“I don’t want Alvin to overhear this conversation.” She glances over her shoulder at her son’s closed bedroom door. “Imagine you’re an almost ten-year-old kid and your father can only carve out two days a month for you.”
I can’t imagine it. I don’t want Alvin to live it, but his dad is a truck driver. He’s on the road constantly to help put food on the kitchen table in this two-bedroom house in Queens.
Phoebe was pregnant before she graduated from high school. Monte never wavered in his commitment to her and their baby.
They got married at city hall, Phoebe pushed back her college start date by a semester and with the help of Monte’s family, they flourished.
I wasn’t around.
I was in Europe studying piano and cello. That morphed into a passion for conducting which took me on a whirlwind tour of the globe.
I offered my support in the form of birthday and Christmas gifts sent from wherever I was.
Getting to know my nephew is my priority now that I’m renting an apartment in Manhattan.
“Monte isn’t sure he’ll make it back in time for Alvin’s birthday next week.” She twirls a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. “I convinced Alvin to invite a few of his friends from school over for pizza and birthday cake, but he’s going to be heartbroken if his dad doesn’t show.”
I don’t blame the kid.
“It’s a week from tomorrow. You’ll be here, right?” Her blue eyes latch onto mine. “You’re Alvin’s hero, Alex. He’s named after you.”
I laugh. “Monte told me you named him after me and his oldest brother, Vincent.”
“Since when do you listen to my husband,” she scoffs. “Alvin looks up to you. You’re the reason he loves playing piano.”
“He hates playing piano.”
“He hates it this week,” she clarifies with a smile. “How can piano compete with baseball when his favorite team is headed to the World Series?”
I scrub my hands over my face. I don’t need the reminder that my nephew loves the game and the pitcher who won the series last year.
An autographed Trey Hale jersey was up for auction last week at a charity event I attended. I outbid every other person in the room. Even if the money hadn’t been going to a worthwhile cause, I would have paid whatever it took to get my hands on it.
Alvin worships Hale and the jersey was supposed to be the first gift I’ve ever given my nephew face-to-face.
That plan was screwed up by my need to fuck a random woman last night.
Phoebe and I both turn at the sound of Alvin’s bedroom door opening. “Mom, I’m done my homework. I’ll load the dishwasher and then can I play a video game?”
“I still can’t believe you sent him to do his homework after dinner. He had all weekend to get it done.” I stand and grab my empty plate. “You’re a hard-ass.”
Alvin picks up Phoebe’s plate and his. He looks up at me. “You have no idea, Alex.”
Alex. I’ve always been Alex to this kid. The uncle designation is reserved for Monte’s brothers. They’ve been in his life from day one.
“You’ll fill me in sometime.” I nod toward the kitchen. “Let’s get the dishes done so you’ll have more time before bed to battle whatever demon is in your game.”
“It’s not a demon.” He moves to walk in front of me. “I’m more into strategy games. I like things that challenge me.”
So do I.
That’s why I’ve been thinking about the woman from the lingerie store.
Olivia Hull is beautiful and gutsy. The no-nonsense approach she took with me was as much of a turn-on as an annoyance.
I’ll take her advice and head back to the club where I met the woman I fucked last night. I hope to hell I’ll have the Hale jersey back in my hand before this day is over.
***
“This was your idea, Alexander.” Jack Pearce looks down at the watch on his wrist. “You’re late.”
Tossing my friend a smile, I pat him on the back. “I was in Queens having dinner with my sister and her son.”
He hands me a bottle of imported beer as I take a seat next to him. “I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
I’m grateful.
After I hopped on the subway and made it back to Manhattan, I hit up my place for a shower and change of clothes.
I traded the black dress pants and white button-down shirt for a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater.
Jack’s dressed in a two-piece gray suit and white dress shirt. It’s his standard attire on any given weekday.
He’s sporting a light growth of beard and his black hair is in need of a cut. His green eyes are zeroed in on my face.
He looks like he could use a visit to a barber and some sleep.
The man manages other people’s fortunes and as long as I’ve known him, his job is his life.
He’s on call twenty-four seven for all of his clients. I count myself among them.
We started as friends back in college and when I tasted success, it was Jack I turned to for guidance. He keeps my finances healthy so I can focus on building my career.
“I read your text.” He shakes his head as he surveys the packed dance floor. “Let me get the facts straight.”
I take a pull of the beer, knowing that he’s going to offer advice I haven’t asked for.
“You met a woman at this club last night. You took her home and fucked her. When you dozed off she left without her panties, but not before she helped herself to a baseball jersey you left in plain sight.”
I tip my bottle of beer in the air. “That sums it up.”
His gaze darts from the dance floor back to me. We’re in a private VIP area that Jack has access to. Last night I was on my own. I knew what I wanted so my time spent in the club was limited to just shy of thirty minutes.
That’s all it took for me to find a willing, unattached blonde.
“I take it the police aren’t working hard on the case?”
“I see no reason to involve them.” I wave away the idea with a brush of my hand in the air.
He lets out a laugh. “It’s their job.”
“I’m not saying that something like this would draw the interest of the press, Jack.” I take a drink. “It’s a stolen baseball jersey, not a Rolex, but I don’t want any unnecessary publicity before…”
“Before you take the stage next month?” He arches a dark brow. “I get it. You’re trying to keep a low profile.”
I pause. “Chances are the jersey will show up on an online auction site or at a pawn shop. I don’t have time to hunt it down. I’m here tonight to see if the woman I took home last night shows. If she does, I’ll convince her to give it back if she still has it.”
“Or she’ll convince you to buy it back for the right price.” He looks over at the dance floor again. “Give me a description of her.”
“She’s in her early thirties, maybe five-foot-four or five, blonde hair halfway down her back, brown eyes.” I close my eyes in an attempt to stir my memory. “She has a tattoo on her left wrist. I think it’s an arrow.”
“I can work with that.” He pushes up from the bar stool and buttons his suit jacket. “Let’s divide and conquer. If your little thief is here, we’ll find her.”
Chapter 4
Olivia
I step into my cousin Trey’s loft and freeze.
I saw this place when he first bought it a year ago. Back then it was one big space with exposed brick walls and overhead wooden beams.
When he came over to my apartment one Saturday afternoon during the off-season, I forced him to watch a marathon of home improvement and design shows with me in the hope that he’d get inspired and transform his empty loft into a home.
He did.
The loft now has defined areas, including a massive chef’s kitchen, a living room with a gas fireplace and what I presume to be a large master suite down a wide hallway.
It’s decorated tastefully in earthy masculine tones, unlike the
eclectic mix of antique and thrift store finds that I’ve furnished my apartment with.
“You’re here.” Trey shuts the door behind me. “How’s my favorite cousin?”
I sigh when he pulls me into a tight embrace.
He’s always been more like a brother to me than a cousin. Our mothers are sisters and we grew up spending every vacation together.
I pull back and look up into his dark eyes. “I’m good. What about you? You’re the one who is balancing the hopes of an entire city on your shoulders.”
“I play the best game I can every time. With any luck, we win some.” He laughs as he motions toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab you a can of that soda you like.”
I’m touched that he remembers. “I didn’t take you away from anything important, did I?”
He glances back at me as he pours the soda into a tall glass. “I had practice this morning. I’m going over a few things with my agent this afternoon, but he’s in the office on a call.”
He points toward the hallway.
I glance in that direction as I curl my hand around the glass. “I hope you know that I wouldn’t have asked for you to sign a jersey for just anyone, but as I said on the phone last night, it’s for a ten-year-old boy.”
I called Trey before Kate left my apartment.
I explained that I briefly met someone who had one of his autographed jerseys, but it had been stolen. Before I could get another word out, Trey told me to stop by this afternoon to pick up a replacement.
“I’m happy to help out, Olivia.” He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans to tug out his cell phone. “My mom sent me a picture this morning.”
I smile when he turns the phone around. It’s a picture of our moms on a beach in Hawaii. They bought a timeshare on Maui a few years ago and they take advantage of it as often as they can in the fall and winter.
The rest of their time is spent in a condo in Boston.
Both of our moms are widowed and their shared grief forged a close bond between the two of them.
I don’t remember my dad since he died before my fifth birthday, but Trey’s dad was a driving force in my life until he passed ten years ago.
“Look how tanned they are.” I laugh. “They’re living their best lives right now.”
“As they should.” He leans his forearms on the kitchen island. “Are you living your best life?”
I pull on the arm of my off-the-shoulder gray sweater. I slid it on after my yoga class ended thirty minutes ago.
I thought about going home to shower and change into something more presentable than the fraying sweater and gray yoga pants I’m wearing, but Trey has seen me at my absolute worst. I knew he wouldn’t care what I look like.
“Hale.” A man’s voice calls from behind me. “You didn’t tell me that we were expecting company.”
I turn to the sight of a gray-haired man dressed in navy blue slacks and a light blue V-neck sweater. Silver rimmed eyeglasses sit on his nose.
“This is my cousin.” Trey drops a hand on my shoulder. “Olivia, this is my agent.”
“Buck Remsen.” The man pushes a hand at me. “I finally get to meet the Olivia Hull.”
I take his hand for a quick shake before I gaze back at Trey. “The Olivia Hull?”
My cousin rakes a hand through his hair. It’s the same shade as mine. “I talk about you from time-to-time. All good things, Livi.”
I smile at the nickname his dad gave me with when we were kids.
“From what I’ve heard, you’re the one who coached him to be the player that he is today,” Buck says with a gleam in his eye.
I toss my head back in laughter.
“Don’t laugh, Olivia.” Trey chuckles. “You were the only person who would stand at home plate so I could practice pitching.”
“You were seven and I was five.” I hold up my hand, wiggling my fingers. “To be clear, Trey, I’d never do it now.”
“Neither would I.” Buck opens the fridge and takes out a bottle of water. “I want to see my next birthday, so I’m never getting in front of one of your curve balls.”
“Olivia is here to pick up the jersey I signed earlier.” Trey rounds the island I’m standing next to.
“For the kid?” Buck takes a swallow of water. “I was on the phone just now arranging club seats for game one of the series for him and a guest. We’ll have a gift pack waiting there for him.”
“A gift pack?” I ask, looking at Buck.
“The autographed jersey and a ball signed by the team.” Buck smiles, tugging a phone from the pocket of his jacket. “We’ll throw in a cap and a varsity jacket. This kid is going to have a birthday he’ll never forget.”
This goes above and beyond what I requested. “I don’t know what to say.”
“What’s the boy’s name?” Buck’s gaze drops to his phone. “We’ll give him a Hale jersey, but we’ll personalize the jacket for him.”
“I don’t know his name,” I confess softly. “I know his uncle’s name. He’s the one who had his autographed jersey stolen.”
“What’s the uncle’s name?” Trey asks.
“Alexander Donato,” I answer quickly.
Buck’s head pops up, his brown eyes searching my face. “The conductor? It’s his nephew?”
I nod.
“Who?” Trey’s brow furrows. “I’ve never heard the name before.”
“Learn it quick.” Buck’s mouth slides into a wide smile. “You’re going to do a meet and greet with Donato and his nephew before the big game and with any luck, a video capture of that will go viral.”
Shit. My well-intentioned gesture is turning into a publicity stunt.
“When you talk to Alexander about this, can you give him my number?” Buck holds up his phone. “Trey will text it to you.”
Trey’s fingers tap out something on his phone before mine buzzes.
I look down at it and the New York based number my cousin just texted me.
Sucking in a deep breath, I lower myself onto one of the stools next to the island. “I’d prefer if Alexander didn’t know I was involved in any of this. Is there a way we can do that?”
“She’s humble.” Trey looks back and forth between Buck and me. “Olivia has never been one to shine a spotlight on herself.”
It’s a welcome compliment, but it has nothing to do with my desire to stay out of this. I don’t want Alexander Donato to know that I went to any trouble for him. He strikes me as the type of man who would misinterpret a helping hand for something more.
I don’t need him to jump to any conclusions about my good intentions or me.
All I wanted was an autographed jersey to replace the one his one-night stand ran off with.
I was going to shove it in a plain envelope, address it to him in care of the Philharmonic, and mail it to their administrative office.
That was before it turned into a baseball lover’s dream gift.
Buck stares at me. “I’ll have my assistant take care of all of it. She’ll never bring your name into it.”
“Thank you.” I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank you both for everything.”
Chapter 5
Alexander
“Is this a joke?” I stare at the tall blonde woman standing in front of me. “Who the hell sent you here?”
“I’m not joking,” she says, her voice trembling. “I told you that my boss, Buck Remsen, asked me to contact you. He represents Trey Hale.”
I didn’t believe it the first time she said it, and I sure as hell don’t believe it now.
This woman tapped on my shoulder as I was waiting for my double shot of espresso at a café around the corner from my apartment.
I skimmed her face and the light blue sweater dress she’s wearing trying to jog my memory into giving me a name. Her name.
I assumed I’d met her at some point in the past, but as soon as she started talking, I realized that I’d never seen her before.
She introduced herself as Melody something-or
-other. I didn’t catch her surname because the barista barked out “Alex” and I reached for my order.
Melody went on to explain that she had a surprise for me.
I waited with baited breath and raised brows for her to continue.
She tripped over her own words as she spit out that her boss arranged for a day at the ballpark for my nephew. I didn’t hear anything after she said that she heard that my Trey Hale jersey was stolen and that a guy named Buck wants to replace it. She mentioned tickets to a game and a personalized baseball jacket. If this is legitimate, it’s going to paste a permanent smile on Alvin’s face and cement my position as the best uncle who ever lived.
“I left two messages with your manager yesterday.” Melody sighs. “You’re a tough man to get in touch with, Mr. Donato.”
That’s by design.
I’m glad to hear that Vito, my manager, is doing his job and acting as a buffer between anyone I don’t personally know and me.
I sip the coffee, debating whether or not Melody is indeed here to offer me the experience of a lifetime for Alvin, or if she’s a friend of the thief who stole my jersey. Given the proximity of this café to my apartment, I can’t be sure.
I’ve been irritated since Jack and I came up empty at the club on Friday night. I’ve spent the three days since immersed in work, while Jack hit up every store in the five boroughs that sells sports memorabilia. I didn’t ask him to search for the stolen jersey, but he knows how much my nephew means to me. Unfortunately, he struck out.
The blonde clears her throat, so I face her. “How did you find me?”
Her gaze darts to the line of people waiting to place their orders. “I joined your online fan club yesterday morning. I read through every post.”
I know a fan club exists. I’ve never taken a look at it. I focus on the job, and the benefits that come with it, which often includes the company of a beautiful woman for a night.
Beyond that, I don’t give a fuck what people are saying about me. I grew a thick skin after my first solo cello performance in Berlin years ago. The reviews tore me to shreds. I trashed my dressing room, downed a bottle of whiskey and vowed never to let another person’s opinion impact my craft again.
Lace Page 2