It was Carmen, her grandfather’s longtime housekeeper. “How you doing, Tash?”
“I’ve been better. How are you?”
“About the same. House seems empty without him bellowing.”
A sad smile played over Tasha’s lips. Bellowing was his method of communicating and she wasn’t sure he knew any other method. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to him not being here telling me what to do.”
“Me, too,” Carmen echoed.
Carmen and Walker Bloom battled for twenty years. To have him tell it, from the moment he hired her, his life went straight to hell, but Tasha knew better. Without Carmen’s prodding and fussing he never would’ve reached the ripe old age of eighty-five. She not only oversaw his various households, but also made him keep his doctor appointments, take his meds and eat properly. She also stood up to his legendary temper when all the housekeepers before her had run for the exits.
“Lots of people asked me why I stayed with him,” she offered after what appeared to be a moment of reflection.
“And your answer?”
“I had two girls to feed. The idea of them being hungry scared me way more than Walker Bloom.”
Carmen was a single parent, and beneath her unassuming, sparrow-brown appearance beat the heart of a woman who kicked ass—and Walker Bloom’s in particular. Her daughters, now grown and married, had given her three grandchildren to dote on. Walker had doted on the daughters, too—paying for their schooling and making sure they lacked for nothing economically. He said it was the least he could do to compensate them for having such a tyrant for a mom, but Tasha knew it was because Carmen had worked her way into his sometimes Grinch-like heart.
Tasha asked, “So, what’s next for you?”
“Not sure. He left me all the money I’ll ever need. I just have to decide what to do with it. Are you going to sell this place?”
The mansion was one of the many properties he owned and the place Tasha visited during the summers and called home after her parents died. She now lived in the Bay Area, so keeping it made little sense even though the memories of the stately old residence would remain with her for a lifetime. “I probably will unless you or Tony want it.” Anthony “Tony” Craig was her grandfather’s chauffeur.
“I don’t, but Anthony might.”
“And you might want to finally give that man the time of day now, too.”
Carmen rolled her eyes. “Don’t start.”
“Carmen, he loves you.”
“Only because I’m the only woman in the world he hasn’t slept with.”
Tony was a player and had been since the day he was hired when Tasha was eight years old. He was discreet, however, classy, too, and never let his affairs interfere with his job. He’d been quietly campaigning for Carmen’s affections for as long as Tasha could remember. They were two of her favorite people and she always believed they’d make a great couple, even though Carmen claimed she was wasn’t feeling it. Thinking of not feeling it… “Drew Davis looked real mad about the team. Why would Walker play him like that?” Tasha asked.
“Because he’s Walker. Machination was his middle name.”
“True, but why go to the grave having one more person hating you?”
“Because of you.”
“What do you mean?”
“He bought that team hoping you and Drew would hook up.”
“That’s stupid.”
“No, that’s Walker trying to play matchmaker. He knew you had a crush on Drew.”
“But that was twenty years ago.”
“He didn’t care. He thought Drew would be perfect for you.”
“So he offers me up like a third-world dowry bride.” She was still angry about the whole buy-her-a-husband thing and wanted to make a quick run down to the depths of hell to tell him about himself. “Well, it’s not going to happen. I’ll be surprised if Drew doesn’t resign.”
“Me, too, although I know next to nothing about him.”
Other than her high-school crush and what she’d read about him over the years in various sports magazines, Tasha was in the same boat.
Carmen moved to the door. “Been a long few days, so I’m going to lie down for a bit. I put all the leftover food in the fridge so help yourself if you get hungry.”
Tasha nodded. Having Carmen and Tony to help with the funeral arrangements made the task of burying her grandfather easier to bear.
“Oh, and before I go—just because Walker’s gone, doesn’t mean you get to kick me out of your life. You’ve always been one of my girls and that won’t change.”
Tears stung Tasha’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
Carmen opened her arms and Tasha crossed the room to be held by the woman her grandfather called “that damned Carmen,” and let her mourning heart and soul be salved. They cried together for a few silent moments before Carmen placed a parting kiss on her cheek and slipped out, leaving Tasha alone with her thoughts and grief.
CHAPTER 2
The next morning, Tasha set up shop in her grandfather’s study and held conference calls with some of his legal and financial people. As the executrix of the will and his only heir it was her job to tie up all the loose ends and make sure his wishes were carried out. She’d touched base with Gunther about the money due to the employees and he assured her he had everything under control. He also tendered his resignation, which she accepted and wished him well on his future endeavors. The various lawyers and accountants would be sending her reports to help with the decision making on items such as property and investments. Walker had his fingers in so many pies that final resolution wouldn’t come to together overnight, or even in a few weeks’ time, but she wanted to get the ball rolling.
She also called her home office in San Francisco to clear her calendar until further notice. Her work would have to be set on the back burner for the time being, but her employees were well-trained and efficient, so she knew her brokerage firm would still have her name on the letterhead when she returned. There were no calls from the Witch Bitches. Because of Walker’s guillotining of them, she didn’t anticipate any.
The only item she hadn’t dealt with was the football team and the ancillary issue of Drew Davis. Owners and general managers were supposed to work together, but after witnessing his anger, she wasn’t sure he’d stay on. She had no problem replacing him, but truthfully, she didn’t want anyone else. His former status as a big-time player meant he knew the game, and as the Freighters’ GM, he’d been able to keep the franchise afloat in spite of her grandfather’s miserly support. Last night she’d taken a quick look at the team’s financial books. Realizing her grandfather paid in just enough money to cover salaries and little else was disappointing. He was an absentee landlord of his team, and from where she sat, he obviously hadn’t wanted the team to be profitable. Writing the Freighters off as a loss was better for his tax bill.
But that Drew had somehow taken those pennies and put a team on the field anyway was impressive. Granted, the Freighters were perennial losers and hadn’t ever qualified for the play-offs, but Tasha sensed Drew could do so much more with a committed owner. As she’d noted the day of the funeral, she’d always wanted to have a team, and now that she did, she wanted it to be the best, she wanted it to be profitable and she wanted to win.
All that being said, she supposed it was time to face the dragon and put in a call to Drew Davis and set up a meet. Just as she reached for the phone it rang. When she picked up, a gruff-sounding voice was on the other end. “Ms. Bloom. Drew Davis.”
“Good afternoon. How are you?”
“Have dinner with me tonight so we can talk about the team.”
The unexpected invite caught her off guard. “Sure. Where and what time?”
“I own a jazz club on the river called Drew’s. How about eight?�
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“That’s fine.”
He gave the address, and she wrote it down. Before she could say more, he signed off, saying, “Thanks.” And he hung up.
She sat back in her chair and folded her arms. “Well.”
He certainly hadn’t sounded pleased. It was difficult to decide which surprised her more—the invitation, or him owning a jazz club. Tasha loved jazz. She was raised on artists like Miles, Dizzy and the Modern Jazz Quartet. She’d enjoyed jazz performances in clubs all over the world—Chicago, Mali, Europe, South America. She turned to her laptop to find his place on Google and hoped he didn’t own a dive.
He didn’t. He’d converted what had been a condemned church into one of the city’s most popular nightspots, according to the small blurb beneath the picture. She ran appreciative eyes over the imposing stone edifice with its old-world lines. A link took her to more pictures—interior shots this time. Two were of live performances. Both showcased a full house. The lights were dimmed so it was difficult to see the interior clearly, but she did her best to check out how the people were dressed to give herself a sense of what to wear. The women were sharp as were the men. Another click took her to pictures of the well-dressed valet crew and waitstaff. Looking at the faces of the men, she wondered if any played for the Freighters. Semipro athletes didn’t make enough money to live on, so they worked real jobs to support themselves and their families. The last picture was of the owner posed in front of the building with his arms folded. He looked relaxed, almost playful. Everything about him, from his features to his physique, seemed designed to draw the female eye and hers were no exception.
Shaking her head at just how fine he still was, she exited the site and picked up her phone to make another call on behalf of her grandfather’s estate.
Later, after lunch, a knock on the open door made her look up. The sight of the Bloom chauffeur, Tony, dressed in a sharp black suit, made her smile. “Hey, you.”
“Hey, baby girl. I just wanted to find out if you need me for anything before I fly to L.A.”
He was off to meet the appraisers who’d been commissioned to auction off Walker’s collection of classic cars. No one knew more about the fleet than Tony. “No, I’m good. Is Carmen flying back with you?” Carmen hadn’t mentioned it, but Tasha thought she should ask nonetheless.
“No. She thinks you need her company so she’s going to stick around here.”
In Tasha’s eyes, the fifty-two-year-old Tony Craig was, with his Italian good looks, perennially handsome. He may have gained a bit of weight over the years and his hair was graying, but the twinkle in the brown eyes, his smile and his always impeccable attire still made the women melt like butter. “I’m okay here. She can go back with you if she wants.”
“I know that. It’s just another one of her excuses.”
Tasha hid her smile. “Still carrying the torch?”
“Been carrying it so long, it’s burned down to a nub. Not giving up though. Now that Walker’s gone, she can’t use him as an excuse.”
Carmen entered the room and from the skepticism on her face, she must’ve heard every word. “Excuse for what?”
“For not marrying me.”
Her lips tightened. “I’m not marrying you.”
“Yeah, you are. In fact, I’ll be bringing you a ring when I get back from L.A., so you might want to call your girls and think about what you’re going to wear to our wedding.”
Tasha couldn’t ever remember Carmen looking quite so speechless. Taking advantage of that, Tony leaned in and kissed Carmen on her cheek. With a wave, he flashed a knowing smile and a “Ciao, ladies.” He departed.
In the silence left behind, Tasha asked the still-stunned-looking Carmen, “So, when do you want to go shopping?”
Carmen turned on her heel and left. A grinning Tasha went back to work but couldn’t wait for Tony’s return and Act Two.
* * *
That evening Tasha checked herself out in the mirror. She thought the little black dress and the jewel-dusted, black, high-heeled sandals she decided to wear would do just fine. The meeting with Davis was a business dinner, not a date, but she enjoyed looking good. She added a simple gold chain and a pair of gold hoops. Ready to meet Drew Davis on his home turf, she picked up her shawl and black beaded clutch and hopped in the backseat of the waiting car she’d hired to drive her for the evening.
When she arrived at the club, the valet attendant opened her door. Extending a hand, he helped her out.
“Welcome to Drew’s, Ms. Bloom.”
That he knew her name was surprising because his face wasn’t familiar. “Have we met?”
“No, but Drew told us to expect you. I’m Tommy Reed, defensive back for the Freighters.”
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Reed.”
He nodded. No smile though, so she guessed he had issues with her being the new owner, too. It was to be expected. The man had ties to Davis both on and off the field. Where else would his loyalties lie?
“Is your driver staying?” he asked.
“No. I’ll give him a call when I’m ready to leave.”
“Okay. This way, please.”
While the town car moved off, Reed escorted her to the door. Flanking it were two burly men wearing black jackets, tees and pants.
Reed did the introductions. “Sammy King and Donnie Ware. Offensive line. They work security here.”
Sammy’s blond hair was buzz-cut short. He eyed her impassively. “So, you’re the new owner.”
“I am.”
The tight-lipped Donnie checked her out, shook his head as if disgusted but kept his thoughts to himself.
Sammy pulled open the club’s door. “Have a good evening, Ms. Bloom.”
“Thank you.”
At her side, Reed offered, “Don’t take it personally, Ms. Bloom, but we expected your grandfather to leave our team to Drew. Everybody’s mad he got screwed.”
“I understand.”
The area they entered held the hostess station and the coat check. The navy blue walls looked good against the subdued lighting. On the walls were framed photos of some of music’s biggest names. A woman’s beautiful jazzy voice came through the speaker system.
“Wait here. I’ll let Hazel and Drew know you’re here.”
Tasha didn’t know who Hazel might be, but if she was another employee, Tasha expected the same chilly professionalism.
Reed returned accompanied by a plump young woman wearing a stylish black dress. Her glowing chocolate skin was enhanced by the lovely Billie Holiday–type flower pinned to the edge of her short-cut hair. “Welcome, Ms. Bloom. I’m Hazel Mitchell, the manager here. If you’ll follow me, please.”
Tasha fell in behind her. As they moved away, Tasha noticed Reed watching with barely veiled dislike in his eyes.
Hazel led her up a stairway to the second-level balcony and over to a table that offered an unhindered view of the main floor below. On the stage a three-man combo accompanied a woman covering an old Sarah Vaughan standard. It was the same outstanding voice she’d heard earlier, and each note was clear as a bell.
Hazel waited for her to get situated. “Drew will join you momentarily.”
“Thank you.”
Tasha felt a tad nervous, which was highly uncharacteristic for someone with her extensive business expertise. Rather than dwell on it, she chose to check out her surroundings. There weren’t many people in the balcony area, but down on the main floor she spotted a pretty-good-size crowd. Five men in nice suits were having drinks at one of the tables in the center of the room. In the booths along the wall, a few couples quietly enjoyed themselves and the music. In another booth sat a group of women eating and laughing as if catching up on girlfriend business. She liked the place and the atmosphere.
“Can I get you a drink?”
>
She looked up into the dark, assessing eyes of Drew Davis. Just like his employees, he was wearing all black—jacket, silk tee, pants. It was impossible to overlook how fine he was, so she didn’t try. However, she was careful not to let it show. “Sure. Small Rémy VSOP. A little cola. A little ice.”
Hazel, standing beside him, left to fill the order. He gestured to the open chair at Tasha’s table. “May I?”
“Please. Thanks for the invite.”
“Thanks for coming. I know it was short notice but I figured this was something we might want to get out the way.”
“I agree.”
He studied her. She studied him, too, then asked nonchalantly, “How long have you been the owner here?”
“About four years.”
“Nice place.”
“Thanks.”
That it was a former house of worship was evident in the layout, but the rehab made it airy and fresh. She glanced up at the vaulted ceiling and guessed it was the reason for the superb acoustics. Feeling his eyes on her, she let him check her out a short while longer before turning her attention his way again. “I met some of the players outside. They were very professional but let me know they’re not happy with my grandfather’s treatment of you.”
“And how do you feel about it?”
“He screwed you.”
“Bingo.”
It was easy to see his anger simmering beneath the cool detached facade. Defusing it was going to take skill. “And your take on me being the new owner?”
“Truthfully?”
She nodded.
“What the hell do you know about running a football team?”
She allowed a small smile to show. “Probably more than you think and less than I think.” She guessed he’d already made up his mind about what kind of owner she planned to be, but she was accustomed to that. Men underestimated her all the time. “I took a quick look at the Freighters’ books last night. My grandfather wasn’t very supportive financially.”
You Sang to Me Page 37
