The Schemer

by Avery Flynn

  Play hard, work hard. That was the Frankie Hartigan way.

  “What did your lieutenant say?” Tyler asked.

  “Oh, she huffed and puffed, but as long as we’re shorthanded at the house, then I’m golden.”

  “You know most people want to take a vacation.”

  “Really, and when was the last time you had one?” Frankie asked, nailing him with a don’t-even-bother-to-try-to-lie glare.

  “I’m going to Key West this weekend.” While it wasn’t technically a vacation, it sure would be a definite side benefit. All he had to do to make it worthwhile was keep his blood supply going to his brain instead of his dick—something that was bound to be a challenge around Everly.

  “With the mystery babe?” Frankie asked, ever the optimist.

  “Sort of.”

  Frankie lifted one ginger eyebrow in a nonverbal order to continue.

  And this was the problem with being friends with someone for as long as they’d been friends—you couldn’t lie. It fucking sucked.

  “We’re going down to stay with Alberto on his private island.”

  “‘We’re,’ huh?” He let out a low whistle. “So it’s just a work thing with this chick?”

  How to answer that? By not answering it. “Not exactly.”

  “Devil’s in the details, my man.”

  “No,” Tyler said, pointing a finger at his friend. “The devil’s in a six-foot-six redhead who won’t leave my office so I can get to work.”

  “Touchy today, aren’t you?” Frankie asked with a laugh. “Trust me, get your panties out of a twist, spend some more time with your secret hottie, and you’ll be right as rain.”

  “She doesn’t want to.” Fuck. Since hitting the rewind button on life wasn’t an option, Tyler just braced for the good-natured shit about to rain down on him.

  “Ouch.” Frankie slapped his hand over his cold black heart in mock horror as he stood up. “I’d give you some advice on how to deal with the one who got away, but the ladies always want to spend time with me.”

  “Your day will come.” Now he was sounding like the touchy-feely one, which just went to show how much Everly had fucked him in the head.

  Frankie shrugged. “And I’ll probably lose my hair someday, too, but I’m not worrying about it now.”

  “This explains why you run into burning buildings for a living.”

  “Pure awesomeness?”

  “No.” Tyler shook his head because it was an argument they’d been having since almost the first day they’d met. “A lack of planning.”

  “I leave the schemes up to you.” Frankie headed for the door. “See you at poker night next week?”

  Guilt stuck a knife right in his spleen with a sharp jab that made him flinch. “I don’t know.”

  “You’ve skipped out on the last three. Don’t make me come back into the city just to haul your ass home to Waterbury.”

  And there it was, the fact he could never get away from. Waterbury wasn’t home, hadn’t been for years, and yet that was all anyone saw when they looked at him. For Frankie and the rest of the Hartigans, it wasn’t a bad thing. For a lot of his current and potential clients, it was a reason for hesitation. After all, what could a scrapper from the wrong side of the tracks know about big business? The degrees, the experience, the reputation, none of it seemed to matter as much as his working-class roots. And that’s why he’d stayed away. Judging by the tension in Frankie’s shoulders as if he was bracing himself for another brush-off, Tyler had said no too often. He should say it again, but he didn’t want to. Being around Everly had reminded him of how much of a relief it was to not worry about what everyone else was thinking and just be—and that wasn’t good.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Good.” Frankie grinned. “It’s Fallon’s turn to bring the beer, so keep your delicate beer-snob tendencies on the rich side of the harbor.”

  Tyler flipped off his best friend as the other man walked out of the office, laughing at his own insult, and for the first time since he’d watched Everly strut away from him last night, Tyler felt like the whole world wasn’t a total shit pit. Settling down behind his desk, he opened up the proposal template he’d started for Alberto’s hotel expansion into the United States.

  Tyler knew what the other consultants would be offering: safety, snobbery, and a massive budget. That wasn’t what would be going into his proposal. There was a huge opening for quirky and unique properties at the high end of the boutique hotel market. That’s where Alberto and his board needed to focus for their American expansion. Let the Ritz be the Ritz, but let the Ferranti Hotels be themselves—that was the road to success. All he had to do was secure an appointment to present his vision to Alberto and the board, which he would find a way to do in Key West—no matter how tempting it was to focus on his pain-in-the-ass upstairs neighbor who’d left him sated and slack-jawed with surprise. Definitely not something most people could accomplish.

  …

  Everly was in pink again and walking through the clinical-smelling hallways of the Lakeland Community Center’s dementia wing. There were cries of help coming from Mrs. Gover’s room, but when Everly peeked in she saw the older woman staring at the bare wall opposite her bed as her daughter, Shelby, wrung her hands nearby and tried not to cry. Everly’s heart twisted inside her chest, but she kept walking. She’d been in Shelby’s place before and other than giving the woman a hug when her visit was over, there wasn’t anything she could do. Some days, this was the reality.

  Dementia was a horrible disease, robbing once thriving people of their own selves and locking them behind an impenetrable door in a place and time where no one could reach them. And—for better or worse—sometimes the door cracked open just enough for the person to realize momentarily where and when they were before it smacked shut again. Was that heaven or hell? It was both at the same time, for everyone.

  Pausing outside the door labeled Patrice Ribinski, Everly took a deep breath. There was no knowing which Nunni she’d find on the other side. Smoothing her hair, she took a deep breath, raised her chin, pasted on a smile she hoped passed for authentic, and then she opened the door and walked inside.

  The Nunni of her childhood had been small but bold as bar brass with a quick comment and an iron will. Now, the unbreakable woman from Everly’s memories just looked fragile. Her ebony hair had turned to the color of steel. Her skin had become soft and papery. Her smile—always a little wicked—had gone hazy around the edges. The sound of the opening door had caught her attention, though, and she looked over and smiled.

  “Hey, Nunni.”

  “If it isn’t my little Evie,” she said, her eyes lighting up. “Come give me a hug.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief she didn’t realize she’d been holding, she crossed the room and gave her grandma a careful hug as the older woman sat in the chair next to the window decorated with hanging plastic suncatchers that made the windows look like they’d been made from stained glass. Then, she sat in one of the overstuffed chairs next to Nunni that was motorized to lift the person sitting into a standing position to help those residents in the community who needed some assistance getting up. Photos filled nearly every available flat surface—pictures of Everly as a gap-toothed grade-schooler, her mom laughing in the kitchen, all three of them together, looking ready to take over the world, and so many more.

  Nunni patted Everly’s hand. “I swear, you’re looking more and more like your mother every day.”

  “Thank you.” Maybe it was because she wanted it so badly, but she always saw her mother when she looked in the mirror, and it was something that had felt like a hug from the beyond in those early days after her mother died. “So I saw your friend Bernie the other night when I came over and played bingo after seeing you.”

  “Did you win?”

  Win? With Tyler there, she’d been lucky to find half her numbers. “Not even close.”

  “That’s the way life works.” Nunni gave her a wink. “Y
ou’ll get ’em next time, Evie, you always do.”

  “Are they treating you okay here?” she asked, looking around for any signs that they weren’t. The room was spotless, though, and Nunni’s hair had been recently done, which lessened her anxiety and guilt for coming to visit only a few times a week.

  “I can’t complain,” Nunni said. “There’re movie nights on Tuesday and bingo. Did you know they have a weekly bingo game here?”

  The slip was a gut punch, but Everly couldn’t let it show. “I had heard that.”

  “I wish I could go but the numbers get confusing for me…” Nunni said, her voice trailing off as her gaze dulled and her attention went once more to the window. They sat in silence for a few minutes before her grandma turned back, her attention focused. “I hope you’re not still seeing that man, Melanie.”

  Everly dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand to keep from reacting. Melanie had been her mom’s name. Nunni was again behind that door stuck in a time before Everly was born, revisiting again and again the conversation she’d had with her daughter about Everly’s father. This was her loop, the one she always seemed to return to at an ever-greater frequency. It used to happen only occasionally. Now, more times than not, Nunni looked at Everly and saw only Melanie. Everly losing her mother in one quick instant had been horrible. Letting go of Nunni one millimeter at a time was devastating. However, calling attention to Nunni’s confusion or trying to correct her never had a positive impact, so Everly kept her mouth shut—especially since the parallels between what had happened decades ago and what was happening in her life now were too spot-on to ignore.

  “Men like that may play in Riverside, but they fall in love and marry on the other side of town,” Nunni went on, her fingers picking away at the frayed edge of the blanket draped over one arm of the chair. “A man who only cares about making his mark on the world never cares who he hurts in the process.”

  The air in the room changed around them as Nunni became more obviously frustrated, her hands moving quickly and her gaze darting around the room as if she knew something wasn’t right but couldn’t figure out what.

  Everly covered Nunni’s hands with her own and looked her grandma in the eye. “Don’t worry, I’m not seeing him.”

  “You’re not?” Nunni asked, desperation thick in her tone. “Promise me.”

  “I’m not seeing him.” Everly’s entire body ached with the effort not to give in to the urge to cry or scream out the truth that it was too late because Melanie did keep seeing that man and Everly was the result. And Nunni had been right all along, and he’d abandoned them. “I promise.”

  “Good.” Nunni relaxed against the chair. “I’d hate to see you hurt, Melanie. I love you too much for that.”

  She squeezed her grandma’s hand. “I love you, too.”

  No matter what—no matter if in the end Nunni never saw her again but only her mother—because love was loyalty and always being there for the other person. A light tap on the door drew their attention. One of the nurses stood there with a paper cup of pills.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, but it’s time for your stories, Patrice. Would you like me to turn on the television?”

  “Oh yes,” Nunni said. “I can’t miss what’s going to happen next.”

  What was going to happen was the same storyline that had happened years ago before her nunni’s favorite soap opera had been canceled, but her grandma never realized. She just watched the DVDs Everly had found. The show was one of the few things that calmed her down when she became agitated, and even though she seemed calmer now, Everly knew the longer she stayed, the more likely Nunni was to warn her away from that man. So as the nurse turned on the TV, Everly got up and gave her nunni a hug.

  “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Always joking, Melanie.” Nunni patted her cheek. “You know I’ll see you tonight for dinner.”

  Then, her grandma turned her attention to the TV, accepting the pills from the nurse without complaint, and got lost in her stories.

  Gulping past the emotion, Everly turned and walked out of the room, blinking away tears.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Helene was sure that none of her acquaintances let alone friends would ever spot her at Grounded Coffee. The trendy Harbor City chain was popular with the younger set, not people her age, and definitely not Alberto’s age. He had to be pushing sixty-five if he was a day, and men who were as exuberant as the Italian didn’t age well—or so her mother had always said. He was far too old for her. She was, after all, only in her late fifties. Not that she was looking for a companion. She still wore Michael’s ring for a reason. She’d already had the love of her life, and now that part of her life was over. Still, she’d agreed to this meeting, so she smoothed her newly platinum hair back and walked into the coffee shop.

  The patrons looked like a great unwashed mass—really, when did it become acceptable to go out in public in what had to be pajama pants and a sweatshirt—but the place smelled like heaven, the sugary, buttery kind she’d denied herself for decades. Her mouth remembered, though, watering at the sight of an untouched flaky croissant baked to the perfect golden brown on a man’s plate. The customer in question looked up. Alberto. Of course he would indulge in something so without nutritional value just because it tasted delicious.

  “Bellisima, it’s so wonderful to see you.” He stood up and pulled out a chair, somehow managing to not look like a man who ate croissants with abandon. The fact that men’s metabolisms worked as fast as they did would forever be an annoyance to her. “Please sit down.”

  She did, balancing her weight on the balls of her feet so it wasn’t fully on the chair as he pushed it in. The musky scent of his cologne wafted around her, not enough to overwhelm but enough to inspire her curiosity. Not that she wondered about this man. She was here only to discuss Everly and Tyler, after all, a point she’d made clear to Alberto in her emailed response to his invitation that had arrived via a stunning bouquet of orchids.

  “Thank you.” She didn’t relax against her chair, not even when he released it and strode back to his side of the small table. Something about the man made her not jumpy exactly, but she couldn’t deny the zing of expectation, and she didn’t particularly like it. “So you want to discuss Everly and Tyler?”

  “Yes.” He cut the croissant in two, picking up one half and leaving the other on the plate that he pushed over to her. “I want to know more about this Tyler Jacobson.”

  The temptation of the croissant was potent, a hint of the forbidden followed by the promise of exquisite pleasure. Still, she resisted, turning her attention to the man who failed to freeze when she leveled a frosty glare his way. It was most frustrating.

  “Tyler is smart, savvy, and is always looking for new opportunities.”

  “No,” Alberto said with a flourish of hand gestures. “I mean is he good enough for Everly? I might not see as well as I used to, but I can definitely see a spark between them, and I am worried because Irena didn’t have the nicest things to say about Tyler after he left.”

  Helene just bet she didn’t. “I’d recommend considering your source for that information.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, tearing off the end of his croissant half and popping it in his mouth.

  Helene had spent a lifetime gathering information about her so-called peers, not necessarily sharing it. Gossip wasn’t usually part of her repertoire, but this was more of a warning than rumor or innuendo. Considering her options, she gave Alberto a hard look. He might seem like a man who resembled a former model who’d aged out of the profession, with his shock of silver hair that set off his tan skin and made his brown eyes sparkle, but he didn’t waver under her cold stare, and the slightest nugget of respect started to form. Okay, maybe he wasn’t just a flirt. Maybe there was more to Alberto than she’d first noticed.

  “Has Irena bothered to tell Carlo why she and Tyler didn’t get married?” she asked, toying with the crusty point of the crois
sant.

  Alberto shrugged. “She just said they were young and weren’t ready.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” A completely fabricated one. “She tried to sleep her way up the bank balance line and tried to slip into bed with my son Sawyer—who’d been friends with Tyler for years. Sawyer turned her down. Tyler called off the wedding. She went on an extended cruise with a pair of Middle Eastern princes.”

  He crushed the piece of croissant in his hand to dust. “I have to tell Carlo.”

  “If he’s like my sons, he won’t listen.” There must be something about that Y chromosome that made men unable to take valuable advice the first time it was offered. Lord knows they didn’t get it from her. Okay, maybe they did a little. Still, if she didn’t love her boys so much, she would have knocked their heads together. “They always have to figure things out on their own.”

  “If this is the kind of person Irena is, I can’t let him marry her.” Alberto reached across the table, pressing her hand between the two of his, sending an unexpected thrill of awareness through her. “You’re so knowledgeable on this, could you help me with Carlo and also Everly?”

  The question shocked her into stillness, and she allowed her hand to remain in his. “You want the two of them together?”

  “Oh no, her heart is already interested in someone else; she’s just being too stubborn to see it. Women, always so set in their ways.” He leaned forward across the table and brought her hand up to his mouth, brushing a light kiss across her knuckles that made her chest tighten.

  “Someone else?” she asked, mentally fighting to suppress the zing of anticipation speeding up her pulse. “You mean Tyler.”

  “Sì,” he said, lowering her hand but not letting go. “If he’s good enough for my Everly.”

  Offended on Tyler’s behalf, Helene pulled her hand free, ignoring the way her fingers felt too cool without his welcome heat. “Oh, he is.”

  “How can you be sure?” he asked, watching her with wary eyes as if she were the one who needed to prove herself.