That made no sense! “But why?”
The man pointed a finger. “Maybe you can ask him.”
Miranda looked in the direction he pointed. A sleek BMW sidled to the side of the truck. The door opened and the driver stepped out, tossing his keys to the man within.
Miranda gasped.
Oh my god. It’s him and the car that almost ran me down. Shit! Who is he? The boss? Miranda swallowed, watching the man approach. Even from a distance it was hard not to notice his arctic blue eyes as he summed up the situation. His thick lashes couldn’t hide his authority as he nodded to his men. The way he strides on those long lean legs… It’s like he owns this city.
She’d heard about men like this. Dominant men who wield their power like a wand. Even his five o’clock shadow looked like it had been cultivated to complement his squared jaw line. Miranda tightened her hands into fists. He’s probably paying his men exorbitant fees to protect him from this hungry mob!
As the man got closer and Miranda could observe his flashing eyes and the tightly drawn lines of his face, she revised her opinion. Does he ever need protection? He looks like someone who can do a body slam easily.
He was close now, close enough that Miranda could breathe in the scent of his after-shave. Thoughtless asshole! Who wears aftershave and Burberry and drives their BMW to a homeless center? Doesn’t he know that some of these people haven’t bathed in weeks? He came to a halt in front of her, and Miranda was keenly aware of his eyes on her and the flare of his patrician nose. Probably trying to work out if I’m a volunteer—or one of the homeless. She squared her shoulders, meeting his gaze defiantly. If he thinks he can push us around, he’s making a big mistake.
He spoke. “Are you the head of the center?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. Typical rich kid—he hadn’t done his research before showing up and bossing them all around. “Mister, this center has no head. It’s a cooperative effort, led by volunteers.”
He blinked, clearly more used to being greeted with obeisance than sarcasm. “I donated these food boxes. But I got a call from my staff member who thinks the food might be spoiled. That’s the reason I asked my men to prevent the truck being unloaded.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “Spoiled? How?”
“I haven’t got the whole story but I couldn’t risk people getting ill. I’m here to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Miranda breathed out. The man was right. If something was wrong with the food, chances were high many of the people present would land in the hospital. Most of them had no insurance. It would be a catastrophe.
Word traveled fast. Murmurs of ‘there is no food today’ spread through the crowd. Those fortunate enough to have eaten something during the day left. Those who were hungry stayed behind, throwing belligerent looks at the volunteers.
“We have to do something,” Miranda said. “Talk to them. Tell them what happened. It may not help with the hunger, but at least they’ll know this wasn’t deliberate.”
The man nodded. His eyes studied the crowd with what looked like sympathy. “Is there anything I can do? I hate to deny people who are hungry.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. Didn’t he realize it was his fault? He should have checked the food before he dispatched it. “Hungry? You have no idea, Mister. Some of these men have been eating out of dumpsters…and they’re the lucky ones.”
He stiffened at the accusation in her voice. “This wasn’t deliberate. I came as soon as I heard.”
“Worried about the backlash?” Miranda knew that was unfair.
He frowned. “Yes, I was, but that’s not the only reason I came. I do care about these people… even if you find that rather hard to believe.”
That confession was surprising, but something in her believed it. We can’t just leave without trying something. “There’s a kitchen at the back. I can scrounge around for something to eat. It may not be enough but at least everyone will get something.”
“You can cook?” He asked with a look of surprise.
Miranda snorted. “I was born with an apron around my waist. Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it.”
His steely eyes glittered and he nodded. “Something that goes far, like a bowl of soup, or porridge…”
“I can do that. We have a sack of rice someone donated. There must be onions, ginger, and other condiments I can find.” Miranda’s face fell. “But I’ll need chicken meat and liver.”
“That’s all?” The man straightened. “Leave it to me.” He turned, barking rapid-fire instructions to his men.
Miranda blinked. Before she’d taken in what had happened, two of the burly men were dispatched with instructions to bring back as much chicken as they could find. They shot off down the street.
The man turned, mingling with the waiting crowd. Miranda’s warning died unspoken on her lips. She stared as the hungry crowd responded to his air of authority, listening to him speak. Miranda made her way to the kitchen without obstacle. Gotta hand it to him. The man gets things done. She took a deep breath, sizing up the kitchen. The rice and condiments were there, exactly where she needed them. Good.
Miranda reached for the largest pot. After her disconcerting encounter with the rich kid, she looked forward to getting to grips with something she was familiar with. Cooking never lets me down. But cooking never sent her heart into overdrive either.
Miranda filled the pot with water, trying to ignore her curiosity about the man who’d appeared out of nowhere, calming the chaos, but as she caught his voice from outside, her heart fluttered. Delayed reaction. After all, his fast rich kid car almost killed me!
Miranda soon had the pot boiling briskly. As she set down her chopping board, there was a knock at the door. The men who stopped the truck filed into the kitchen. They had a distinctly sheepish air. The leader cleared his throat. “Mr. Hawkins sent us here to help.”
Miranda raised an eyebrow. Have any of these muscle men ever set foot in a kitchen? “Anyone know how to prep onions? What about ginger?” They shook their heads. Miranda rolled up her sleeves. “Then you’re about to learn.”
She demonstrated, and soon the men were peeling, dicing, and slicing the ingredients. Miranda walked around the kitchen, checking on their progress. They might not be experienced, but they’re working hard, that’s for sure. She caught sight of the leader, crying into his shirt, and turned away to hide her laughter. Should I have warned him about peeling onions? ... Nah!
It was all quiet from the dining room. Miranda decided to take a quick peek.
A circle had formed around the boss man as the homeless listened to him. She leaned in the doorway to watch. It looked like he was exchanging stories. He looked perfectly at home, with no sign of apprehension or disgust on his face. Suddenly, he looked up. Miranda flushed as their eyes met. She
lowered them immediately finding it hard to meet his gaze.
A sound behind her called her attention back to the kitchen.
“The chicken’s here!” The two men set it down and she hurried over to look. It had already been diced into bite size pieces. “Perfect!” Miranda felt a burst of exultation. We’re going to save this situation yet!
Soon the savory rice-porridge was bubbling away, the smell filling the kitchen and wafting to the others waiting patiently outside. Miranda searched for bowls and utensils. She sent her assistants to do a headcount, as she lined bowls up on the kitchen counter ready to be filled.
“Miranda, need any help?”
Miranda jumped.
The man stood beside her. He frowned at her surprise. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. They told me that’s your name.”
The Boss's Fiance Box Set Page 13
