by Lorin Grace
Colin thought he was doing an excellent job of balancing his normal activities and overseeing the warehouse transformation until Daniel called him on it Thursday morning.
“I thought as the new dad I was the one supposed to resemble a zombie. What’s up?” Daniel sat in his usual chair for their weekly meeting.
Not knowing how much his business partner would tell his wife, Colin answered carefully. “I’m collaborating with Nick on a personal project, and I guess I got too obsessive on my end.”
Daniel studied Colin for an uncomfortable minute. “Nick mostly does real estate, not tech. What could you be partnering on?”
“It is one of his Do-Gooding things. He needed a state-of-the-art space to renovate an antique merry-go-round, and I have the one I built as a test project. It’s more of a collaboration.”
“And nothing else? A warehouse doesn’t explain why you left New York early or moved the app to testing.”
Hiding the truth from Daniel was as impossible as keeping the specs on his latest tech from his competitors the week before launch. Colin rubbed his forehead. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not one word outside of this room, especially to your wife.”
Daniel raised a brow. “You know there isn’t much I would keep from her.”
“She can’t know.”
“Fine. Our secret—unless it is illegal.”
“Not illegal. Nick is going to hire Candace to work on the restoration of this old merry-go-round so she will move up to Chicago.”
“And why would this be a secret? Won’t Candace know she is being hired?”
“Nick is doing it for me. I want to spend more time with Candace.” His face heated.
A smile filled Daniel’s face. “It’s about time. You have our support.”
“You can’t tell Mandy. If Candace realizes we made up the entire job just so she would move here . . . well, you know how she can get.” Colin thought of the protest against Daniel selling his grandfather’s mansion Candace had spearheaded. Her passion for correcting wrongs was one of the things he adored about her. The most significant risk of project Merry-Go-Round was that she would see through the con and end it.
“I won’t tell Mandy, but I may suggest a double date or two. We could even have to back out at the last minute if it would help.” Daniel’s idea had some merit. A couple double dates might help. “However, this not telling Mandy goes two ways. I won’t break any confidences she shares with me about Candace.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. Now, how do you think the new trade deal will affect our interests in Canada?” Colin ignored Daniel’s knowing grin at the change of subject.
six
Candace didn’t recognize the New York number. Assuming the call was either Tessa or Zoe calling about the 9/11 ceremony, she answered. The deep voice on the other end was unfamiliar.
“Candace Wilson? This is Nick Gooding. Do you have a few minutes?”
If she didn’t, she would have made time just out of curiosity. “I have time. I’m between projects.” Days in between, but he didn’t need to know that.
“Colin gave me your number. I have a project, and I understand you might be the artist I need.”
More curious. “What type of project?”
“A couple years ago I purchased an old carousel with the idea of fixing it up and donating it to a park for children with special needs. However, the project fell apart, and I want to do something with it, although I am not yet sure what that will be. I am afraid it isn’t good for it to just sit in storage, so now is the time to move forward. I’ve had a couple of restoration specialists repairing the mechanisms and broken animals, but the big problem is the painting.”
“I’ve never done restoration work.”
“I showed Tessa some of the photos. There is a mural on the central tower and operating station, actually two—one upper and one lower.”
“Just a minute. Two levels?” She’d only ever seen one such carousel, and that had been in Portugal.
“A rather rare find. Some of the carousel animals and benches have intricate paintings and designs.”
Candace tried to imagine what the carousel looked like. “I’m intrigued.”
“I can send you the photos I have. The last photos were taken before World War II.”
“Will I need to come to New York?”
“No, the carousel is currently at a warehouse in Chicago. I understand you need air returns and filters better than OSHA requires. The facility has what you need. If something is lacking, I’ll be happy to pay for any upgrades.”
He’d done his homework. Candace couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had a bit of help with the idea. Her list of conspirators was long. Half her roommates could be behind the unexpected offer. “I don’t even know how to bid on such a project.”
“I expect it will take nearly a year to complete, so how about $100,000 plus housing near Mandy and Daniel?”
Thank goodness she wasn’t on a video call. She was sure her mouth was hanging open. “That is more than generous.”
“You don’t need to answer tonight. Take a trip up to Chicago and look over the carousel. Also, if you feel you need to hire some extra hands, I have a budget for that.”
“I’ll drive up in the morning.” She hoped she didn’t sound too eager.
“I was told you might.” Nick chuckled on the other end of the call. “I’ll email you when I have the keypad code to the warehouse.”
“Thanks. I’ll let you know if I’m going take the job after I see the carousel tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Candace. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
He probably assumed she would take the job, and he would be right. Unless she felt it was beyond her skills.
Candace powered up her laptop and started searching for anything that might help her figure out what types of paints restoring an antique carousel might require.
She opened her IM program and messaged Colin.
I’m coming up to Chicago tomorrow to look at a merry-go-round. Do you know anything about that?
It was about three minutes before there was an answer.
—Would that be the one Nick has in one of my warehouses?
In your warehouse?
—A state-of-the-art one that Nick thought would work for this project he has. I knew he needed an artist. I assume he contacted you.
Only if I get to assume you recommended me for the job.
—It may have come up that I happened to know an excellent artist who was looking for a job.
Candace was torn between being thankful and wanting to turn down the job if Colin had gone behind her back to secure it. Desperation outweighed caution. Perhaps this was the corner she’d been searching for. The antique carousel was too tempting. She’d never have another opportunity like this. And maybe she could convince Nick to donate it to a location that would benefit children with cancer.
Let me guess. The apartment Nick offered is in one of your buildings.
—I think the one Abbie used while she was undercover is still available. The Hastings removed all the extra cameras.
That’s in your building, isn’t it?
—Only ten floors below my penthouse. Are you going to be my neighbor?
Maybe.
—See you tomorrow?
Do you want me to drop by the office or something else?
—How about dinner? We can celebrate your new job.
You’re that sure I’ll take it?
—Sure enough I’ve had the apartment cleaned and redecorated.
Candace laughed. She might be roommate-less, but at least she wasn’t friendless.
So is it ready for me to move in?
—As soon as you want to.
I assume yo
u don’t want me painting the walls.
—I think you’ll be busy enough with the horses. But if not, feel free to.
See you tomorrow.
Candace closed up the computer, then packed enough for a couple days. If she was going to close the house for a year, there were a lot of things she needed to come back and take care of on the weekend.
Dinner? Where? He couldn’t just get takeout and eat in the office like they had before. There was that restaurant where Preston proposed to Abbie, but it was a little over the top for this date.
“Sabrina, top five restaurants in Chicago for first dates.”
A computerized voice answered with a list of restaurants that served dates in puddings, pies, salads . . .
Colin rubbed his forehead and groaned. His household AI was not nearly as intelligent as it was artificial. “Sabrina, list of top ten restaurants in Chicago.”
“Italian or Chinese?” the female voice asked.
Knowing the AI would just continue asking questions, Colin pulled out his phone and typed in his request. Within seconds, he had a list of possibilities. He chose one of the midrange restaurants, so not too fancy or over-the-top but something that didn’t shout chain food.
A quick glance at the online menu showed they didn’t serve any weird items.
Colin wondered if he should order flowers. “Sabrina, order a bouquet of flowers. Card to read “Congratulations on your new job” to be delivered to this building at 4:00 p.m.”
“What is my budget?”
He had no idea. He tried to picture the flower shop he walked past occasionally. They often had signs in the windows. “$100.”
“Okay. I have ordered one bouquet to be delivered at 4:00 p.m. Card reads ‘Congratulations.’”
“Sabrina find me something to watch on TV.”
A rerun of an eighties comedy started playing. At least part of her intelligence protocols worked. Colin sat on the couch and ran some tests on his latest app. Halfway through the show, the channel changed and a Hearthfire movie came on.
“Sabrina, why did you change the channel?” Colin glared at the little yellow pyramid that housed her microphone.
“This is a romance based on the troupe ‘friends to lovers.’ It is on your list of research topics. Watch it. You might learn.” The computerized voice’s inflection reflected her sarcasm. It was a bad idea to attempt to program personality.
“Sabrina, remind me to change your humanization coding around line 870.”
“When should I remind you?”
“Sabrina, after the movie is over. And, Sabrina, do not change the channel.”
The movie actually looked promising. The couple shared an interest in computer games. Colin studied the actors, wondering if he’d learned enough to accurately guess when the couple would share their first kiss—a moment in his own life he felt utterly unprepared for.
The movie ended with the couple kissing after a proposal. Sadly, Colin didn’t feel as if he’d learned what he wanted to. Real people couldn’t be as stupid as these characters were. The protagonist had nearly married the wrong guy just because he’d worn a suit. Suits were overrated. He’d take a T-shirt any day. Or a button-up flannel in the winter. The kiss hadn’t taught him anything. The camera zoomed in to catch the triangle path of the guy’s eyes around her face before he touched his lips to hers. She gave a foot pop, something he suspected was all Hollywood.
“Time to change the programming on line 870.”
Colin reached for his laptop. “Sabrina, please power off.”
Three beeps answered him as the AI unit shut down. Colin opened her control program and worked on giving his virtual helper an attitude adjustment. He also adjusted her search-engine feature—although it could be a glitch about what the AI knew about him. Dates with a woman weren’t precisely in the history he had taught Sabrina. But with any luck, the AI would learn all about them very soon.
seven
Most of the carousel pieces remained packed in original wooden crates from the 1940s. In one of the rooms, three people were at work cleaning and restoring an exquisitely carved lion. The female employee nodded at her when she waved, though no one spoke. But then it may have been difficult through the filter masks they wore.
There was a room set up for her to paint in. The artificial light there mimicked natural light better than anything she had ever seen. Colin must have ordered the fixtures especially for her. Nick wouldn’t have known her preferences. She turned on the air-filtration system, and a low hum filled the room. The user manual lay on one of the work tables. It was state-of-the-art hospital-grade filtration that would keep any dust out. Nick had made it very hard to turn down this job—or Colin had.
As she left the warehouse, Candace dialed Nick’s number and got voicemail. “Hi, it’s Candace. I am at the warehouse. Probably not a surprise, but I’ll take the job. Bye.” She hated leaving messages, but texting her new employer seemed too informal.
The early afternoon traffic wasn’t bad, but the congestion of the city would be the worst part of the job. The underground-parking attendant at the apartment building handed her a pass. “Parking space C11. Stop at the security. They have your keys. Have a good evening, Ms. Wilson.” Apparently Colin had been very sure she would take the job.
She pulled the large suitcase from her trunk and wished she had packed more than a couple days’ worth of clothing.
A humongous arrangement of flowers, the type sent to funeral homes, stood next to the security desk. Lavender-and-white gladiolas, mums, and lilies flowed gracefully from the vase. The family of a recently deceased resident must have donated them to the guards.
“Excuse me. I was told I could pick up my keys here?”
A uniformed guard or doorman—Candace wasn’t sure if there was a distinction as she didn’t see a weapon—double-checked his monitor. “Ms. Wilson? May I see your ID?” Again, he must have been expecting her as he knew her name.
Candace handed over her driver’s license. He barely looked at it before handing it back with an electronic key. “I just need you to sign here.” He handed her a tablet she signed with her finger.
The guard took the tablet back. “These flowers are for you. Should I have someone deliver them to your apartment?”
“For me?”
The guard handed her a florist’s card.
Candace opened it.
Congratulations. Colin.
The impersonal computer type lent no warmth to the generic message and funeral display.
Candace started laughing the kind of laugh that usually came at 2:00 a.m. after a week of finals. The kind that didn’t stop easily and brought tears to your eyes. Only Colin could manage to send congratulatory funeral flowers. She caught her breath. “Yes, if you could have someone bring them up.” She tried not to laugh all the way to the elevator. Once inside and alone, she let the laughter bubble out. She started to text the group and realized she had forgotten to take a photo. The text would have to wait.
The apartment looked different than when Abbie had lived there. The ultramodern furniture in the living room had been replaced with softer, more traditional pieces. The bed was made up with only a set of sheets. A gift card to a bed-and-bath store lay were the pillow should be, along with a note.
Extra blankets in the closet. Get something you like. C
The buzzer rang. Candace opened the door, the flower arrangement half obscuring the uniformed delivery man. He set the monstrosity just far enough inside that he could close the door behind him as he left. She tried to move it into the living room and nearly toppled it, sending her into another fit of laughter.
As she collapsed into the comfy chair, her phone rang and Nick’s number flashed on the screen. Candace took several deep breaths before swiping the answer button.
&nbs
p; “Hello?” She heard the laughter in her own voice.
“Candace, are you okay?”
She took a deep breath. “Sorry, Nick. I was laughing when I answered.”
“Well, I’ll just assume you are happy to be working for me.”
“I am.”
“Good. Rick Rosenberg from Rosenberg Restoration is the project manager. He can meet you there at nine tomorrow to go over the project. According to Rick, there are specific paints that should be used. Also, you’ll need to see if you can work with him since he is your real boss.”
“Do you normally get this involved in your projects?”
“This one is special, so I am more involved than usual. Don’t worry, though. I won’t be sticking my nose in too much, and other than when I am already scheduled to be in the area, I won’t be dropping in.”
“Wasn’t exactly worried about that.” If she knew Nick better, Candace would have brought up the subject of her cousin. Zoe’s calls and texts had been too vague on the subject of Nick.
“At the moment I don’t intend to be in the Chicago area until Daniel’s New Year’s party.”
“Hopefully in four months there will be something to show you.”
“I look forward to it.”
The call ended. Candace used her phone to capture a photo of the flowers.
Her thumb hovered over the Send button. The photo was funny, but it might be seen as making fun of Colin. Candace hit the trash icon instead and sent a different message.
Candace: Took the job. Colin sent me flowers to congratulate me.
