“A very wealthy cook,” he amended. To himself, he wouldn’t have classified Marcus Goode as just that. The man had built an empire on restaurants and resorts.
“I had a doctor.” She humphed. “He’s profoundly hurt by the slight. Thank goodness, I convinced him I’d bring Priscilla around to meet him. Perhaps he’ll be interested. Although, he doesn’t like red-heads. Blondes are more his taste.”
At the mention of Priscilla and Mrs. King’s plans for her, his temper flared. How could she switch out daughters to prospective grooms? How could she treat Priscilla like that? “She doesn’t know.” It wasn’t a question.
“She won’t even return my calls. But, that’s where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you destroy King’s. End it quickly. Then Priscilla will have nowhere to go, but to me. That’s when I’ll marry her off.”
Could she be so callous with her own child? “Destroy King’s?” At the moment, it made him sick to think he wanted the same thing she did. He’d wasted so much time focusing on the store as her downfall. He’d made a grave error.
“There’s ways.”
“Do tell.”
“Fire the employees—the longtime, die-hards first. Really, the salary some of them make is outrageous. Strike fear in the others. Uproot them, cut hours, and then bring in new hires. Less money, less skill. And, better yet, no loyalty to the store.”
He swallowed hard, knowing from his extensive research she’d tried this angle before. Griff, on the other hand, had always used the reverse in his esteemed career in the industry: build up the business by creating opportunities for employees, keep them educated and interested, pay them what they’re worth, establish them, respect them and earn their respect. Loyalty naturally followed. It had made him a very rich man and, in turn, he’d made others wealthy.
“Start there. Show me you’ll do it, and then we meet again for the next lesson.”
Griffin had seen battle, gunfire, bullets, and even bombs. He shifted his left shoulder at the haunting memory and the wound he walked away with on the day that nearly took his life. But he’d never faced such a cold-blooded, cold-hearted enemy like this before. “What are you willing to pay?” He had to know.
“A million dollars.”
He laughed. “That’s chump change.”
She cut him a look. “All right, to start.”
“Take me back to the store,” he said.
“Is that a yes? Do we have a deal?” Glee made her voice rise.
“I’ll get back to you.”
Less than ten minutes later, he got out of the car, and then shut the door.
“I’ll be back,” she called as he walked toward his Vette.
The limo pulled away, passing behind him.
Griffin couldn’t gulp in the fresh air fast enough. All he wanted to do was get behind the wheel, roll down the windows, and drive as fast as he could.
Looking toward the store, he noticed Bruno there with his arms folded over his chest. The Protector. Something went through Griff. He changed directions, strolling toward the night guard.
Bruno sniffed. “Something smells bad out here.” He eyed Griff.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he agreed. “Hungry? I haven’t eaten yet.”
“You buying? I’ve got a craving for ribs.”
“Sounds good to me. You got time for some of those stories?”
“Yep.”
Griff let out a long, slow breath. His new plan began to form the minute Mrs. King asked him to ruin King’s. Now, if he could just get Priscilla to agree.
***
“Housewares, all clear,” a male voice crackled over the radio.
“Roger, that,” Bruno said into his radio, and then set it back down on the desk. “We got forty minutes before he gets back from his rounds.” He bit into the spicy rib and murmured his approval.
Griffin couldn’t eat, not after his encounter. He shoved his food toward Bruno.
“You ain’t talking. What she want?” He nodded toward the door.
Could he chance it? “She hates King’s.”
He snorted. “That one, what a piece of work.” Shaking his head, he said, “Mr. K. didn’t stand a chance once his first wife died. Devastated. The Barracuda moved in for the kill.”
The nickname, given by Charlie, fit the older woman to a tee.
“She took over, ordering everyone around like she owned the place. He could barely function, so she got away with a whole heck of a lot.” He pointed the cleaned-off rib at Griff. “But you know he had people, close to him, who stood up to her.” His grin went from ear to ear now. “Fireworks! Whoa, it was like all heck broke loose around here.”
“She won.”
“Ah, no way. Mr. K.’s friend and lawyer man stepped in, shook the you-know-what out of Mr. K. and woke him up to what was going on. Oh, happy day, that was.”
“Lawyer man?” Griffin’s middle clenched.
“Yep, Big Jim Weatherford. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
How could he not? His father was a legend in this town, before and after his downfall.
Bruno looked him square in the eye. “You look like him, your daddy.”
The air sailed out of Griff’s lungs. “When did you realize it?”
“First night you walked in those doors.” He jerked his head to the outer door again. “You can’t hide it, around the eyes mostly. I figured you had your reasons to keep it tucked away and drop your last name.”
“Why didn’t you say anything to the King daughters?” He knew none of them knew his true identity, especially Priscilla; she would have called him out.
“’Cause I knew you’d never hurt them. They not who you’re gunning for.”
Griff reared back. “You’re so sure?” What was there to lose now? This man could blow his cover, could have done it days ago. He chose not to.
The night guard wiped his mouth and hands on a napkin, and then tossed it down. “I’m a betting man, Mr. Griff.” He squeezed his eyes half-way shut. “I got a fifty-fifty chance you wouldn’t harm my girls. When I saw you get in the Barracuda’s car, I gotta admit I wasn’t so sure. But once you stepped out…and I saw the disgust on your face, my chances went way up.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his lip. “Couldn’t disguise it, could I?”
“Not many people could. Mr. K. realized too late. This is between you and me, hear? He told me he wanted to divorce her, but he was afraid for Miss Francie and Miss Prissy. Didn’t know what would become of them.”
Griffin’s admiration for the late Mr. King rose another notch.
“Family first, he’d say. And those were his kids; he adopted them. Once he took back control of the second Mrs. King and this place, it was a real treat to come into work every day.”
Frowning, Griff said, “But it all changed.”
“He got sick. Real quick. Before you knew it, he was gone.” Bruno stopped, choking up. “One of the worst days of my life.” He cleared his throat. “She swooped down like a buzzard. I can’t tell you how many fights I heard, how many people up and quit, and how many she ended up firing.”
“My father,” the words were hard to get out, “suffered at her hands.”
“And how. I think he got it worse than anybody else. You know why? I’ll tell you. He exposed her, to the rotten core. She fought back, bad-mouthing him.”
“Lying,” Griff corrected.
“Don’t you know it, too. But you yell long enough and loud enough, other people start thinking there’s something to it. I think because she was the widow, the press sympathized with her.”
“And against him.” Griffin recalled the agony of those days. They waited outside the house morning to night; flashbulbs went off any time his father or he would leave; the way they hurled accusation after accusation against him. “He wasn’t a thief.”
“I know that. Didn’t have it in him. But that bottle,” he murmured, “took his credibility away.”
“Hard to hide the drinking problem, wasn’t it?” He tried. How many mornings had Griff found him splayed out on a chair, passed out? How many days had Griff begun brewing coffee, splashing water on his father’s face to wake him up, help him as he staggered to the table once Griff had scrambled some eggs?
“Mr. K. got him straightened out years before, kept him together by believing in him. But once Mr. K. passed, well, he took it up again. She found his weakness—fed it, too.”
“Years before?” Griff asked, zeroing in on that phrase. “I just assumed her relentless attacks were the cause.”
“I wish I could blame her for everything. Nah, he wasn’t as bad, mind you, but it was there.”
Griffin swallowed hard. At the serious look on the other man’s face, he couldn’t doubt the truth. She hadn’t caused it. Shock rushed through his veins.
“Executive offices, clear,” the male voice came over the radio.
“Roger, that,” Bruno responded into his radio. “We got ten, maybe fifteen minutes, tops.”
Time was running out. He cut to the chase. “Bruno, I have to ask you something. Did you ever hear about another will, the original will?” He held his breath for the answer; everything hinged on this. Was it just the rambling of a drunken, defeated man? Or did Agnes King really forge a second, more lucrative will to gain control of King’s and all the money that went along with it?
Chapter 10
Priscilla flipped through another design magazine, tapping her foot. Where in the world was Griff? She had all these questions she needed to ask him and discover what he wanted his home to look like. They only had a short time to get this together before the campaign launched next week. She had to get the questions up on the website, too. However, she’d keep his answers to herself until the big reveal.
How many messages could she leave with Peg, anyway? Priscilla didn’t dare call him on his cell phone, especially during work hours. But really, he could just have Peg set up a meeting with her. Or was he dodging her?
“Miss, you want this packed up?” one of the construction workers called to her, pointing to the stack of paint samples and brochures a few feet away.
Jumping up from her seat at the reception desk, Priscilla joined him. “If you could just lift them in the box, I’ll seal it and write on the side.”
“No problem.” A few days ago, his smile and hooded look would have registered on the interest meter. However, since meeting Griff, she couldn’t care less.
“Thanks.”
“Hey, some of my friends and I are getting together later. Just throwing back a few and playing darts. Nothing fancy. If you want, you can join us.”
Pulling back, she looked at the goofy grin and swagger of the blond-haired guy.
“Interrupting?” Griff asked, coming in unexpectedly.
She jerked around. Priscilla knew packing the bell over the door already had been a mistake, but with the crews coming and going, the constant ringing had gotten annoying fast. “Oh, Griff, Mr. James, I didn’t know you were here.” Why did she feel guilty at his raised eyebrow? She hadn’t done anything wrong. “No, we’re just deciding what gets packed and stored during the remodel.”
Griff looked at the younger man and nodded. “Excuse us.” He touched Priscilla’s elbow and steered her away to the big glass doors of the salon.
Her arm tingled where he held it. His grim look made her insides jump. Did he care?
“Free tonight?” he asked in a low voice, facing her now.
That was the last thing she thought he’d ask. “Yes,” she said without hesitation. His eyes burned with a light she’d never seen before.
“Good. I’ll pick you up. Six good for you?”
She nodded numbly. Was this a date?
“Casual. Jeans.” He glanced at her short leather skirt and sparkly high heels. Heat traveled over her as if his hands had made that same journey. “Low-heeled boots, too, if you have them.” With one last look, he exited.
Gulping, she moved to hold the door open and watched him walk away. Dang, he looked good coming or going. “Wow!”
He turned swiftly; a grin played around his mouth. “I heard that.”
***
A constant buzz hummed in her body for the rest of the day. Now, Priscilla yanked out another blouse, and then tossed it on her daybed. The pile grew. Standing in her jeans, boots, and bra, she peered into the back corner of the small closet. “Nothing,” she muttered, going back to the shelf. Sorting through a stack, she yanked out two of her favorites.
“Purple long sleeve tee layered over the green one,” she said in defeat. It wasn’t high fashion, but she knew Rico, her fashion consultant, would approve.
Smoothing the last one over her, she jumped when her cell phone rang. She leapt for it on her nightstand. “Hello.” She kicked herself mentally for not looking at the screen first to see who was calling.
“Can you meet me downstairs?” Griff’s deep voice poured over her like honey.
Her heart jumped to her throat. “Be right there.” Hanging up, she kicked herself again for such a lame answer.
By the time she raced down the three flights of stairs, Priscilla was out of breath. Flinging the door open, she stopped short at the sight before her. There, at the curb, he sat on his big, black Harley. His slow, sexy grin made her insides melt. “Black Beauty! You are so kidding me?!” she asked, holding her hands over her mouth, unable to contain her excitement.
He held out a black helmet for her. “Ready for the ride of your life?”
With you? Always!
***
Nestled behind him, with their helmets in place, Priscilla let him pull her hands around him and settle them on his hard, firm middle. “Heaven,” she said.
He started the bike, revving it. It vibrated underneath them.
Before she knew it, he pulled out of the parking spot and eased to the traffic light at the corner. It turned green. He expertly drove through the city streets, taking them to the highway, and then down so many back roads she had no idea where they were or how long they’d been riding. She didn’t care. The wind rushed by and her middle dipped in the best way possible.
She held onto his powerful body, reveling in the strength and warmth of him. His scent tickled her senses. She could get used to this, used to him.
The change in the motor brought her back to the moment. Griff pulled into the dirt parking lot of a little wooden shack of a restaurant.
“Hungry?” he asked, tugging off his helmet and helping her off the back of the bike. With a few swift movements, he assisted her with her helmet.
“Starving,” she said, running a hand through her hair.
“Best burgers in town.” He nodded to the place.
Looking at him, her heart melted. “I can’t thank you enough for the ride. It was so much fun.”
He got up, swinging his leg over the seat, standing close to her. “I’m glad you liked it.” The smile in his voice settled in her, warming her.
“You were right about the ride of my life,” she whispered.
His soft chuckle caused butterflies to flutter in her middle. Oh, no, she couldn’t really be falling for him, could she?
***
A few minutes later, with his hand lightly on her lower back, she followed the waitress to their table. She shivered at his touch. He must have felt it, too; he moaned.
“Need menus or you know what you want?” the middle-aged lady asked, pulling out the stained, worn placards from her apron as they settled in the booth.
Priscilla turned to Griff. “Cheeseburger and fries sound good to me.”
“Make that two,” he said to the waitress. “Root beer for me.”
“Me, too,” she added. After they stated their preference on how they wanted their burgers cooked, their waitress scooted away to greet the family a few tables down. “Not a beer drinker or is it because you’re driving?”
“Both.”
His short, clipped answer yanked her gaze to hi
s. She raised an eyebrow. “Not telling?”
Griff looked at her long and hard. In his smoky gray eyes, she witnessed the debate of emotions going on within him. “I watched my father drink himself to death.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. How many times and in how many ways had he gotten hurt? No one stays. Reaching out, she covered his hand with hers. It gave her comfort he didn’t pull away. “I’m sorry. It must have been agonizing for you.”
He turned his hand, allowing her to lace her fingers with his. Long fingers; big, slightly rough palms… She loved the feel of warmth and strength there. “I’ve never had a drop. I saw the damage it did.”
“And the suffering it caused,” she guessed.
His silence stretched. The muted voices of the nearby customers, the clink of glasses, and clanging silverware settled around them.
“I tried a sip of beer once and couldn’t stand the taste. I just don’t get the appeal. Wine, yes, sometimes when I go out. Lately, I don’t even want it. Rico gets silly and loud.”
This made his lip twitch. “And he’s not already?”
She laughed.
Her phone blared. He pulled away. The intimacy evaporated right before her very eyes. Her heart sank.
“Maybe you should answer.”
She dug it out of her back pocket and glanced at the screen. Groaning, she shook her head. It wouldn’t stop ringing, so she silenced it and shoved it away.
“Trouble?”
“Ever since the Colonel left my mother, she won’t stop calling. Each message is a little bit more desperate than the last.”
“Here’s your root beers, guys.” The smiling waitress placed them on the table and tugged two straws out of her pocket. “Cheeseburgers will be out in just a few more minutes.”
“Thanks,” Priscilla said as the woman bounced to another table, where an older couple settled up their bill.
“The Colonel?” Griff’s question brought her back to their conversation.
“Her beau, I guess you could call him, for the last four months or so. He distracted her from us, her daughters, for a while. It was such a relief. I could breathe for the first time in my life.” She sighed, dunking the straw in her soda, and leaning in for a sip. Fiddling with the silverware, she said, “But, she couldn’t resist stirring the pot again. He didn’t like her antics. I’m sure you’ve gathered she’s not the nicest woman.” Her middle clenched. “She says she’s broken and lonely,” she winced, “and is begging me to come back home.”
Taming McGruff (Book 3, Once Upon A Romance Series) Page 7