“Georgia called while you were at Starbucks. She went ahead and hired a New York City-based security team. They arrive tomorrow.”
“That’s gotta be expensive. But I guess that’s a good thing since we can’t be with her constantly. I wish the police had something to go on. Anything!”
“They’ll get to the bottom of it. If the F.B.I. can’t figure out who left the bomb in the house, who the heck can?”
“Geez, I don’t know. This is out of my realm of expertise.” Carter pulled up a folding chair and sank down onto it. “What I do know, is that I’m not letting Massimo get away with the shit storm he’s created for her.”
“You think he’s behind all of this?” Sullivan asked.
“Not necessarily, no. I don’t think the things are related. But he did sock her in the face this weekend and he’s stealing her blind. His taking a 40 percent commission—that’s highway robbery! Why did she ever agree to that? She’s successful, comfortable. But imagine how much more money she’d have if she had hired legitimate representation who took a more reasonable cut? I think the police report against him was a good idea. I’m glad that she agreed to it.”
“What good will that do now that he’s back in Italy? I don’t think countries extradite citizens for giving one chick a black eye. And little ol’ Santa Fe, New Mexico certainly isn’t going to ask Italy to return him over that.”
“Maybe not, but Georgia could sue him. A civil suit, maybe. Officially have a judge break the contract. Go after him for damages. Maybe get back millions of dollars that he had no right to in the first place. Filing the police report was just the first step. It was necessary to get the ball rolling.”
“I guess. Or maybe she should just cut ties and let Massimo be,” Sullivan said. “That might just be the easiest way out and she could save all the headaches and attorneys’ fees. The attorneys are the only winners, you know.”
“A coward’s way out,” Carter spit. “I’d fight. But we’ll see.”
“I think she’s sweet on you.”
Carter didn’t see that coming. “What? No.”
“Dude, totally. I see the way she looks at you,” Sullivan said.
“She looks at you the same way, man. Half the time she doesn’t even know which one of us she’s looking at.” The twins erupted in laughter and didn’t hear when the front door opened. Their local contractor—an impossibly tall, lean guy named Matteo—startled them as he approached the table.
“Do you know that there’s a guy and a dog living in the front doorway?” Matteo asked as he set down his rolled construction plans and began pulling off his jacket. “They both smell really bad.”
“We’re going to have to deal with that eventually,” Carter said, “but it’s the least of our problems today. How are we doing with the H.V.A.C. ductwork? Did you find an alternate route for the main venting?”
The trio got to work examining the plans and discussed myriad projects and timelines. After a few hours, the twins felt better about the progress and planned to start marketing efforts for the proposed March opening.
“The full crew will be here at dawn tomorrow and we’ll be working around the clock,” Matteo promised. “I just can’t work them on Sundays. You understand.”
“We’re not slave drivers,” Carter said. “But it is a hell of a lot easier here than in New York City, I’ll tell you that. Union towns don’t make things easy.”
The contractor started rolling up his plans. “I’ll be back for the meeting with Chef Brenda. Tomorrow at 10 o’clock?”
“That’s when she’ll be here, yes,” Sullivan said. “And she’s got some grand ideas. We might need your help reeling her in a bit.”
“I’m good at that,” Matteo said. “Okay, I’m leaving out the back. I don’t want to deal with that hobo again.”
The twins turned their attention to the front door. The homeless man was now standing up, facing the floor-to-ceiling glass doors. His pants and underwear were pushed down to his knees and he was relieving himself into the corner. The dog jumped up and scampered away.
“Good God,” Carter said.
* * *
Brenda had retreated to her suite to make a business call, so Skyler lazily poked around the resort gift shop hoping she might come across something to give to Brenda for Christmas; she was also trying to avoid having to pack up her things for the move to Georgia’s house. As she caressed a colorful alpaca blanket, Skyler felt a hand on her back. She turned and found herself face-to-face with Foster Martin.
“So, we meet again,” the billionaire said sweetly. “I was actually just thinking about you on my walk around the property.”
“Oh?”
“I understand you own a public relations consultancy.”
How could he possibly know that? she thought. This had to be Brenda’s doing. “Well, yes sir, I do. I used to be with one of the big international firms, but now I run my own boutique operation with a small team out of an office in Washington, D.C.”
“I got your name from Carissa Lamb,” he said as he shifted his weight and reached out to prop himself up against the wall of the shop. “She’s a firecracker.”
Skyler was stunned. “You know Carissa?”
“We don’t run in the same circles, but our paths have crossed a few times. She performed at my eightieth birthday party in the Hamptons and I sat next to her at a state dinner for the Prime Minister of Great Britain at the White House.”
“How perfectly lovely.”
“There are scores of public relations people working for my company, as you can imagine, Skyler,” Foster said. “What I need help with is my new educational foundation. It’s in its infancy and I haven’t talked about it publicly yet. But when I do, I want to make sure the initial message is well thought out. You’ll help with that.”
“I will?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled and Skyler was taken by his perfectly straight white teeth; they didn’t look like they belonged in the mouth of a man of his advanced age. “My name is Foster Martin.”
She took his hand. “I know who you are, sir. And I’m Skyler Moore. And I’m pleased to meet you. Officially, that is.”
“It’s all my pleasure, my dear,” he said, squeezing her hand gently. “Although, I should know better than to call you ‘my dear,’ I suppose. It’s not politically correct these days, sadly, even if it is delivered with the utmost level of respect.”
“Mr. Martin, you can call me ‘dear,’ or ‘babe,’ or whatever you like,” she said with a chuckle.
His smile faded a bit.
“Well, not anything that comes to your mind,” Skyler said. “I do have my limitations. I am a lady, after all.
He laughed. “That’s good to know. When can we sit down and talk? I’m leaving Santa Fe to fly to Hawaii on the 27th. Will you pencil me in for some day this week? Before Christmas?”
“It would be my pleasure. How about Tuesday? We could have lunch.”
“Perfect.” He handed her a business card. “This is my private number and the name and number of my personal assistant. Feel free to use either one. I’ll wait to hear from you.” He started walking away, out of the store. Without turning back, he said, “You decide when and where, but I very much enjoy La Fonda on the Plaza.” And he was gone.
The older woman minding the shop glided up next to Skyler and both women watched as the old man walked across the small parking lot. “He seems to change his demeanor fairly quickly, but I wouldn’t take it as a slight. I think he just really needed to go to the bathroom.”
Skyler turned to the woman. “Are you serious?”
“He’s very old.”
“He’s still very sharp.”
“He’s also very, very rich.”
Skyler shook her head slowly. “That doesn’t sound like something a hotel employee should say out loud about a guest to another guest.”
The woman reddened. “My apologies, ma’am. I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”
; “It’s okay. I certainly won’t tell. And the truth is, he is rich. He’s the fourth richest man on the entire planet.”
“And he’s single,” the woman said with a mischievous smile.
“Now you’ve gone too far.”
The clerk’s face dropped again.
“I’m kidding,” Skyler said. “I need to go pack. Have a good afternoon.” She left the shop to return to her casita. She walked with an extra oomph in her step; she was more than a little intrigued about possibly working for the fourth richest single man in the world.
Back in her room, Skyler’s iPhone rang. When she saw that it was Leonard calling, she felt a pang of excitement—the day kept getting better.
“Hello, you. What’s up?” she asked.
“I am tired as shit but happy that we’re finally connecting,” Leonard said. “What time is it there again?”
“Two-something.”
“So, four here. I haven’t even had lunch yet.”
“Tired and hungry. Not a pleasant combination. I thought things were supposed to be slow for you there.” Skyler sank down into one of the easy chairs in her room and kicked off her shoes. She closed her eyes and pictured her boyfriend on the other end of the line. “I miss you.”
“And I miss you. Maybe with you here, I wouldn’t be working 18-hour days.”
“You most certainly would not be doing that. Why are you doing that?”
“Because I have nothing to go home to. And I hate being in my grandmother’s house with all those ghosts.”
“Oh my goodness, Leonard, what a horrible thing to say. How’s Wabanaki? How are Kristin’s legs?”
“Wabanaki is fine—like I said, lots of development going on in anticipation of a busy summer season. And Kristin is in good spirits. I think she’ll be back to work in three or four weeks.”
“That’s great news. And Christmas?” There was a pause. Skyler could hear him exhaling smoke. “Are you smoking? You quit, Mister!”
“I’m not smoking,” he lied.
“I can hear you doing it. Come on. You did so well in D.C.”
“It’s too easy to slip back into old habits when you come home,” the lawman said. “But I can stop again. I will.”
“Good.” Skyler updated her boyfriend on the events of the last few days, in detail.
“Geez, Sky, no rest for the weary, huh? Brenda and you need to be careful and take care of yourselves. I wouldn’t go stay at that woman’s house if I were you. Please don’t do that.”
“Brenda thinks it’s a good idea.”
“Who cares! What does she know about good ideas? Skyler, if the police and F.B.I. haven’t been able to come up with anything, that means that the perps are still out there. I don’t like this at all and I’m too far way to do anything about it.”
She was happy that he cared so much—and Leonard was so damned cute when he was being protective—but the defiant, independent side of her was confident enough to help a friend without her policeman boyfriend glued to her side. “I’ll be fine, Leonard.” She heard him light another cigarette.
“I’m not going to pretend to like this.”
“Okay, no one is asking you to pretend, just to stop smoking,” Skyler said. “So, what are you going to do for Christmas? Can you come out here?”
“We’ve already talked about this,” he said. “I’m not flying 2,500 miles for one day. And that’s probably more than I can spare, anyway. These people need me, Sky. We can celebrate the next holiday together. What is it? Valentine’s Day? I’ll be totally done with this place by then.”
“Valentine’s Day is just not as important as Christmas, Leonard, but I understand.”
“Well then, why don’t you come here?”
“I’m not flying 2,500 miles for one day either,” she said with a laugh.
“Why do you only have one day? What’s keeping you in Mexico?”
“New Mexico, silly. And Foster Martin is keeping me here.”
“The billionaire? That Foster Martin?”
“That’s the one. I met him here on the hotel grounds. It turns out he knows Carissa and she suggested that he hire me to do the public relations for the launch of his new foundation.”
“That would be a good get, Miss Moore. Damn. Good for you.”
“Don’t I know it. I’m going to need a bigger office. I’ll probably most definitely need more people, too.”
There was more silence.
“Leonard? Are you still there?”
“You’re going to have less and less time for me.”
“Don’t be silly,” she said. “I will always make and have time for you. And after the holidays, let’s make sure we’re not so far apart from each other for so long, ever again. Deal?”
“Deal. Oh, and I heard what you said, Skyler.”
“What did I say? When?”
“On the voice mail. The other day.”
She knew what he was talking about, of course. “And?”
“I love you, too.”
She started tingling and she smiled widely; she hadn’t felt that way in a very long time. “Cool.”
He laughed. “It is cool. Listen, I’ve got to go find some food and then get down to the wharf. Some kids spray painted bad words on old man Maddox’s lobster boat.”
“You have fun with that. Dress warm.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“And there ya go,” she said, “you just ruined it.”
“Sorry. I love ya, bye.” And he hung up.
Skyler smiled with much satisfaction. And then she kicked herself for not asking what bad words the kids spray painted on old man Maddox’s lobster boat; not knowing would bother her for the rest of the day.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was a clear, but brutally windy Monday morning. A winter storm had blown through overnight, leaving a dusting of snow, but soon after the sun peeked over the mountain top, it quickly melted, save for a smattering of white stuff in shaded bits of Georgia’s vast backyard. She stood at the kitchen sink with an enormous mug of coffee and watched as three cardinals jockeyed for position at the birdfeeder. She didn’t notice when one of her guests had joined her.
“Good morning,” Brenda said.
Startled, Georgia spilt half of her drink onto the window glass and into the sink.
“I’m so sorry, dear,” the chef said. “I should have made my presence known from out in the hall.” She put a hand on the singer’s back and patted gently. “I’ll make you another cup. And I will totally clean that window. Where do you keep the Windex?”
“It’s fine, don’t you bother with that. And I’ve already had three cups anyway.”
“How long have you been up?” Brenda busied herself with the coffee maker. “It’s only half past seven.”
The opera singer sighed dramatically. “I haven’t slept, Brenda. Not a wink.”
“My goodness, honey. I’m so sorry. I had hoped that you would have felt more secure with Skyler, the dogs, and me here in the house.”
Georgia climbed onto a kitchen stool and rested her chin in one of her palms. “I do. I really do. And I thank you so much for coming. It does mean the world to me. I’m going to be okay. Eventually.” She scanned the room. “Where are the dogs?”
Brenda chuckled. “Mulder and Scully are definitely divas. They’re still very much asleep. It’s actually quite lovely to have lazy dogs who don’t demand to go outside at the break of dawn every day. It’s especially wonderful at home in Manhattan or when I’m up in a 50th floor hotel suite in Las Vegas.”
“I can only imagine. I’ve never owned a dog myself. My mother was very against animals of any kind in the house. No, I take that back. We had a bird once. A yellow canary. His name was Fred.”
“I couldn’t imagine a life without dogs,” Brenda said as she warmed her hands with the mug. “I even took my childhood dog to college with me.”
“That sounds dreadful,” Georgia said with a laugh.
“On the contrary. It was d
ivine. I loved the company.” Brenda leaned in closer to her hostess. “Hey, your eye is looking much better.”
Georgia instinctively touched it. “It still hurts. He got me good.”
“What a complete and utter asshole he is. I assume you haven’t heard from him? Massimo?”
Georgia had received a lengthy, sappy-sweet email apology from her manager, but she kept that to herself. “No,” she lied. She’d opened up to these people fairly quickly, and she was fine with that, but she was super sensitive to the situation with Massimo, mostly because she was embarrassed that she’d allowed him so much control over her life. And her face.
“It’s for the best.” Brenda pulled up another stool and settled down next to the counter. “Carter is confident that you’ll do just as well, if not better, with fresh new representation. I believe that, too. I switched agents a few years back and I can’t tell you how beneficial that was for my career. Things really took off with new folks on my side. You’ll see.”
Georgia slowly nodded her head and managed a small, tight-lipped smile.
“What can I make you for breakfast?” Brenda asked. “I checked out the fridge and pantry last night and you are very well stocked for someone who doesn’t cook. I was impressed. I could make pancakes or omelets or whatever you like. I saw fresh strawberries and…”
“I never eat until lunchtime or later. And I’m just too…I’m just too worked up to even think about food.”
“As you wish. When do the security people arrive?”
Georgia checked her watch. “Hours yet. I believe their plane lands at the Santa Fe airport at three o’clock. I’m told that they’ll take a cab to the house. I’m not sure there are cabs to be had in Santa Fe though. But they’ll figure it out.”
Skyler breezed into the kitchen and pulled a wool beanie off her head and started shucking her puffy jacket. Her cheeks were red and she was breathing heavy. “It is windy out there.”
“You were outside?” Georgia asked, looking alarmed.
“Yes, why? I took a short walk to wake myself up.”
The lady of the house stood up and headed to a panel on the wall. “I didn’t turn off the security system.” She pressed a few buttons. “It’s still armed, Skyler. How did you get out of the house?”
The New Mexico Scoundrel Page 9
