Blogger Bundle Volume VI: SB Sarah Selects Books That Rock Her Socks
Page 8
It would have been easier if he’d been a married jackass, fooling around on his wife. Now he was only a very nice man with lonely eyes.
Her Odysseus, always looking toward home.
“I can pull myself from the assignment, Catherine.”
She stood frozen, standing there under the gazebo, holding her umbrella like an idiot. “You’re good at what you do, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” he replied, and she knew he would be. He was perfect at everything he did.
Accounting. Making love.
Mourning.
“Stay,” she told him. “Clear my grandfather.”
“He could be involved. He could be in serious trouble.”
Catherine shook her head. Some things in the world she wouldn’t doubt. Her grandfather was one. “No. You don’t know him.”
“As an auditor, I can’t be seen fraternizing with you personally, only dealing with you professionally. They have rules necessary to maintain the integrity and unbiased nature of the audit. If there’s any doubts about it, they’ll throw all the work out and start over with someone new. It’s not me being rude.”
“We’ve worked with auditors before. Not like this, but I know the drill. No worries here. It’ll only make things easier, won’t it?”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized again.
Catherine managed a polite smile and left.
DANIEL HAD WATER for dinner and not much else. He listened politely as Foster Sykes told a golf story and laughed at the appropriate parts. People handled trouble differently. Some broke down. Some pretended nothing was wrong. And some people looked at him as if he’d stuck a knife between their ribs.
He should have felt relieved after talking to Catherine, but instead all he felt was crap. As he listened purposely to the banter that was a prerequisite for making nice with the client, Daniel ran through all the different ways he could have told her that he couldn’t see her because it wouldn’t be fair.
But she’d beat him to it.
If this hadn’t been a business dinner, he would have ordered a double Jack, straight up, but he was too much of a professional to stay anything other than stone-cold sober.
He could only sit and listen to Charles Montefiore, who had the same owlishly brown eyes as his granddaughter.
And what if the man was fixing the commissions?
In any business, talking to your competitors and conspiring to set prices artificially high was illegal. It didn’t matter if you kept the price of commissions artifically high for one item or ten million items. It didn’t matter if you lined your pockets with an extra ten million dollars in profit, or an extra one dollar in profit. It was illegal, it was irresponsible, and not only could Charles Montefiore go to jail, but it would take years for the auction house to repair its reputation with its customers.
Just one more knife that Daniel could stab his granddaughter with.
Foster cracked another joke, Daniel pretended to laugh and when the server approached again, Daniel ordered a double Jack.
Screw it.
CATHERINE OVERSLEPT the next morning because she had spent the night in front of her computer reading all the moving tributes about the late Michelle Mitchell O’Sullivan. She even found their wedding announcement and read that the bride wore a Vera Wang wedding gown, and the reception had been held at a bar on the West Side.
When Catherine dressed for work, she picked her nicest Badgley Mischka black chiffon dress, which didn’t compare to a Vera Wang bridal gown. But after she stared at herself in the morning, she thought she’d pass.
Not that anyone would be looking.
Sybil and Brittany were in the break room, whispering over coffee, when she walked in.
“Look at you!” Sybil exclaimed. “You must have seen him, I take it?”
“Who?” Catherine asked, pretending ignorance.
“The guy from MBRC, the accounting firm. I think I’m in love.”
Brittany shook her head. “Not me. Definite lust. He’s got a ring.”
“You’re both being ridiculous,” Catherine said with a faux grin, as if she hadn’t spent the night finding out every possible detail of his life.
“I heard he’s not married.”
“Then why the ring?” replied Brittany.
“He’s widowed,” pronounced Sybil, as if this were some state to be desired.
“Oh.” Then Brittany made a face. “Did you ask?”
“I heard one of the board members,” Sybil answered. “If the guy needs help getting over her, I’m available. This place doesn’t provide many opportunities for meeting new men, and I can feel my ovaries hardening.”
“Don’t be crude,” snapped Catherine.
“What’s up with you?” asked Brittany, because Catherine was never rude. Ever.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well.” And she hadn’t. She dreamed most of the night, clutching her pillow as if it had the world’s most perfect shoulders, and smelling sandalwood cologne in her sleep. “I’ll go,” she said. Inside she felt raw and queasy and her mind wasn’t able to focus on anything at all.
“Oh, we’re only kidding,” said Sybil. “I’ll behave if I have to. But only if I have to.”
“I actually have work to do. Don’t tell anybody,” Catherine offered with a weak smile. Then she disappeared.
The e-mail was waiting for her when she came back to her computer.
Come to dinner with me.
Quietly, Catherine rose, closed her door and laid her head down on the desk. Daniel wanted her, he wanted to sleep with her—until he was ready to move on with his life. Catherine would be his transitional person before he found someone new.
Or even worse, she would be his transitional person, and he would never find any woman that matched up to the memory of his wife.
Could Catherine do that, be that transitional person?
No, but she wasn’t strong enough to say no, either.
She took a deep breath, and smoothed the black dress over her thighs because she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life, and she wanted to look nice.
Yes, she typed, and then waited impatiently until she got the reply.
One short line of text.
Bella Cucchina. 7:30.
AT LUNCHTIME Catherine noticed the boxes of documents being carted up to five—her grandfather’s floor. That was where Daniel was. But she didn’t go near him. Her stomach was already cramping up with nerves, and then her mother called thirty minutes later asking her to dinner.
“Sorry, Mother,” she said, declining gracefully. “I’ve got some work to do.”
It was after seven when she closed and locked her office door. There was a reception that night, a preview showing of the highlights of the fall season, but she could duck out without anyone missing her. Concealer worked miracles to cover the dark circles under her eyes. Her hands shook as she applied the lipstick, and she kept telling herself that she was being silly. It was dinner. Nothing more than that.
But the warning bells inside her clanged with ear-splitting intensity—not that she listened.
8
DANIEL’S CELL VIBRATED in his pocket and he answered the call. It was Gabe. A pissy Gabe, but Daniel had expected that.
“I got your message. What does that mean, ‘I’m going to miss the poker game’?”
The poker game was a regular Wednesday-night event. Gabe, Daniel, Sean and Cain had played every Wednesday since…pretty much forever. “I thought it was very clear. I’m going to miss the poker game tonight.”
“Is this some big accounting job? Because this is family. This is important. Where are your priorities?”
Idly, Daniel stared at the gold band on his finger. He couldn’t wear his wedding ring tonight. It was rude to wear a wedding ring to a date. He pulled it off, tried it on his right hand, but it didn’t fit. He couldn’t wear his ring. He’d have to keep it in his pocket.
“You’re only after my money,” Daniel answered, frowning.
“I’ll be there next week. Swear.”
“Why not tonight?”
“I’ve got a new assignment for work. It’s keeping me busy,” said Daniel, thumbing through the last two years’ worth of Montefiore’s financial statements. Who knew there was this much money in old furniture?
“Claudia called the bar last night looking for you. She said she’d left you a message at your apartment and on your cell, but you hadn’t called. She was worried.”
Daniel swore under his breath and put the documents aside. Claudia was his mother-in-law. And unlike the other ninety-nine percent of married America, Daniel’s mother-in-law was a sweetheart—so much like her daughter that sometimes it hurt. Normally that wasn’t a problem. Daniel expected the hurt. And he would have rushed to return the phone call, but something about hearing Claudia’s motherly tones made him antsy.
For the last couple of weeks—since the weekend in the Hamptons—he’d avoided calling because he thought she’d be able to hear the shift in his voice, not quite so forlorn, not nearly as sad.
“I was telling Sean that I thought you’d gone drinking, but it’s getting harder to keep quiet, you know? If you need to sit in a bar and get shitfaced, why don’t you come to Prime? At least I’ll know you’re okay, and don’t have to play these guessing games about where I’ll need to rescue my brother next.”
The knife was twisting, but not in the way Gabe thought. Any other time, Gabe would be exactly right. When it was Michelle’s birthday, or their wedding anniversary, or almost any day in September, Daniel would spend his nights out drinking. Sitting alone on an uncomfortable bar stool, chasing whiskey with whiskey because he didn’t want to be at home by himself.
However, Daniel hadn’t done much late-night drinking lately. Lately, he’d been locked in his apartment, having the most vivid, erotic dreams of his life. And absolutely none that involved his wife.
“I’ll call Claudia now,” he said.
“I know sometimes you want to be alone—”
Less than you think.
“But we’re here, too. If you need to talk.”
“Sure thing,” Daniel said in his happiest, most guilt-free voice.
“Have you had any luck on the ring we found in the wall?”
“Not yet. I’ve searched some archives in the Times for those initials, but nothing turned up.”
“You should talk to a jewelry appraiser and see if they can tell you anything about it.”
“Why so much interest in the ring now, Gabe? Weren’t you the one who wanted to keep it?”
“I never said that,” his brother answered defensively.
“You were thinking it.”
“If it’s not spoken aloud, it doesn’t count.”
“God knows. He knows all.” That was why Daniel went to confession once a week, every week. He wanted God—and Michelle—to know that he knew he had broken his wedding vows and messed up.
“Can you keep it shut?” snapped Gabe, who hadn’t been to confession since he was sixteen. “I’m doing the right thing now. Find an appraiser and see what they can tell you about it. There’s got to be jewelry historian people.”
And conveniently, Montefiore must have someone he could hire. “I know just the place,” assured Daniel.
“But you’re still going to miss the poker game tonight?”
“You’ll survive.”
“Probably, but Tessa makes me feel guilty about taking money from Sean. She says he’s too easy of a mark.”
“She only says that because he never put Preparation H in her jockstrap.”
“I told her that. It meant nothing.”
“Women.”
Gabe hesitated. “You’re okay? September starts a week from Wednesday.”
Daniel looked at the date on his watch. He’d almost lost track. Almost. “Can you stop worrying about me?”
“If you’d do something normal, then I’d stop worrying. I’d think, yeah, he’s okay. But you don’t. You have two modes—work-drink or drink-work or work-work-work-drink or dead silence.”
“That’s four modes,” Daniel clarified, because, after all, he did work with numbers for a living. “I have to call Claudia.”
“All right, but if you need anything—”
“Bye,” Daniel said and quickly hung up.
The next phone call was easier than he thought. Claudia’s answering machine kicked in, and he left her a message. The dutiful son-in-law checking in.
After he disconnected, he looked at his watch. Seven-eighteen.
It was too late to turn back now.
Way too late.
THE OFFICE BUILDING that housed Bella Cucchina was all steel and glass, but once you got past the deserted lobby, it was like entering a new world. The tiny Italian bistro had old wooden chairs, waiters with thick, authentic accents, a bottomless bottle of Chianti and Daniel.
Catherine hadn’t intended to drink during dinner, but the conversation was slow and awkward, and Daniel was even more withdrawn than yesterday. If she were chatty and bubbly and vivacious, she probably wouldn’t have been so self-conscious, but Catherine could never think of things to say, or little bon mots to toss out like sparkling confetti…. Still, Daniel didn’t seem to mind.
He would watch her with this look in his eyes. She didn’t think he knew, his gaze dark, hungry and raw, moving over her in quicksilver bursts. Between that and the wine, Catherine tried to uncoil…better able to walk through the fire.
He wore the same suit he’d worn at the office, but somewhere he’d ditched the jacket, and she regretted that he’d taken it off. When he was in a suit, all covered and tidy, he was a different man from the one she’d met on the beach. The man she’d sketched, the man she’d made love to.
His left hand was bare, a white strip of skin visible where his ring usually rested. Right now it was probably sitting at his bedside, ready to be put back on when he got home.
“The wine is very good,” she said, watching him over the rim of her glass.
“Good. When it comes to wine, I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Like art, Montefiore auctioned wines, as well, and Catherine had been to wine tastings and wine classes and knew more than most. “But you do know some. You wouldn’t have chosen a 1997 Sangiovese otherwise.”
“Must have been a lucky guess,” he commented with a shrug.
“I don’t think so. I mean, you do own a bar.” That stopped her. “Tell me again why you own a bar? Everything else makes sense about you, but not that.”
“Family obligations more than anything.”
“Are your parents still alive?”
“No, my mother died after…recently, and my father died when I was in high school. He was never interested in the bar, left my uncle to run the place, while Dad worked as a reporter for the Sun.”
“Did you work there growing up?”
“Some. We all did, but it wasn’t my thing. I’m not meant to be around people like my brothers were. They were happy. I spent a lot time in the basement doing the dishes. I’m a really good dishwasher.”
“I was the cook,” she told him, and for a moment they looked at each other silently across the table.
“Your family didn’t have a cook?” he asked her curiously, and she knew what he was thinking. After seeing the beach house, after seeing the Montefiore financial statements, they could have hired out.
“I was a good cook,” she said more than a little defensively. “And my family has weird ideas about money and responsibility. Mom went to Woodstock. My grandfather is on the top-ten list of donators in the country.”
“Actually, that kinda makes sense.”
“You’ve met them and you think that?” asked Catherine. “Wow.”
“Where’s your father?”
“I never knew him. He died when I was young. It’s just me, my mother and my grandfa
ther. That’s all that’s left of the Montefiores.”
He studied her, not saying anything, and she met his eyes, not looking away. The cool gray darkened two shades to midnight, and her nipples tightened two shades to easy. She didn’t taste her food. Her stomach was too tight. After they ate, the waiter cleared the dishes, and she wondered whether Daniel would stay with her all night. Sadly, that was what she had regressed to. The conversation was slow and stilted, and all she could think of was feeling his body pounding into hers.
Her thighs quivered.
Hussy.
She was ready to get up, to take her tiny bit of pride and leave, when the man at the table next to them began to speak—loudly.
“I’ve had it, Nicole. You’re starting once again. What is it this time? Global warming? Terrorism? Hurricane season getting active?”
“Keep your voice down,” Nicole insisted.
Catherine looked at Daniel. He picked up a cocktail napkin and pen.
Do you want to leave?
Catherine took the pen and was going to answer in the affirmative, but then the man began complaining again. “Why should I? Do you think I care what these people think? In fact, I think they should know what I have to deal with when I’m with you.”
Catherine looked at Daniel and smiled politely. “I’m not ready to leave yet. The food is really good. We should have dessert.”
He nodded.
Just say when.
“When I’m around you, I’m depressed all the time. I want somebody happier. Cheerful. I’m a half-full kind of guy, and you’re the one who says that not only is the glass empty, but the water’s been contaminated by chemical spills, and you’re going to die, so why even try?”
“That’s not true!” the woman yelled back.
Catherine picked up her water glass and sniffed carefully. Daniel saw her, and his mouth cracked into a smile. Shyly she smiled back and took a long drink.
“That’s what I perceive the truth to be, Nicole. It doesn’t matter whether it’s real or not. It’s what I think is real that matters. You don’t listen to me.”