by Lyz Kelley
“How do you know my name?” She eyed the trowel just out of reach. “Leave. Now. Or I’ll have my attack dog bite your balls off. Brutus, come.” she called, her voice shrill.
Disappointment settled in his gut.
How were the women of this shelter ever going to trust men when the owner didn’t? He let the sun soak into his skin. “Brutus is busy at the moment keeping a little girl company while she takes a bath.” He glanced around the rooftop. “It’s a good day for gardening. Did you see the rot on your peppers? I bet there’s too much nitrogen in the soil. May I help?” he asked, testing her. Pushing her to see her reaction.
“Please leave.” She gathered the trembling woman to her side.
He dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. He’d anticipated her reaction, but hoped for more. “Have a nice day, ladies.”
He retreated toward the stairwell and paused on the last couple of steps before entering the kitchen. The tempting smell of tuna and onions reminded him he’d missed breakfast.
A clearing of the throat announced his presence to Mrs. Borum and the lady she supervised. “Ms. Valerie, it’s time for me to go.”
She glanced past his shoulder, a tiny frown line between her eyebrows. “So soon?”
“Afraid so.” He massaged the tension at the base of his skull. “I promised my sister I’d bring her a bag of bialys, and I’d better get them while they’re still fresh or she’ll give me a good ear-twisting.”
“Why don’t you stay for lunch? I can answer any questions you might have about the shelter.” Valerie gently took the knife out of the young girl’s white-knuckled hand and set it aside, out of harm’s reach.
The paralyzing fear in the middle-aged woman’s eyes heightened his awareness. A wave of sadness washed over him. “Thanks for the offer. Can I take a rain check?”
“Any time.” Valerie moved around the counter. “Will I see you at the fall job fair?”
“Possibly. The Carver International recruiting team will be there for sure.” His family sponsored the fair, but only a handful of people were aware of his involvement. He liked the anonymity, and worked hard to keep both his business and personal lives private. “We’re always looking for talent.”
Valerie wiped her hands on a gray and white cloth towel. “Good to see you, Mr. Carver. Real good.”
“Have fun baking cookies,” he winked and retreated out the front door.
Once outside he made sure the door was secured, and then trotted down the cement stairs to take an immediate right, heading toward Grand street.
He let the visual and audial chaos of the Lower East Side settle into his bones while he worked to tuck the image of the slender backside and ferocious gaze of Courtney Kramer neatly away.
Yet he could easily see her face on one of the multi-colored street art murals with an empowering statement along the lines of women being valuable and powerful. A tickle of happiness made his steps lighter.
Kirsten would have liked that statement. Oh, how I miss you, lady. You were the only one who never demanded anything from me.
He rubbed the empty ache in his chest.
The vegetable stand at the corner again reminded him of the curly brunette on the rooftop tending her crops, and depression settled into his bones. Naturally, as soon as she discovered who he was she’d come find him, because everyone always wanted something from him. It was only a matter of time before she showed up to ask for his money or influence. Not him, just what he could give.
Because he had an overly large bank account, he figured out early that he could ask for anything he wanted. Yet he couldn’t get the one thing he craved: love. The pure kind, with no strings attached. A couple of years ago he stopped trying.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t yet mastered how to live with the loneliness.
Chapter 2
Courtney concentrated on each creaky, narrow, wooden step, careful not to fall headfirst into the kitchen below. She listened for the sound of trouble, but only heard Valerie singing Beautiful One in her impassioned church choir voice. Her friend’s vocals, while magical, did nothing to calm her fears.
“Is that man still here?” She wielded the trowel like a knife, holding it a foot in front of her waist. “He scared the crap out of poor Twilla.” And me.
“Who you talkin’ about?” Valerie looked around the kitchen.
Brutus, who was lying on the floor waiting for a dropped scrap of food, eased back Courtney’s panic lever. She dropped the vegetable bag in the sink. “Twilla suggested I nail him with a beet or two,” She held up the brownish-red orb. “Bonking him over the head with a metal rake might have been the better option. What kind of man would enter a woman’s shelter unannounced?”
“Courtney?” Valerie’s elongation warning made sorting the vegetables Courtney’s new primary concern. “That statement is discriminatory, and besides, you don’t really mean it. You’ve allowed men to stay here a time or two.”
“Yes. You’re right. I shouldn’t judge. My bad.” But the man had startled her and engaged all sorts of emotions.
Thinking back, he’d done nothing to scare her except appear out of thin air and wear pressed jeans. The sharp creases on dark denim made an impression—a negative one. Any man who pressed his jeans was bound to be trouble.
Valerie’s quizzical brow lifted. “Courtney, what happened on the roof?”
“This guy appeared out of nowhere, so I told him to leave.” She propped a fisted hand on her hip. “Don’t tell me you sent him up there.”
“Someone had to appreciate that handsome rear end climbing those stairs. I volunteered.”
Valerie again had a valid point. When Courtney wasn’t threatening him with bodily harm, she had noticed the way his jeans hung on his lean hips…
No. No. No.
What was she thinking?
No. Men. Period.
“Why was he here, anyway?”
“I invited him here to look at what you’ve built, and possibly have some lunch.”
“What? Why?” Courtney waited for a smile, a wink, anything to indicate her mentor and friend was gamin’ her, but then Valerie gave her the infamous eyebrows-high pinched-lips stare.
“You’re serious. That’s insane.”
Valerie waggled a finger in her direction. “Oh, lordy, lordy, lordy. I know you’re passionate about what you do, but you’ve got to stop and measure the intended outcome. You can’t just go around judging people every time someone hits a tender nerve.”
An uneasy feeling swelled in her gut. “Why? Who is he?”
“Does the name Weston Carver ring any bells? One of New York’s most eligible bachelors and a billionaire? The guy on last month’s cover of Entrepreneur? The guy who owns more real estate in New York than Donald Trump?”
“No way.”
“Way. He’s also the guy who anonymously owns and funds all of Empower House’s battered women’s shelters.”
Courtney’s eyes snapped wide open. “Noooo. Really?”
“Yep.”
“Oh. Crap.” She collapsed onto the kitchen stool. “And I told him I was going to have Brutus bite his balls off.”
A crack of laughter exploded, filling the kitchen. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” She slumped in the chair. “This. Is. Not. Good.”
“Nope, but it is mighty funny.”
Valerie retrieved the large steel knife from the wooden block and began slicing onions into tiny cubes. “Last we talked, you were determined to find a buyer for this building. Your goal is to stay here, and not have to move. Weston Carver has enough money to buy three of these buildings. That sum of money wouldn’t even dent his bank account.”
“I got another letter yesterday. The jerkwad building owner refuses to do a rent-to-own deal, and the a-hole bank manager won’t give me a loan to buy it.”
“Not for that sum of money—you don’t have the credit or the asset security.” Valerie selected a small bowl from the white cupboard and then picked up the c
utting board to slide in the onions.
Courtney whipped around. “You invited Carver here, thinking he might buy this building, didn’t you?”
“You’re a smart lady. I wasn’t sure he’d come, so I didn’t say anything.”
She grabbed the counter to steady herself. “And I blew the meeting by being overprotective and kicking him out.” She huffed out a breath of frustration. “Do you think this Carver guy would buy the building? It’s perfect for a shelter.” She paced from one end of the counter to the other. “I could lease it from him if the rent stays about the same. Then I wouldn’t lose my home or my nonprofit.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” Valerie kept chopping.
“Would you give me his number? I’ll call him. Ask him if he’ll buy the building.” She grabbed another beet to scrub. A shivering excitement ran up her arms. “I wonder if he’d be interested in my expansion proposal.” Although whether or not Valerie said he’d be interested, or not, she’d still ask.
A soft chuckle made the thoughts whirling around in her mind stop.
Her friend’s shoulders shook as she hooted and slapped her knee. “You have a lot to learn about billionaires, my dear. Specifically, Weston Carver. He’s no ordinary man. He’s one of a kind, and very busy. Holding his attention for more than a nanosecond isn’t easy. If I were you, I would wipe that dirt smudge off your face, put on your tennies, and run after him. He said something about picking up bialys for his sister.”
“You think I could catch him?”
“You won’t know until you try.”
Courtney grabbed a dishtowel, wiped the side of her face, and then gave Valerie a kiss on the cheek. “Thanks. I owe you.” She ran down the hall, stopping only long enough to change into outdoor shoes.
Racing down to Grant Street toward the only Jewish bakery in the area that made bialys, she sped through her mental files of recent presentations and discussions, trying to find the perfect thing to say. She was so busy working her way down the list of possible one-liners, she almost missed the glimpse of his profile in her favorite trendy Greek restaurant.
She backed up a few steps, pressed through the throng of waiting people, and then breezed past the hostess desk, turning left. She was so focused on her main target, she didn’t see the additional two diners at the small table edged against the exposed brick wall—until it was too late.
His glacier blue eyes turned her way.
“Hey,” she panted, giving a tentative wave, then shifting from foot to foot. Her instincts said run, but her passion for helping the women of New York wouldn’t allow her to escape. Besides, running away from anything wasn’t her style, and she was desperate to save her business.
“I um…I ah...came to apologize.” She shrugged. “Well, not really apologize. Technically, you did arrive unannounced, and we have a procedure for visitors, but never mind. I was wondering if you’d like to come back. I’ll give you a guided tour.”
“Weren’t you just there?” the beef castle sitting across from Carver asked.
“And what’s with the lame apology?” the woman sitting next to beef castle snapped.
Weston Carver held up his hand, traffic cop-style, to stop the conversation. The arrogant bastard. Just because he was loaded didn’t mean he should be allowed to control everything.
She would have defied his silencing order if she’d been able to come up with something brilliant to say.
Carver gestured across the table. “Mike and Haley Nobel, this is Courtney Kramer, the woman I was just telling you about.”
You were talking about me? What were you saying?
“Ms. Kramer,” Mike grabbed the brim of his ball cap in greeting, while Haley looked less than impressed.
A chill ran down Courtney’s spine from the shade being tossed her way.
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to discuss business.” She pointed over her shoulder and took a step back. “Sorry to have interrupted your lunch.”
“Ms. Kramer.” Carver took his time sliding the lunch menu onto the table. “You came here today for something. What is it you want?”
“I want you to buy my building. Moving all the women and children to a new place would be a pain. Plus, I would like funding for my expansion plan… Oh, and world peace,” she added just for fun, hoping to earn a positive response.
His expression remained a million miles away from happy.
“Is that all?” He continued to watch and wait.
“Yes.” She crammed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. “Pretty much in that order.” She managed to settle her tone into a more serious range.
Damn. Those blue eyes were mesmerizing and made her want to find out the secrets behind his glacier mask. But one fact remained—he was rich. Filthy rich. And that meant he liked to wield his power. Control. Conquer. And she wouldn’t go there, ever again.
She wasn’t a prize to be won—a prize to be used in any way he wanted.
She was about to tell him she needed to run when his eyes softened into beckoning pools of deep blue. The expression reminded her of Sam, a little boy who stayed at the shelter last year.
Sam had so many layers of guilt and fear and anger piled one on top of the other that he had a hard time expressing his feelings, but his eyes told his story, just like Mr. Carver was revealing his life-history without knowing.
“I’m afraid my calendar is booked the rest of the day. Why don’t you call my office? My secretary will find time on my calendar for us to meet again.”
“Is this a blowoff, Mr. Carver, or will you really make time to see me?”
Mr. Beef Castle covered his mouth to hide his snicker. His wife doubled-down on her previous sneer.
Carver dropped his forearm to the table, pumping his fingers in and out, confirming that he was just as annoyed with her as she suspected. “I don’t blow people off, Ms. Kramer.”
“Look, I know you fund the Empower House, so I thought—”
“Aaannnnnd, she digs herself a deeper hole,” Beef Castle muttered.
Carver glanced around to the nearest tables and then turned his steel-hardened stare her way. “Ms. Kramer. This conversation is over.”
Oops. He probably didn’t want that news bite out in public. Valerie did say he was the anonymous Empower House donor.
Courtney crossed her arms, taking a wider stance, ready to do battle. “Your money wouldn’t be wasted.” She pressed her point with passion, emphasizing each important word. “I protect a lot of bruised, battered, and frightened women, and help them and their kids get back on their feet, Mr. Carver.”
“And so do a lot of other shelters in this city,” Carver challenged.
“Yes, but my success rate is higher. And, I have fewer repeats, AND, I help more women and children with less money.”
The pulse on his neck throbbed, but the rest of him remained still, like a cat ready to pounce. Seconds passed. Then he pulled out a business card and a gold fountain pen to scribble something on the back of the embossed, cream-colored card.
The thrill of victory tingled up her arms and through her chest. Statistics and money, he understood.
She stifled her victory dance, allowing herself only a slight grin.
Winning the initial battle wasn’t winning the war. But she would eventually. She’d keep pushing and pushing, because her work, her life’s passion drove her to succeed.
He held out his business card. “I’ll help you, with one condition.”
Her victory smile drooped. She accepted the card and read his scribbled note. “Is this some kind of joke? You want me to work for you?”
“If you’re as good as you say you are, I want you to prove it.”
Her chin raised a half an inch. “And if I refuse?”
He shrugged. “My guess is you’ll lose your business. Where else are you going to get that type of funding in such a short period of time?”
She rubbed the ache in her temple. “I think you underestimate me, Mr. Carver. I’ll find the money.”
“I hope you do, Ms. Kramer. This city needs people like you.”
“You mean people who actually do the hard work, get their hands dirty, and work sixteen hours or more a day?”
“Might I suggest, Ms. Kramer”—his eyes had darkened several shades—“that you learn to think before you speak. Humility gets a person much further in life.”
“You arrogant man, I’ll show you humility,” she mumbled, and then spun around so fast she bumped into a waiter.
Two blocks away she finally took the time to glance down.
Splotches of red wine covered the front of her favorite white shirt—scratch that—former favorite white shirt. She grabbed the nearest metal stair railing and slumped onto the lower step.
That bastard. He had more than his fair share of money. Why wouldn’t he share? Why couldn’t he see the pain and suffering?
She lifted the business card into the bright sunlight, her hands shaking. The handwritten message on the card was messy yet elegant, defiant yet orderly.
Was the universe punishing her? Testing her limits?
It didn’t matter anyway, because one thing was sure. She would not, under any circumstances, take the job of managing director for Empower House Network.
“That was entertaining,” Haley Nobel leaned in and rested her elbows on the table. “What did you offer her that made her so mad?”
Weston watched the proud, spunky, beautiful woman wend her way past people crowding the restaurant and then thunder down the street.
Three years ago he’d been that reckless and driven, challenging his parents, teachers, friends, but that irresponsible behavior came to an end after Kirsten triggered a startling awareness of his selfishness.
He forced the bleak memories back and turned to Haley, a trusted friend and computer geek extraordinaire. “I understand it’s yours and Mike’s job to keep wackos from shooting me, but you don’t need to protect me from Courtney Kramer. I can see hurt in her eyes. Someone’s busted her up. She’s not the type who will hurt someone else.”
