by Zuri Day
“I can’t deny that. He’s an excellent businessman. Those same traits don’t work so well as a dad.”
“I can understand that.”
“It was stifling. I’m a lot like him, so growing up was often...combative. But since he’s successful, as you say, a very good debater and negotiator, it became easier to agree with his suggestions rather than argue against them. So when I reached my senior year still undecided about a major, he determined that Columbia was a great college and that business admin was a multipurpose degree. Which is where I went and what I received.”
“Are he and your mom still on good terms?”
Ike was immediately sorry that he’d asked the question. The shadow that crossed her eyes was as intense as clouds covering the sun before a downpour.
“Never mind. We don’t have to talk about it.”
“No. It’s all right.” Quinn swallowed the sadness that made her throat constrict and batted away the tears. “My grandmother says that in doing so...she continues to live. My mom was... I lost her just before I turned twelve. Her name was Brenda.”
“I’m sorry,” Ike replied as Quinn quickly swiped a lone tear. “No doubt she was beautiful, just like you.”
He watched her grapple with a myriad of thoughts, saw her jaw tense with the effort to not cry. “Thank you.”
Later he would realize that it was this very moment, when the flippant, fiery spoiled brat faded away and he saw the vulnerable, frightened little girl inside her, that he fell in love with Quinn Taylor.
Quinn looked at her watch. “I should probably go to Lydia’s desk and review how to take the phones off night service. It sounded easy enough, but she said the instructions are in her drawer. I want to find them just in case.”
“Don’t worry about that. The service will handle them. We still haven’t gotten to why I brought you in here.”
He got up, walked over to his desk and returned with a report elegantly bound in a faux-leather cover. He handed it to her.
She read the title aloud. “‘San Francisco Financial District: An Analysis of Growth Projection, Market Demand, Infrastructure and Capacity.’”
Beneath the title was a subheading that tied the overall report more specifically to the Compliance National Bank Building in downtown San Francisco.
“A study conducted on the building you’re buying,” she affirmed while flipping through the pages. “Looks quite comprehensive.”
“We believe so.”
She looked up. “So what about this do you want to discuss with me?”
“I don’t know. But hearing of your degree in business administration made me curious as to what your thoughts on the report would be.”
“You want me to read this?”
“On company time, of course. I’ll talk to Lydia and if necessary get someone else in to handle what you were doing.”
“Who did the study?” Quinn turned back to the front of the report. Ike told her. “Hmm. I’ve not heard of them, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything.”
“The company was recommended by our partners.”
“Oh, so this purchase is in partnership with other companies.”
“Only one, Global 100, and it’s a silent partnership.”
He watched her brows furrow as she flipped through the document. “I don’t know what I could possibly add, but sure. I’d be happy to look over it.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“Do you have a time frame that you’d like to have my response?”
“I’m not expecting you to read it cover to cover, all of the tables and graphs. They’re rather tedious. Just a general perusal of the main sections, so maybe a couple of days.”
“No problem.” She stood up. “I’ll get right to it.”
Ike’s phone rang. He looked at the ID. “Hey, Dad.” He nodded as Quinn gave a quick wave goodbye and headed out of his office. She looked as good going as she did coming, no doubt about that. He was quickly discovering that the more he found out about Quinn Taylor, the more he wanted to know.
Chapter 12
Quinn sat at her grandmother’s dining room table, picking over a salad as she read the report Ike had given her. She hadn’t been too excited when he’d asked her to read it, but after digging in she’d become enthralled. Learning had always been a fun experience, even subjects that weren’t particularly exciting. It had been a long time since she’d had to use the type of analytical and comprehensive skills that work like this required. To do so felt better than she could have imagined.
She’d bypassed the tedious number-filled pages on profit and projections and instead homed in on infrastructure and capacity. San Francisco proper had run out of available land long before Quinn was born. Office space went for a premium, with waiting lists of several years. Those who were lucky enough to own buildings usually hung on to them. She found it a bit odd that a structure this profitable and strategically located would be up for sale. Of course it hardly mattered what she thought. Drake Realty Plus was a highly successful company that had negotiated hundreds if not thousands of transactions. A company didn’t become that successful without knowing their stuff.
Her phone rang. She looked at the screen and smiled. “Hello, Trench Coat!” She pushed the speaker button and headed to the kitchen with her empty salad bowl. “What’s up, Trent?”
“Nothing much. What are you doing?”
“Working.”
“Get out of here.”
“Ha! I’m serious. I’m putting my Ivy League education to work.”
“Doing what?”
Quinn told him.
“Global 100? Are you sure?”
“Positive. Why are you asking in that tone?”
“Who is their contact and how well do they know him?”
“I don’t have a name, and even if I did couldn’t share it. Confidential company information. Even mentioning the partnership may have been out of line.”
“Seriously? You’re saying that to me?”
“I’m just mentioning it as a reminder to myself. Now tell me what you know about them.”
“It’s rumored that the backbone of their financing capabilities is a group of nefarious, corrupt businessmen and politicians with access to their countries’ coffers. They use the funds to increase their already ridiculous wealth while the citizens starve and the country goes bankrupt.”
“No way.”
“They’re ruthless, all about the dollar. Dad stopped doing business with them years ago, before he retired.”
“That’s right! Your dad was the president of Compliance National at one time. How did I not remember that?”
“I don’t know.”
Quinn stood and paced the room. “If what you say is true, why are people still doing business with them? Why isn’t this public knowledge? Why didn’t your dad report them to someone?”
“Um, maybe because he prefers his head without a bullet hole in it?”
“He was threatened?”
“I don’t know what they did or said, but he’s never talked about it, and he’s not the only one who knows. Besides, stuff like that is hard if not impossible to prove. Heck, I can’t even say for sure it’s true. It might be as Global tried to tell Dad...just a rumor.”
“Great, get me all worked up over something that might be make-believe.”
“Hey, I’m just sayin’.”
“Well, I wish you hadn’t.”
“Then forget it. Just be happy that you’re doing something interesting.”
“It beats filing and making photocopies for eight hours a day.”
“I hear that.”
“Plus, I’m getting to know Ike a little better. We’re not stark enemies anymore.”
“Who?”
“The dude who sued you? The jerk?” Quinn laughed. “He’s not a jerk anymore, huh. You must have let him hit it.”
“I did not. That’s such a guy answer. Enough about me. How’s the project with your uncle? When are you coming back this way?”
“Probably not for a couple weeks.”
“You’ve got to be here for Halloween, and the masquerade ball. I texted you about it, and you agreed to attend it with me.”
“I want to, but I can’t leave until we close on this house.”
“That’s what your uncle wanted?”
“Yep. Waterfront property on Martha’s Vineyard.”
“You’re kidding. I know someone who’s been trying to buy a place there for, like, ever!”
“It’s not on the side you’re talking about, but in an area called Oak Bluffs.”
“It’s part of Martha’s Vineyard? Never heard of it.”
“I hadn’t, either. The area has an interesting history. During segregation it was an enclave for the black elite. Doctors, lawyers, celebrities, politicians, and all black-owned. But the newer generations who’ve inherited the properties aren’t as interested in keeping them, or maybe can’t afford it. Right now, the prices are sweet. So I’m going to check out a couple properties. If you weren’t on lockdown, I’d ask you to fly over.”
“Negative, friend. I still have a week or so of jail time.”
“You don’t sound unhappy. I think it’s because you’re doing Warden Ike.”
“Very funny. I told you, nothing’s happening there. He’s not my type, but he is kind of handsome, in that buttoned-up businessman sort of way.”
“He’s gone from a jerk to handsome in two weeks? The guy doesn’t stand a chance.”
“Just go buy your houses and get back over this way. I want you to meet him.”
Quinn ended the call. She couldn’t stop smiling. Trent was right. He knew her too well. She was beginning to catch feelings for the warden and wonder how efficiently he used his baton. Then she thought about what Trent had shared about Global 100. The smile faded.
* * *
Three days later, Quinn left the cubicle she now occupied and walked toward Ike’s office. His door was closed.
“Lydia, hi.”
“Oh, hi, Quinn. How’s it going?”
“I’m fine. How are you doing?”
“Can’t complain. I bet you’re liking that workstation better than the file room.”
“A lot better. But my stay there may be over.”
“Is that the report Ike gave you?”
Quinn nodded. “Is he here?”
“Yes, but he’s on the phone. A conference call. I can give it to him for you unless you need to discuss it with him.”
“He might have questions. If so, let me know.”
“Will do. And don’t worry. I won’t put you back in the dungeon.” She looked around her crowded desk and at the credenza. “Tell you what. How good a typist are you?”
“I can type.”
“Are you familiar with Excel?”
“Yes, basically.”
“I have a bunch of information that needs to be transferred to the computer but I probably should set up the chart first. It’s too early for lunch, but why don’t you take a break, let me get this together and then I’ll bring it to you.”
“Or I can go to lunch if you want. I was thinking of trying out the little sandwich shop down the street.”
“The deli? Oh, you’ll like it. The food’s good there. The owner’s nice, too.”
Lydia was right. The owner took Quinn’s order and made her feel so welcome she ate her meal there. She returned to learn that Ike had wanted to speak with her but the execs had gone to lunch. Lydia showed Quinn the charts she’d set up and soon Quinn was busy inputting the information. The afternoon flew by, and when she left at five, speaking with Ike had slipped her mind, along with her trepidation about doing so.
The relief was short-lived. In every idle moment, her thoughts returned to Global 100. She found it hard to believe a family like the Drakes, who appeared to be good, upstanding citizens, would do business with anyone shady. Yet it was equally difficult to imagine someone as thorough and detailed as Ike would not know everything about a company before doing business with them.
My dad...liked his head without the bullet hole.
Then again, maybe he didn’t know. Maybe like everyone else, the Drakes were in the dark.
She neared home, dreading an evening with nothing to do but think. The original plans had called for Trent to be here by now. Working on the report had been mentally stimulating. With that project over and unwanted thoughts abounding, the ho-hum existence that had become her life was amplified. Small-town life was driving her crazy. So even though her license was still restricted, Quinn called Peyton with plans to head out of town.
She got voice mail, but after checking on her grandmother and relaying her plans, she headed for the Cove. Hopefully by the time she finished a glass of wine, Peyton would have returned her call.
Seconds later, her phone rang.
“Whose phone are you using?”
There was a brief pause. “Mine.”
Quinn wasn’t expecting a male voice, especially this one. “Ike?”
“You were obviously expecting someone else.”
“Yes,” she replied, pressing her hand against a heart that had begun to race. “I’d just called a friend and thought she was calling me back. How’d you get my number?”
“I asked Lydia. It was on the form you filled out before coming to work.”
“Oh.”
“Is this a bad time?”
Yes. No. “I don’t know. What do you have in mind?”
The pause was longer this time. “Dinner.”
“Seriously? You called to ask me out?”
“Actually, no, but your question demanded I think of something more exciting than discussing a report.”
“We can do both. In fact, I’m headed to the Cove now. There’s a restaurant over there.”
“Acquired Taste.”
“Yes, that’s it.”
“I’d actually prefer we meet at this place inside the Golden Gates community.”
“What place is that?”
“My home.”
“Oh.” She drew out the word. “I get it.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure you think you do, but I have no ulterior motives. I rarely eat out, because one, there’s only so many times you can eat at the same restaurants, two, I know my way around a kitchen and three, for all of the small-town drawbacks we discussed the other day.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t feel pressured. It was a spontaneous invitation. Call me back after dinner and we can discuss it over the phone.”
“Not so fast, Mr. Drake. Give a girl a chance to make you sweat a little.”
“Oh, is that what you’re doing?”
“Yes. Are you sweating?”
“Not hardly. And I may be old, but you may call me Ike.”
“I thought you were going to say ‘not yet,’ Ike.” Silence. “Don’t feel pressured,” she mimicked. “What’s your address?”
He relayed it. “Any special preference for dinner? I can cook just about anything.”
“And I eat just about everything. So surprise me.”
Quinn changed the car’s direction once again, this time toward the tiny community of Golden Gates. Her feelings ping-ponged between anxiety and excitement. Ike had invited her over to discuss work. She’d rather spend the evening forgetting about work, and she could imagine several different positions that would get the job done.
Chapter 13
After a quick sca
n of his walk-in pantry, Ike decided on a simple, all-in-one dish. He pulled a package of linguine from the shelf, vegetables from the fridge and seasonings from the cabinet. After turning on the stereo, he pulled out his chopping board, rolled up his sleeves and went to work. He found cooking therapeutic, relaxing and a great time to ponder. Some of his best decisions had come amid chopping, slicing and frying. When it came to Quinn and the feelings happening toward her, there was a lot to think about.
It had been a decade since he’d been single. He’d been with Audrey off and on since he was twenty-five. The same age as Quinn was now. Another long-term relationship lasted from his senior year of college through grad school. Ike was nobody’s saint, but he’d never been a player, either. There was no judgment of people who were, but it wasn’t in his nature. He loved fiercely and intensely and gave 200 percent to everything he did, including relationships. Before graduating high school, he’d already tired of playing the field.
Quinn. He’d never seriously dated anyone like her, was usually not attracted to gregarious, feisty women. He gravitated toward women like his mom and grandmother. Then he remembered that his mom had found Quinn delightful. Maybe he didn’t know Jennifer Drake as well as he thought.
He diced fresh tomatoes, onions and garlic and began a simple marinara sauce. What would a relationship with Quinn look like? Did they have enough in common to sustain spending a lot of time together? Heck, for that matter, did they have anything in common at all? He reached for fresh herbs—rosemary, thyme and basil—and placed them in a chopper. A couple pulses and they were ready to be added to the skillet where the diced vegetables now cooked down in olive oil. Ike was a workaholic and proud of it. When he wasn’t working, he liked chilling at home. Quinn was an extrovert, a social butterfly from what he’d seen. It was a popular belief that opposites attract. Ike believed that to be true. But did they date, marry and stay together for life?
The chiming doorbell told Ike Quinn had arrived. Just before opening the door, he stopped in front of a hallway mirror. Turned his head left to right and back again. I don’t look old. Do I? Not one to ever have worried much about his looks, he shook off the self-conscious feeling even as he recalled his morning shave and an encounter with one gray hair. Not old, he told himself again. Distinguished.
