No Time For Love

by Tina Radcliffe

  She couldn’t resist a small smile at the story. “So you’re half Italian. That explains a lot.”

  He began to laugh, deep and robust.

  Nicki grinned.

  He had a good laugh. Genuine.

  She turned away and closed the freezer door.

  “So what’s the deal with you and your father?” he asked.

  “The deal?”

  “You call him Nick?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Ah, and that explains a lot.”

  “Oh, don’t try to overanalyze the situation.”

  “I offered him a job.”

  “No.” She gasped and spun around. “That is a very bad idea.”

  “Why?”

  “What kind of job?”

  “I own a building now. I need someone to do maintenance.”

  “My father? You don’t know anything about him.”

  “Give me some credit. I can read between the lines on Nick. All he needs is a second chance.”

  No. Her father had worn out the label on second chances years ago.

  She dropped into a chair. Her head was going to explode.

  “Are you all right?”

  “No. I’m not all right. You bought the property out from under me, and now you’re hiring Nick.”

  “Yeah, I’m rotten through and through.”

  “You don’t get it. I need that property. My life depends on that property.”

  He raised a brow. “Your life? What about Madeline and Millicent? What about your own father?”

  “You don’t know a thing about my father.”

  “I know he’s more important than a parking lot for a bunch of urban yuppies who want overpriced coffee.”

  “Hey, hey. You two all right?” Big Nick walked into the room and glanced between them. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “I’ve got to get going,” Steve said. He nodded to Nick. “Stop by tonight, and I’ll get you settled in your new home.”

  “Thanks, Steve. Don’t think I don’t appreciate it.”

  The screen door banged as he left.

  “Nice guy. I approve.”

  Nicki groaned. She closed her eyes, and put her head down until her forehead touched the smooth oak of the table.

  “What do you want, Nick?”

  “I don’t want anything this time, Nicki.”

  The words failed to comfort her.

  Chapter 5

  Fish.

  Nicki wrinkled her nose and moved away from the trash cans stacked in the dark alley. She checked her watch. Half an hour since the bus boy had taken her twenty bucks. The light drizzle continued to cool the Denver evening as she waited. Shivering, she pulled up her collar and pushed back her damp hair.

  A chorus of raucous male laughter from somewhere close by reached her ears. Nicki ducked into the shadows. Maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea after all. As she debated leaving, a door squeaked open.

  Light from inside the restaurant illuminated a tall youth wearing a stained apron. “Hurry up. My boss is on break.”

  She scrambled up the steps, tightening her trench coat.

  “You’ve got a table for me?” she asked, anticipation growing.

  “Yeah.” The gangly teenager ushered her through a steamy kitchen. “And it wasn’t easy. Place is packed.”

  That much she knew was true. She’d been forced to circumvent the usual front door route when the bouncer had turned her away.

  Nicki increased her pace, following the boy past a stocky chef in a white jacket who eyed her, an open invitation on his swarthy face. She averted her gaze, nearly colliding with a hanging cast-iron pot.

  The teenager pushed back a swinging door with his palm, revealing the dimly lit interior of the place. “See that empty booth over there?” He pointed to the left. “Look right behind it.”

  She peeked inside and immediately spotted him. Yes, this was perfect. An unexpected tremor of awareness raced over her. Although his back was to the door, she recognized him. It was more than the long, thick, ebony ponytail, but the way he held himself that said he was a leader and not a follower, despite his appearance. Tonight he wore a faded green army field jacket over his usual shirt and jeans.

  Again, the strange feeling of incongruity struck her. He looked unremarkable, but something about Steven Smith was anything but ordinary. When his dark eyes locked on her, she saw the power and intelligence.

  Yet, she could find no record of the man, not a driver’s license, bank account or anything substantial. If she wasn’t certain he had purchased the house on Broadway out from under her company, she would think that man didn’t exist.

  Angling her head, she tried to see the rest of his party. Her view was blocked by a potted tree, next to the battered baby grand piano.

  Piano? She’d have to walk right in front of his table to get to her booth.

  “He’ll see me.” The words came out in a rushed whisper.

  “Naw. Go behind the bar.”

  She glanced at the gorilla who tended the bar and grimaced. The sleeves of the man’s crisp white shirt were rolled up revealing beefy, tattooed arms.

  “Don’t worry about Hymie. I told him you’re my sister.”

  “And he believed you?”

  “Why not?”

  She nodded and stepped into the room.

  “Hey, where’s the rest of my money?” the kid balked.

  Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she pulled out a twenty. The deal was ten dollars more and he wouldn’t ask questions. “I don’t have change.”

  “This’ll do.” He plucked the bill from her fingers.

  Great. There went lunch next week.

  “Have the waitress bring me a coffee and we’ll call it even.”

  The bartender’s narrowed eyes followed Nicki as she slipped behind the bar, but he said nothing and continued polishing glasses.

  She slid into the high-backed booth and released a breath. The only thing separating her from Steve was the burgundy vinyl upholstery.

  “I’ll be right back.” Steve’s voice rang out.

  Nicki stiffened, ducking beneath the small table.

  “’Cha loose something, honey?” a woman asked.

  “My shoe.” Nicki moved, striking her head against the table’s edge. “Radishes,” she muttered.

  Straightening, she found herself eye-level with the overflowing breasts of a middle-aged, blonde waitress. Her name tag identified her as Marlene.

  Marlene held a cup of steaming coffee above the table. “You think it’ll be safe to set this down now?” She arched a black penciled brow.

  Nicki nodded, rubbing her scalp.

  “Did you want to place an order, honey?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Chef’s special tonight.”

  “No, thanks, I’ve seen the chef.”

  Again, the deep voice from the next booth filled the air. “I’ll trust you to care of it, Henry. I don’t want any loose ends on this deal.”

  He was back. Nicki inched toward the edge of the booth.

  “You got it, boss. Can we expect you back anytime soon?”

  “Not likely. I feel confident Lizzy can handle things.” There was a pause. “Oh, and do me a favor.”

  Nicki sipped her coffee. Lizzy. Like the Elizabeth who’d called while she was in his apartment?

  “Check on a guy for me. A Nick Baldwin.”

  Nicki sputtered and began to choke.

  “You okay, honey?” With each cough Marlene pounded harder on Nicki’s back.

  Eyes watering, she nodded.

  “I should call Hymie. He knows CPR.” Marlene gave a frantic wave to the bartender.

  “No, I’m fine,” she croaked. Panicked, Nicki pulled up her collar and slipped out of the booth. She dashed by the piano, weaving around tables until she was out the front door and past the startled bouncer.

  Nicki continued to cough until it appeared she might possibly live. She took a deep breath and
shook off the rain that had dripped off the restaurant’s canopy and onto her hair and raincoat.

  Dear Lord, can you tell me what I’m doing wrong? All I want is to go back to my nice dry office job and forget about Steven Smith. Why is he here, interfering in my nicely ordered plans for my life?

  And who is he? What is he? Why did he shell out a small fortune to save an old building?

  A heavy hand clamped onto her shoulder. Nicki jumped and nearly cried out. The voice she knew all too well whispered in her ear.

  “Nicki. We have to stop meeting like this.”

  “Any special reason why you’re following me?” Steve asked.

  “I’m not following you.” Nicki bit her lip and trembled. A drop of water rolled off the canvas awning and landed on her face. She scrubbed it off with a hand.

  “Seriously? That’s your stance. You don’t even have plausible deniability on your side.” He glanced around. “Have you ever been here before?”

  “No, but I’ve been meaning to visit.”

  “On your bucket list, right?”

  Her prideful little chin came up. Even soaking wet, with her hair plastered to her head, and her makeup nonexistent, Nicki Baldwin was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. There was something about her that touched him. He hated that she could level him with one of her scathing gazes and make him long for her smile in the same moment.

  But there it was.

  “Well, it’s been nice to see you again. I have to go.” She fished in her pocket for her keys and walked away from him.

  “You can’t be roaming around this neighborhood alone at night.”

  She shrugged.

  “Where’s your car?”

  “In the alley.”

  “I’ll at least escort you there.”

  She didn’t answer, but pulled up her collar and kept walking. Exasperated, he followed, picking up his pace to keep up with her long legs. All his life people had called him hard-headed and stubborn. He’d met his match in Nicki Baldwin.

  He dodged an overflowing trashcan and a haphazardly stacked pile of broken furniture.

  “What is it you want to know so badly that you’re willing to hang out in this end of town and get drenched to the skin?”

  Nicki stopped and slowly turned until she faced him.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her blue eyes glittering. She shoved her wet hair back.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes. I think it does.”

  “Look, Nicki, I abandoned my former life for a very good reason. After fifteen years, I didn’t know who I was. That person isn’t important.”

  “You think you left that person behind you, but you didn’t. All you did was change clothes. That guy is here in Denver, wheeling and dealing and turning my life into collateral damage.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t be a poor loser. Surely you’ve lost deals before. It’s all part of the game.”

  “This isn’t a game to me. Cappuccino Junction is changing the landscape of that neighborhood. You’re only prolonging the inevitable. When you’re done taking a break from your life, you’ll simply walk away. But I care about this city and these neighborhoods.”

  Nicki turned from him her back straight and stiff. When she reached the battered Honda at the end of the block she stopped.

  The vicious slamming of the car door reverberated into the chilly night. The car coughed and sputtered, then came alive. He watched until the ruby tail lights disappeared into the drizzle and blur of the night.

  “Good night, Nicki,” he whispered.

  Chapter 6

  So here it was, doomsday. Nicki had put on her best suit, the one she’d saved for months to purchase at Nordstrom’s Rack. She slipped into the only pair of heels she owned that weren’t scuffed.

  She’d spent a good five minutes in prayer this morning. That was at least four minutes more than usual. God knew she was trying. Today might be her last day, but she’d go out with her dignity and pride intact at very least.

  Sarah was waiting for her when she got off the elevator.

  “Where have you been? Finney is waiting for you.”

  Nicki glanced at her watch. “I’m thirty minutes early. Is there a rush for me to lose my job?”

  “What are you talking about?” Sarah stared her up and down. “You look really good, by the way.”

  “Thanks.”

  “He said to send you right in.”

  Nicki walked slowly to her office. “I’ll be there in a few minutes. Don’t tell him I’m here yet.”

  She shut the door and opened the closet and pulled out an empty Banker’s Box. Sliding into her desk chair, she leaned forward and the chair squeaked. That squeak had annoyed her often enough. Now it only made her smile. Nicki ran a hand over the scarred surface of the faux wood desk. This little office had been home for two years, the longest she’d ever been in one place. If for only a moment, she wanted to savor how she’d turned her life around.

  She’d taken every setback from her childhood and her gypsy life in Colorado with Big Nick and managed to etch out a future for herself. She’d graduated college one night class at a time, and owned her own car, even if it was falling apart. She and a nice, albeit tiny, townhouse with a lease that said she wasn’t going anywhere for at least six months. That meant she had roots, for the first time in her life.

  She might be leaving Hancock Finney Properties, but she’d be moving on to something bigger and better. Somehow she knew that deep in her gut. That thought comforted her as she emptied her drawers into the box.

  Out of nowhere, Steve Smith flashed through her mind. His smile, the sparkle in his dark eyes and the way he looked at her the last time she’d seen him, as if he was confused for the first time in his life.

  What if they’d met under different circumstances, instead of over a piece of property that divided them?

  She pushed the thought away. What ifs were for dreamers and she wasn’t a dreamer.

  A soft knock on her office door preceded Sarah’s entrance.

  “Now,” she urged, with a nod of her head. “I can’t hold him off any longer.”

  Nicki stood. “Fine.” She straightened her suit and headed down the hall. The soft plush carpet muted her steps, yet it remained the longest walk of her life.

  The door was open and Finney sat at his massive cherry desk. Another man sat across from the desk with his back to her.

  A shiver of awareness danced over Nicki and for a brief moment, she thought she possibly recognized the breadth and width of the other man’s shoulders. She shrugged it off.

  They all looked familiar in their tailor- made Armani’s. But he was no doubt simply another corporate suit.

  “Come in, Ms. Baldwin. Come in.” The grin on Finney’s face should have been the first warning as Nicki strode into the room.

  Why was Finney so happy?

  Then the other man turned around, and she met the dark and enigmatic gaze of Steven Smith.

  “Mr. Chasen, I’d like you to meet my executive assistant, Nicki Baldwin.”

  Her knees nearly buckled and she grabbed the end of the desk for support.

  “Nicki, I’m sure you’ve heard of S. Thomas Chasen.”

  She swallowed hard but refused to falter again. “Who hasn’t?” she quipped. Nicki offered him her hand and delivered a firm handshake.

  His brows rose slightly and he looked down at his hand as he withdrew it. Yes, she’d like to break a bone or possibly two.

  When he turned to Finney, she allowed herself to inspect the man in front of her. His hair was short and styled though free of product. The charcoal gray suit and navy tie only served to enhance the aura of power and command that one of the richest men in the country carried with him.

  But what took away her breath was his face without the beard. Though he’d no doubt shaved, his face was shadowed with a dark stubble that served to frame his cheekbones and chin and emphasize his full lips.

  Clean-shaven, he was eve
n more dangerous than she could have imagined. Nicki glanced away.

  “Ms. Baldwin and I have met,” he smoothly inserted.

  “Oh?” Finney waved a hand indicating Nicki should sit.

  She did, though she moved her chair inches farther away from Steve. Or was it S. Thomas, now? Well, whoever he was.

  And whoever he was had certainly done his best to fool her. Fortunately, her father had gifted her with another talent. The ability to smell a scam a mile away.

  “Mr. Chasen has brought us an opportunity.”

  “Has he?” Nicki returned.

  “The Cappuccino Junction project we’ve been working on has been moved.”

  “Moved?” Nicki blinked. “Moved how?”

  “Mr. Chasen’s team has persuaded them to utilize an available property five blocks over. The property has the advantage of ample parking and room for a drive through.”

  “What will happen to the current location that is under construction?’

  Steve turned to her. “I’ve purchased it. And three other properties on either side.”

  “Why he now owns almost the entire block.”

  This time it was Nicki who raised her brows. “W-why?” she stuttered.

  “Because I believe in that neighborhood and I’d like to be part of the revitalization of the area.”

  She could only stare at him, the last words they’d spoken only a little more than twenty-four hours ago ringing in her ears.

  “Good for you, Mr. Chasen.” She stood. “Now, gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Nicki, wait,” Finney blustered. “Wait right there. Where are you going? We haven’t even gotten to the good part.”

  The good part?

  “Please, give me a chance to finish,” Steve said, his voice soft with entreaty.

  She eased back down to the chair and smoothed her skirt, staring at the ugly and no doubt expensive painting on Finney’s wall.

  “I’d like you to manage the concierge services for the properties. Get us the right projects, the perfect fit for the neighborhood, and see those developments through.”

  “I’m not sure I’m qualified...” She raised a hand in gesture and then dropped it to her lap.