Sapphire Ice: Book 1 in the Jewel Series

by Hallee Bridgeman

  Tony surged out of his chair and paced to a picture hanging on the wall. He stared at a picture of a younger Hank, looking very different in a crisp white uniform, his arm draped across the shoulders of a woman, presumably his wife, standing in front of their restaurant. A banner across the front of the building read “Grand Opening.”

  He put his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I want to buy this place for the reason that I buy anything – because it’s a moneymaking venture. I’m choosing to offer you your asking price for two reasons. First, it is actually a very reasonable asking price, and you could have asked for more. You should have consulted with more people before locking in. Secondly, I like you. I rarely allow emotions to affect business deals, but I do like you, and I figure my offer just might make your retirement sweeter.” He crossed the room and stood near his chair, but didn’t sit. “But I’m not going to play cat and mouse games with anyone. You decide, now or in your own time, but you decide without the games.”

  Hank drew his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “I have a condition that I absolutely will not back away from.”

  Barry uncapped his pen. “What’s that?”

  “You keep my employees, without pay cuts and with similar benefits.”

  “That’s a standard clause. If you’ll see article fifteen of the – ”

  “I don’t need to read it. I’ll take your word.” His eyes cut to Tony but addressed Barry. “Because I’m guessing your word is as good as his.”

  “The bar will be removed. The bartenders will have to be assigned new jobs, and if they choose to quit instead, that will be their choice and not affect the contract.”

  Hank raised an eyebrow. “No bar?”

  Barry answered, thumbing through the stapled contract and marking places requiring his personal touch. “No Viscolli restaurant has a bar. We’re also closed on Sundays in observance of the Sabbath.”

  Hank looked from Barry to Tony. “No kidding?”

  Tony gave a slight nod of his head. Hank continued. “Okay. That’s intriguing.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll sign these papers in two weeks. It will give my lawyer time to go over them, and give my wife time to make sure that it’s what we want to do.”

  Tony held his hand out. “Then we’ll be in touch in two weeks.”

  T was rare for Antonio Viscolli to have an entire afternoon off, alone. It seemed wherever he went, whatever he was doing, business followed, and when business followed, it meant dealing with people: asking, demanding, meeting, negotiating. If it wasn’t a lawyer, it was a secretary. If it wasn’t a secretary, it was a reporter. On and on, constant demands. It wasn’t something he disliked or resented. It was simply his life.

  He woke early to pray and meditate on God, to read his Bible, and to have conversations with his heavenly Father. The opportunity to get away in the daytime, during business hours, was a rare treat.

  After working almost nonstop for months, Tony was exhausted. It was rare for his energy to be so diminished, but when he thought back, it had been more than two years since he’d truly taken any time for himself. The golf game relaxed him a bit, but he needed more. He needed to pour some energy into something, let his body slow down with his mind.

  He needed to sweat.

  He’d taken up rowing because it was something kids with his background didn’t do. It was a sport in which the blue bloods of the country competed, kids in Ivy League schools and their recent graduates. It was one more step away from his childhood, one more step to discard his past. It was also a sport that required no interaction with another human being. His solitude was something that he treasured.

  He let his mind wander as the muscles in his arms worked the oars. Smoothly and cleanly he cut across the water, letting the sun beat down on his head, warming his neck and shoulders. The breeze blew warm, heated by the late summer the state presently enjoyed, and he lifted his face, letting the stress and pressures bleed out of him with each stroke.

  In just two short weeks, he would celebrate his thirty-second birthday. All he had striven to achieve in life had been accomplished and then some. He was very nearly bored. Perhaps it was time he set his sites on something new. Something that didn’t require contracts or negotiations. The water reflected back at him, as blue as a pair of eyes that hadn’t left his mind in nearly twenty-four hours.

  Pushing the thought away, he tried to plan for the coming month. He’d spent almost too much time in Los Angeles, but it had been necessary. It had taken him some time to establish himself in the business, to make sure those he left in charge knew that he, ultimately, was the boss. It hadn’t been easy, but he had friends who helped him out, helped him sort through the lingo and nuances unique to Hollywood. With their continued help his company would provide good, quality, Christian films and television shows, and it would soar.

  Because they all did, all the enterprises he owned. Tony Viscolli insisted on it.

  A bird flew by overhead, hunting fish that were foolish enough to swim close to the surface. He heard it cry out, watched it circle back, then dive down and come up clutching its dinner in its beak. Across the river, he passed a small boat with a father and son fishing. The oars occupied his hands, so he nodded to return their polite wave, glad no words needed exchanging. If envy twisted in his gut at the sight of such a simple father and son outing, he ignored it and pushed the feeling away, focused on something else.

  Women had always thrown themselves at him. He knew he was physically attractive and actually used his looks to his advantage as he scrambled up the ladder of success.

  When it had become necessary, he’d hired consultants and learned how to dress immaculately for whatever the occasion demanded. Learned how to speak without his street accent coming through. Learned what fork to use when, learned how to have polite dinner conversation. He had transformed himself, but his Savior had transformed him even more completely before Tony ever began that process, and Tony admitted that fact and felt humbled by it.

  In the process of his transformation, he met women who, five years before, would have turned their noses up at his offer to clean their toilets. None knew he’d been a street rat, as he’d been called on several occasions. They never saw past the charm, the polish. They never saw the kid who had eaten out of garbage dumpsters when he’d been hungry enough. They saw Antonio Viscolli, a man with money, power, connections, and a bit of danger lurking in the background behind those dark brown eyes.

  Tony enjoyed women, enjoyed being with them, enjoyed entertaining them. He had scores of women across the country he could call on at any time if he wanted a date or a hostess. It was something that was just part of his life, something he never gave much thought. Most didn’t even mind the platonic boundaries of their relationships, always hopeful that he might fall in love and propose, giving away the coveted title of Mrs. Antonio Viscolli.

  This one was different. He didn’t have a finger on it yet. Something about her, something in her, made her different. His attraction to her had been instant and absolute. Was he listening to God’s whispered voice in his ear, or his own human weaknesses? He didn’t know. All he knew was that he must see her again. He felt led to get to know her.

  Pushing all thoughts out of his mind, he concentrated solely on the rhythm of his strokes. Flexing his arms, he cut the oars through the water, sending the boat sleekly across the surface as a trickle of sweat rolled down his back between his shoulder blades.

  HAT insufferable, miserable–. Robin’s hand slapped the side of the wall, cutting off the next words in her mind.

  Robin stood under the weak spray of the shower, wishing that the wall she slapped with her open palm could be him. His face. No, she changed her mind. She wouldn’t give him a full slap on the face. No, she’d curl her hands until her nails would rake some of the handsome off, until they drew blood and left scars.

  The nerve of the man.

  She slopped shampoo into her palm and started the long process of washing her hair.
How dare he? Leaving her a tip under his plate that nearly matched to the penny the tip put on his account that she and ten others split. Who did he think she was? What did he think she was? It seemed like he made it clear what he thought she was, asking what she’d do to keep her job at Hank’s a secret from Benedict’s.

  Oh, and the way that he just smiled that irritatingly polite smile at her through the rest of breakfast. And then there was that stupid trick of the way he held her eyes, giving her the feeling that he wanted to be alone with her in a candlelit room, and the whole time giving some stupid speech about the economic development of Boston. He never even tripped on his words, not when she glared at him, nor when she turned her back on him.

  She scrubbed her scalp until it hurt, then finally took mercy on her poor roots, knowing that the strands were going to have to be bound tightly in a bun for another grueling eight hours.

  She would just put the bills into a little envelope and mail the money right back to him. She didn’t need him or his money.

  She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the tile wall. What she needed was a vacation. “Two more years,” she said out loud, then ducked her head back under the spray to finish washing the suds away.

  Feeling better after pounding the shower wall some more, she sat at her kitchen table, a tuna sandwich and a cup of coffee at her elbow, and figured out her budget. She’d had a good summer, considering the way business declined at Hank’s during the school’s off season. That was a good thing about working two jobs. Without fail, Benedict’s always had a great summer.

  While she had very little money for herself, very little extras, she was able to pay all of the bills without a hitch. She finished balancing her checkbook and found the money that Maxine deposited into her account. She made a note to call the bank and have it transferred. She’d made a vow to do this alone, and she intended to see it through to the end.

  Maxine had tried giving her checks, but eventually quit when Robin kept handing them back to her torn up. She had tried cash, but it kept ending up on her bed. Now she’d resorted to directly depositing the money. Robin simply opened her sister a savings account and had the money transferred as soon as she discovered it.

  It bothered her that she hadn’t been grocery shopping in months, and that was because Maxine beat her to it. If she could take the food back, she would. Of course she couldn’t, so she simply added what she guessed Maxine was spending on the food to the amount that got transferred into the savings account.

  Robin popped a peppermint onto her tongue and looked at the balance in the account. There wasn’t a whole lot left but she would have enough from tonight’s tips to fill her car up with gas. Then she wouldn’t have to worry about anything for another week.

  Just as she finished putting everything away, she heard the apartment door open and close, and watched Sarah come around the corner of the kitchen. She wore a baggy T-shirt that advertised Hank’s and a pair of baggy jeans. She stopped short when she saw Robin sitting at the table.

  “Hey. I expected you to be sleeping.”

  Robin shrugged and sucked on her peppermint. “I guess I’m not used to napping.” She stared at Sarah while the young woman rummaged in the refrigerator and pulled out salad makings. “How did your test go?”

  Sarah groaned as she tore off lettuce leaves and dropped them into a bowl. “Microbiology.” She popped a cherry tomato into her mouth and grinned around the fruit. “But, I think I aced it. Whether or not I’ll remember anything remains to be seen, but at least I got through the exam.”

  “That’s great.” Robin reached across the table and snagged a slice of cucumber from the bowl. “Your dip’s in the fridge.”

  “Thanks, Robin. I appreciate that.”

  The front door opened and shut again. Seconds later, Maxine footed into the kitchen looking as if she were dashing toward an unseen finish line. She wore a plum colored skirt and a white silk blouse, and somehow had all of that hair contained in a stylish twist on the back of her head. Robin thought that the contrast between her two sisters was almost comical.

  “Hi honey, I’m home. What’s for lunch?” she grinned, looking over Sarah’s shoulder. She snagged a slice of carrot from the bowl.

  “If you two want some of this, I can make a bigger salad,” Sarah frowned.

  Robin winked at Maxine and snuck a tomato. “Don’t be silly. We can just eat off of yours.”

  Maxine kicked her heels off, pulled out a chair, and sat down. “You have any meat to go with that?”

  Sarah shuddered. “Do you know the types of hormones and other toxins they pump farm animals full of? How can you eat that?”

  Maxine grinned and snatched a peppermint out of Robin’s tin. “Luckily, I studied mundane things like art and drafting, and have no need for that kind knowledge. And after my double cheeseburger on my way home just now, I must say that ignorance is bliss.” She turned her head and looked at her older sister. “You look tired.”

  “Don’t I always look tired?” She stood and stretched, then threw the checkbook and calculator into a drawer. “I need to get ready to go to Hank’s.” She lifted her hair and let it fall. It was nearly dry. “What are you two doing tonight?”

  Sarah carefully added extra virgin olive oil and a dash of vinegar to her salad. “I have to take that dip out to my parents’. I’ll probably just spend the night there.”

  Maxine propped her feet on the chair Robin had just vacated and grinned. “I am taking the rest of the day off and treating myself to a mini-spa day. I have a hot date.”

  “You always have a hot date.” Sarah grabbed a fork and sat down. “I don’t see how you ever made it through college.”

  “It was definitely a juggling act.” She stood and grabbed a glass out of the drainer on the side of the sink, flicking the faucet handle up, letting cool water fill the glass. “I had to work for this one, though. This guy ignored signals for months. I thought I was going to have to get a neon sign.” She took a long pull of water as she sat back down.

  Robin laughed on her way out of the room. “What? You don’t have one?”

  Maxine leaned the chair back and stuck her head through the doorway. “You’re lucky I already took my shoes off, or I’d be throwing one at you.”

  The sound of Robin’s laughter was muffled as she shut her door. Maxine sighed and looked at Sarah. “I’m getting worried about her.”

  Sarah reached behind her, opened the refrigerator door from her seat, and pulled out a bottle of water. “I don’t think you have to worry about her. She’s strong. Stronger than I could ever hope to be.”

  Maxine frowned. “I don’t know. Every month that passes, she’s losing something.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She shrugged, not really knowing how to word it. She thought about her conversation with Robin the night before. “Her spark for life, maybe.”

  Sarah stared at her while she chewed. She finally swallowed and slowly licked her lips. “Did she ever have one?”

  Maxine looked at a spot above Sarah’s shoulder and slowly nodded. “Yeah. It used to be there. It only showed when she wasn’t paying attention, but it was definitely there.”

  “I think she just works too hard. I wish she’d let me take out a student loan or get a job or something. Anything that would help her out.”

  Maxine snorted. “Good luck trying. But, I think it’s more than that. I can’t quite put my finger on it. When I do, I’ll figure out what to do.”

  Sarah pushed her bowl away and leaned forward. “Can I ask you something?”

  Maxine shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Do you remember that night?”

  A chill skirted up her spine, and the memory assaulted her. Suddenly, she was back in the dark closet, listening to the footsteps of the man coming closer. She shook it off and focused back on Sarah’s face. “Yeah. Why?”

  She looked behind her, then back at Maxine. “I don’t remember any of it. Not even her. Sometimes,
I get little flashes. Why is that? I was nine years old. How can I forget it?”

  Memories crammed into the front of Maxine’s mind. Normally, she kept them pushed so far back that she could go for days without remembering any of it. But like a slide show, they popped in front of her vision, one at a time. The dingy apartments, the smell of burning drugs, the rotten food, the odorous men. Ugh! So many men constantly coming and going.

  She pushed it all away and realized that her hands had started to shake. “Trust me, honey, you don’t want to remember.”

  OBIN entered the lobby of Hotel Viscolli Boston. Green marble, elegant brass, high ceilings, starched uniforms, overstated elegance – it all formed together to one impression in her mind. Wealthy power. She swallowed hard, knowing that her black pants and white shirt, her old ugly clunky shoes and her worn canvas backpack made her look like a waif compared to the coifed, tucked, heeled women gracing the lobby. Steeling her shoulders against the aura of intimidation, she crossed the expanse of the marble foyer and found a smiling, uniformed brunette behind the counter.

  “May I help you?” She singsonged.

  On the wall above her head, scrolling brass read: Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men. Colossians 3:23

  Robin kept from fidgeting. “I’d like to see Mr. Antonio Viscolli, please.”

  The woman gestured with her hand. “Mr. Viscolli’s offices are on the twentieth floor. The elevators are right around that corner there.”

  Robin looked to where she pointed, saw the elevator sign, and looked back to her and said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome,” she said with an impossibly large smile. “Have a wonderful day.”

  Robin lost a little of the confidence she’d stored up to step into the lobby during the elevator ride up. She had almost changed her mind about it when the doors opened. Because a receptionist sitting behind a large half-mooned desk saw her and smiled, Robin felt obligated to step off of the elevator and into the lobby of the office floor. Her feet sank into the lush carpet and her eyes skimmed the leather furniture and black granite tables. While the lobby screamed wealth and power, this floor seemed to radiate it like an actual energy source. Robin’s stomach clenched.