He accepted the key from the management office at 12:15 and met Déjà Vu Catering on the top floor at 12:30. By the time Richard arrived for the lunch meeting, a table was set in a huge corner office with a breathtaking view of the Boston Commons and Charles River beyond.
The caterer had exceeded expectations.
The table was covered in crisp white linen. The china was heavy and white with an understated double gold rim. The white wine was chilled on ice. And a mass of orange lilies packed into a clear square vase formed a low centerpiece that looked like prosperity come to life.
A side table was set up with tossed salad and hot dishes under warmer domes.
Trey wasn’t surprised when he heard the elevator ding at precisely one o’clock. Richard was a stickler for punctuality, a fine trait for someone in his position.
“Come in.” Trey smiled.
The entire floor was empty. Not a stick of furniture, but it was clean and pristine with new carpet and paint recent enough to be called fresh, but not so recent as to be unpleasantly smelly.
Richard shook Trey’s extended hand then followed him to the office where lunch was set up. One look at the view and Richard said, “I see why you’d want to office here. That’s impressive.”
“Yes. Well. As it turns out, we won’t be moving here. Got word that they’re going to transform this building into hotel/condos at the end of this year. The bottom ten stories will be hotel. The top thirteen will be condos. This floor will be divided into four condos. The view is first come, first served, of course.”
“So you’re thinking about living here.”
Trey gestured for Richard to sit down. “I may be interested in purchasing one of these units. I like this view the best. Of course they’ll build it out with whatever the new owner stipulates as far as fixtures and aesthetics.”
He tossed the salad a couple of times, put some on a salad plate and set it down in front of Richard.
“Thank you,” he said, feeling a little uncomfortable with the idea of being literally served by Trey Michaels. He waited patiently, or as patiently as possible, for Michaels to seat himself with his own salad plate.
“How long have you been with Carmichael?”
“Fifteen years.”
“Are you happy with your job there?” Trey set his salad plate down and proceeded to pour wine for Richard and then himself.
“Mostly.”
“Mostly,” Trey repeated almost absently. One word that spoke volumes and left the door wide open for negotiation. He sat down and picked up his salad fork. “Is your dissatisfaction with the work itself or with the station in life where you’ve found yourself stymied?”
Richard felt a little irritated that Michaels evidently saw right through what he’d believed was an impenetrable mask of composure. Not to mention that the use of the term ‘stymied’ was rather insulting.
“I didn’t say I was dissatisfied.”
“No, you didn’t. But to me, satisfaction means being able to answer that question with a word like ‘completely’. Not mostly.” He took a bite of salad then lifted his wine glass, looking at Richard as if he was studying his reaction. “So, if the answer isn’t ‘completely’, then what is it that’s coming up short? Work or lifestyle?”
Richard thought about that for a minute. He didn’t waste time contemplating either of those questions since he’d believed himself to be, as Michaels had rightly put it, ‘stymied’.
“If I was forced to answer, I’d probably say both. That I’d like new challenges at work and better remuneration.”
Trey nodded thoughtfully. “You know it’s no accident that you’re here with me today. For the past couple of years I’ve had the opportunity to observe how valuable you are.”
It would have been impossible for Richard not to respond to that sort of praise and recognition. He’d been unaware that he’d ever made a lasting impression on Mr. Carmichael’s associates, or extended family.
“That’s very flattering.”
“I don’t flatter, Hillfort. If it wasn’t true, I wouldn’t say it,” he lied. “The fact is that I believe you’re capable of much more. You’re being underutilized.”
“Nice of you to notice.”
“Not at all.”
Trey rose, took away the salad plates, placed the entrees on the china chargers and removed the stainless covers. Pecan crusted chicken breast fillets with poached tomatoes.
“Smells good,” Richard said. “And looks incredibly healthy.”
“You only get one body per life, right?”
Richard looked at him with open curiosity, but replied, “Right.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever asked if you’re married.”
“No. I’ve never been married.”
“Girlfriend?”
Richard smiled a little. “Sometimes. Nothing regular or lasting. I seem to become less attractive when women realize the extent of demand that my work requires. Most nights. Most weekends.”
“That’s no way to live, Richard.” Richard could think of no reply to that. “So let’s talk hypotheticals. I’m not claiming to be your personal genie, but I do have it in my power to change your life for the better.
“What if I was to offer you the deed to this condo? Twice your current salary and a contract that says you will work no more than fifty hours a week. Ever.”
Richard had frozen with a bite of chicken two inches away from his mouth. He lowered his fork, but didn’t close his mouth. “I would wonder what I have to offer that would be that valuable.”
“Very perceptive of you, Rich. As it happens, there is something you could do for me as a show of good faith, while you’re still with Carmichael.”
All of Richard’s internal warning signals were going off. But he couldn’t stop himself from asking the question. “What?”
“Well, as you know, my wife and I are separated. What you may not know is that I love my wife. I’d do anything to get her back. Anything. Which means that information about her whereabouts is at a premium. I can’t beg her to forgive me if I can’t find her and, right now, her father is hiding her from me.”
Richard sat up. “You want me to spy on Mr. Carmichael?”
“Well, let’s not be dramatic. As his top assistant, you’re privy to information. It’s not like I’m somebody who intends her harm. Until a judge says otherwise, I’m her husband. You could be the hero in this scenario. Helping to patch up a lovers’ quarrel.
“I just want you to find out where she is and let me know. Simple. Easy. With a gigantic return on your investment.”
Richard looked out at the view of the Commons again before saying, “I’d like to think about it.”
“Of course. The offer is open until this time tomorrow. Then it goes away.” Richard got up and started for the door. “You’re welcome to stay for dessert.”
“No. Thank you.”
“And, Richard. No one knows that you and I had this meeting. Likewise, no one is ever to know. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Michaels.”
“Good. I’ll look forward to hearing from you tomorrow and I trust the news will be good. Find a pay phone somewhere and contact me at this number. The earlier, the better. Time is a consideration.” He handed Richard a card. “I’d like you to memorize the number while you’re here with me.”
Richard took the card, studied it for a minute, then handed it back.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kentucky Part Deux
Cami held her coffee in both hands. It was still raining. She didn’t get drenched between the motel door and the car, but she wasn’t completely dry anymore either.
“So what now?” she asked.
“Back to Kentucky.” He handed her the atlas and pointed to a tiny airplane symbol encircled by orange highlighter. “We’re going there.”
“We’re flying somewhere? Thank God!” She looked over at him. “Somewhere out of the rain. Right?”
“That’s the plan.”
&
nbsp; “Where? I hope it’s a desert where it hasn’t rained in decades.”
He chuckled because she wasn’t far off. He was sure it had rained sometime that year, but at the same time, New Mexico wasn’t exactly tropical.
“What’s funny?” she asked.
“We’re going to Poco Loco in New Mexico and we’re not likely to see any rain once we get there.”
She closed her eyes and moaned with longing. “I can’t wait.”
“Come on. It hasn’t been that bad.”
She looked at him with wide eyes. “It’s not that bad when you’re warm and dry. And asleep. But riding in a car all day with wet clothes goes on my list of things never to do again.”
He couldn’t really argue that. “You want sit down breakfast enough to get wet or you want to go through a McDonalds drive through?”
As far as Cami was concerned, that was a painful and unfair choice between two evils. Probably. But maybe she should keep an open mind.
“What do they have?”
“McDonalds?”
“Yes.”
He looked at her incredulously. “Seriously?” She made a face. “They have biscuits with sausage and pancakes, although I wouldn’t really recommend those. The best thing is an English muffin with a piece of ham, a poached egg, and cheese.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad.”
“Excellent choice. There’s only one problem.”
“What?”
“All the McDonalds are in the big towns or on the interstates.”
“Great.”
“So what will it be? Get wet and get food at the local café or drive for a while?”
“Why? Because you think we might drive out of the rain? Let’s get food.”
“How’s your garbage bag holding up?”
“It will outlast the pyramids. You should have taken one for yourself.”
“Hindsight,” he said.
When they pulled into the town square they saw a string of cars parked by a movie theater that had probably been closed for forty years.
“That’s got to be it.”
“What?” Cami was getting very tired of asking ‘what’ and ‘why’ every other minute, but Brandon had a way of making statements that begged for questioning.
“Breakfast. Get your bag on.” She pulled the bag up and held it clenched at her neck so that it covered her head, shoulders, and upper body. “You ready?” She nodded. “One. Two. Three.”
They opened their doors and ran for the overhang as fast as they could. When they stepped inside, the locals gave them both a good looking over before turning back to their solitary breakfasts or their conversations.
“Sit anywhere,” said a woman who passed by carrying a coffee carafe. She was wearing an apron over jeans and tennis shoes so they assumed she knew what she was talking about.
Brandon motioned toward a booth in the back. As soon as they sat, the waitress was there.
“Coffee?” she asked.
“Yeah,” said Brand.
“No,” said Cami. “I just had some. Thank you.”
“Sure.” She placed two menus in front of them. “Back in a minute.”
It was more like five minutes before she returned. “What can I get you?”
Dismissing the menu, Cami said, “Can I get two poached eggs and plain wheat toast? With cranberry juice?”
The waitress blinked. “We’ve got fried eggs and scrambled eggs.”
Cami’s shoulders slumped. “Scrambled. Do you have wheat toast?”
“Yeah. We got wheat toast. All out of cranberry juice. We’ve got orange and grapefruit.”
“Fresh?” Cami asked hopefully.
The waitress looked at her like she was deliberately trying to cause trouble and simply shook her head.
“Grapefruit,” Cami said.
Then the woman looked at Brand suspiciously. “You?”
“I’ll have the three eggs over easy with bacon on the done side and waffle fries. Biscuits and gravy.”
She smiled at him like he’d won a prize. “Coming right up.”
When the waitress was gone, Cami said, “I think she likes you better than me.”
“She’s just jealous because you’re cute.”
She cocked her head to the side. “You rate girls for cuteness?”
“Sure. I’ve got eyes.”
He loved the way she smiled like she really appreciated the compliment, like she didn’t hear it nearly often enough. A woman like her ought to be told every single fucking day that she was everything to some lucky guy.
“So, navigator,” he said, “how long do you figure it will take us to get to the Taylor County airfield?”
“If we keep the same pace as yesterday, four and a half hours.” He nodded and glanced at his watch.
“Are we in a hurry?”
“Not exactly. I’ve just got a schedule in my head. I’d like to be there before three.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t order enough breakfast to feed a football team at training camp.” He laughed out loud. “And I should remind you that you’re not working off all that fat and salt and carbs. Pretty soon the other boys are not going to think you’re Adonis reincarnated.”
When he trained his dark eyes on her they were twinkling like they were lit from within. “Sounds like you have a pretty high opinion of my body.”
“Well, yeah. Doesn’t everyone?”
Before he could answer, the waitress set a saucer-sized plate in front of Cami and two platters of food in front of Brandon. He picked up a piece of bacon, crunched down, and chuckled at Cami eyeing the amount of food in front of him.
“Growing boy,” he said.
“No doubt. Don’t come crying to me when you can no longer see your pretty toes.”
He laughed. “You think my toes are pretty? I haven’t started the day with this many compliments… I don’t know, maybe ever. You’re taking a toll on my humility.”
Cami found that she liked relaxed teasing Brandon a lot better than gruff bossy Brandon.
The rain continued to pound all the way to Taylor County, Kentucky. In places they had to decelerate to a crawl because the water was covering the road. Luckily the SUV was high enough off the ground that they could pass without flooding so long as they went slow enough.
“Your guess was spot on. Four hours forty-five minutes,” he said as they pulled into the parking area.
The airfield consisted of one strip long enough for small planes and two hangars. They ran for the side door and stood inside the threshold dripping on the concrete floor. There was a guy sitting in an office chair watching TV. He swiveled around to see who’d come in, but didn’t look concerned. He looked a lot like what’s left of Sammy Hagar.
“You Fornight?” he asked.
Brandon nodded. “Yeah. And you are?”
“Branch Copeland. I’ll be your pilot today. Just sit back, relax, and leave the flying to me.”
That sounded sarcastic enough to be alarming. Cami looked up at Brandon uncertainly.
“We’ll see whether or not your flying deserves our relaxing. You ready to go?”
“Born ready.” His eyes ran over Cami in a way that made Brandon’s fists clench involuntarily. “You got luggage?”
“Yes.”
“Bring it in the hangar. We need to see how much it weighs. You can drive in if you want.”
Brandon leaned down to Cami and talked quietly. “You be okay here for a minute? While I get the car?”
She nodded. “Sure.”
Brandon brought the car around and into the hangar where Copeland and Cami were waiting.
“Scales over there.” Copeland pointed. “You first.”
He waved at Cami, who drew back. “What do you mean, you first?”
“I mean get on the scale. The big guy is going to ride up front with me. After we establish your weight, I’ll tell you how much of this,” he nodded toward the luggage, “you can take.”
She looked at Brandon. After
he gave her a reassuring nod, she pressed her lips together and stomped toward the scale.
“A hundred and forty-three,” said Copeland.
“I’m sure that’s wrong,” she said. “Your scale is faulty.”
“Okay.” He smiled without looking up. “Let’s just say that your clothes weigh twenty-five pounds. Considering how wet you are, that may not be far off.”
“Can we…?” Copeland looked up to see that her question was directed at Brandon. “Can we change before we leave? Put on dry clothes?”
“Absolutely.” He turned to Copeland. “We’ll change and then weigh in.”
“Fine with me,” said the pilot. “Bathroom over there.”
Cami unzipped one of her bags. “What’s the weather like where we’re going?”
Brandon fished out his phone, tapped around for a few seconds and then said, “It’s cool. Fifties. Into forties tonight.” He looked up at her with a big smile. “No rain.”
She grinned and knelt down next to her open bag. She fished out dry skinny jeans with lots of give, an oversize turtleneck sweater, undergarments, boot socks and brown Frye riding boots. The combat-style boots she’d been wearing were wet on the inside and wouldn’t be dry for a week.
She changed quickly and felt instantly better to be dry from the skin all the way out. She retrieved the garbage bag from where she’d left it in the office, stashed all the wet things in there, including the boots, then rifled through a different bag until she found a puffy vest.
“Okay. Done,” she said, pulling the vest on.
“Climb up,” Copeland said. She did. “One twenty-nine.”
She smiled at Brand like she’d won a blue ribbon and he couldn’t suppress a grin. Women.
“So you can take a hundred and thirty pounds of luggage between the two of you.”
Cami looked at her three pieces. She had no idea what they weighed.
“While you’re figuring that out, I’m changing,” Brandon said, though it seemed like no one else was listening.
Cami zipped up both bags that she’d been into. She wheeled the first over and wrestled it up onto the scale, scowling at Copeland when he offered no help.
The Biker's Brother (Sons of Sanctuary MC Book 2) Page 9
