The arrival of their meal meant a much-welcome break in the conversation. Calder took a bite and sighed with pleasure. The lobster dipped in drawn butter melted in her mouth.
Edwin sliced into his steak, so rare blood practically squirted across the plate. He speared the meat with his fork.
"Good," he said, undisguised pleasure in his sigh.
Calder nodded. Quickly, she averted her eyes when a dribble of red liquid landed on Edwin's chin. Breathe deep, she reminded herself while her stomach did a slow roll. The line between raw and cooked was razor thin. The chef should have saved himself a step and simply ripped the steak directly from the cow.
If Calder had remembered Edwin's proclivity for the uncooked, she would have guided him toward tonight's special. Beef bourguignon. Safe. Tasty. And bloodless.
"I met an interesting young man when I stopped over in London."
Defenses down, appetite gone, Calder didn't catch the implications, or see the gaping trap her father had set with his seemingly innocuous comment.
"Interesting is good."
Absently, Calder pushed her entrée from one side of her plate to the other. She'd take the food home. Perhaps Mrs. Finch could use the leftovers for her seafood bisque.
"Glad you agree. He lives in New York."
Frowning, Calder gave up. She set aside her fork to focus her attention on her father. She didn't want to agree to something she'd later regret.
"Who lives in New York?"
"Tink Winchester. One of the Winchesters?"
Calder was familiar with the family. Tink was short for Thomas. One of those ridiculous nicknames only wealthy prep school boys somehow acquired. He and Milo Prendergast ran with the same crowd. Not exactly a ringing endorsement.
"Does Tink have something to do with why you're in New York?"
"Not really." Edwin lost interest in his steak. With one swig, he downed the last drop of bourbon. "Thought you'd be a good match."
"Me? And Tink Winchester?"
Calder winced when she realized her father wanted to play matchmaker. Payback for this morning and her awkward attempt to set Bryce up on a date. Karma, the bitch, had a nasty sense of humor.
"When your name came up, he seemed very interested."
Edwin discussed her with Tink Winchester? Ick.
"I've known Tink for years. We've barely exchanged two words."
"Tink—most men, I imagine—find you…" Edwin rubbed his chin, then shrugged. "What the hell. Men don't care for overly-opinionated women, Calder."
"Oh?"
The expected rush of anger made Calder's blood heat. She didn't give a damn what men cared for. She'd heard the criticism before. But never from her father. The unexpected censure hurt. More than she liked to admit.
"Don't make up your mind so quickly. Men like Tink Winchester don't grow on trees."
"No. They just swing from the branches."
Edwin rattled the ice in his glass, visibly annoyed by her attitude, and the absence of alcohol.
"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."
Edwin understood her meaning. He simply chose to pretend otherwise. Calder was happy to explain.
"Tink Winchester has the manners of a gorilla. With a much lower I.Q."
"Who cares?"
The waiter delivered another drink, which temporarily mollified Edwin. Calder took the opportunity to ask for the check. And a doggy bag.
"Tink has money. When his father dies, he'll have more. Not as much as you, but enough to partially even the playing field."
"Money didn't keep you and Billie together."
Well lubricated, Edwin graciously handed his credit card to the waiter without a glance at the bill.
"Do as I say, not as I do."
"Should I thank you for the sage words of advice?" From his expression, Calder knew she'd hit the nail on the head. Unbelievable. "I'll give Tink a pass. For his sake as well as my own. He should find a nice, docile wife. One without opinions. Or a backbone."
"You know what you are, Calder?"
"Yes." Strong. Independent. "Do you?"
"You're a ballbuster."
Calder wanted to laugh. Right in Edwin's face. Tomorrow, she planned to have a t-shirt printed in bright red letters. For herself and each of her sisters.
Ballbuster. And proud of it.
"Excuse me? Mr. Calder? The manager would like a word."
The waiter looked nervous. Slightly sick to his stomach.
"Tell the manager he can come to me."
"I'm sorry, sir. But…"
The waiter glanced at Calder before he bent to whisper in Edwin's ear. Whatever he said changed her father's attitude.
"Seems I'm needed on the phone. Business. Might take a while, so you should head home."
Confused by his abrupt dismissal, Calder gathered her purse and leftover lobster.
"If you're sure."
Obviously distracted, Edwin patted her on the shoulder.
"I'll call you soon."
Edwin followed the waiter to where the manager waited near the back of the restaurant. The men immediately jumped into a heated, but brief, conversation. Her father pulled out his wallet and threw a handful of cash in the manager's face.
Then, his back iron-rod stiff, stormed off. Out the side exit. Calder didn't follow. Instead, she left through the front. As she slid into a cab, she wondered if she'd read the scene correctly. The argument. The money. If she was right, her father's credit card had been declined. A computer glitch? If she didn't know better, she would suspect money problems. But how? Edwin was a wealthy man. Besides, he had enough to pay the dinner bill.
Edwin Calder couldn't be broke. Could he?
The cityscape outside her window went unnoticed as Calder relived the evening in her head. Her father might ask her to invest in a sure thing, but he never talked about his financial status. Good or bad. Like her grandfather, Edwin believed men earned, Calder women shopped.
Calder would never give her father advice. However, she knew plenty of people—brilliant people—who could. With a sigh, she rested her head against the seat, eyes closed. She hoped she'd misinterpreted the situation. Either way, unless he asked, her hands were tied.
Edwin's attitude toward her—toward women in general—was wired into his hard drive. Calder had tried to point out why he was wrong. The examples were numerous. Andi. Bryce. Destry. Wildly successful, every one. He waved her off like an annoying, inconsequential gnat.
Erica's Angels? Her multimillion-dollar non-profit organization? Cute, according to Edwin. Something to occupy her time until she did what all women were born to do. Marry and procreate.
Damn it! Why did Calder let him get to her? Invariably, an evening with her father ended in one of two ways. Suppressed anger, or mild depression. She would go home. Vent to her sisters. Who better to commiserate than other lifetime members of the Bad Father Club?
Same beginning. Same middle. Same end. No matter her resolve, she always let Edwin get under her skin. Unconsciously, Calder's hands curled into fists.
"Andi was right. Enough wallowing," Calder muttered under her breath.
Stopped at a traffic light, the cab driver glanced over his shoulder.
"You say something to me?" he asked in a heavy Brooklyn accent.
"No. I—"
Suddenly, Calder realized where they were. The part of the city. The street.
"Change of plans. Take a right, please."
Calder gave the driver the new address. Energized, she picked up her phone.
"I didn't expect to hear from you tonight."
The sound of Adam's voice warmed the chill that had settled into Calder's bones.
"Good surprise, or bad?"
"What do you think?"
"I think I'd like to stop by. If you don't mind." Calder paused. "If you're home."
"How soon can you get here?"
Eager. Welcoming. A smil
e formed on Calder's lips as the taxi pulled to a stop.
"A minute and a half. Two at the most. Depends on your doorman and the speed of the elevator."
"I can't predict the elevator. However, Harvey has instructions to let you up. Anytime. Day or night. No questions asked."
"I'm on my way."
Calder paid the driver. With a nod, the doorman welcomed her into the building.
"Good evening, Ms. Benedict."
"How are you, Harvey?" Calder sent the young man a friendly smile.
"Well, thank you." Harvey tipped his hat.
As if in sympathy to her frame of mind, the elevator dinged the second Calder pushed the call button. To her surprise, her delight, when the doors opened, Adam waited inside.
When she walked past him, to the far side of the car. No kiss. No hug. Adam leaned against the wall. Arms crossed. Brow raised.
"Hello," she said.
"Hi." He took in her appearance, slow and sweeping. "Nice outfit. Been on a date?"
A logical deduction, Calder supposed. The dove-gray dress, knee-length, capped sleeves. Ultra-chic. Flattering. Fitted, but by no means figure hugging. Her hair, twisted into a bun, rested at the nape of her neck. Simple hoop earrings were her only jewelry.
"Dinner with my father."
"Sounds nice." Adam's gaze narrowed as he looked into her eyes. "Or, maybe not."
"I need to ask you something."
Not sure of her mood, Adam didn't take her hand. Or lay a guiding touch at the base of her back. When the doors opened, he stood back with a motion for her to proceed him. In his apartment, he turned the locks, leaned his hip against the arm of the sofa, and waited.
After Calder set her purse on the coffee table, she slipped out of her red Prada pumps. At the opposite end of the sofa, she mirrored Adam's stance.
"How do you feel about overly opinionated women?"
As he pondered the question, Adam's expression turned from inquisitive to perplexed. "You'll have to clue me in. Define overly opinionated. Cause quite frankly? A woman without opinions of her own is boring as hell."
"You answered my question." Perfectly.
Calder could have kissed him. And she would. With pleasure. But not yet.
"Do you think I'm a ballbuster?
Adam was quick on the uptake.
"I think I hate your father. What kind of man spouts so much bullshit to any woman? Let alone his own daughter?"
His voice stayed calm, but his eyes grew stormy. Adam was angry. Angry at her father and for her. Calder wasn't prone to tears. Yet, she had to swallow hard to keep her eyes from filling.
"Am I, or aren't I?"
"Of course you're a ballbuster. Men can be pigs. I know from experience."
Calder felt a thousand pounds lighter. In body and soul.
"You? A pig?" A teasing glint entered her eyes. "Unbelievable."
"Mostly in my younger, dumber days. Don't get me wrong. I'm not perfect. Occasionally, I revert to type."
"Care to share an example?"
"Not on your life. I'm no fool." Adam slid from the sofa's arm to a cushion. With a tug he brought Calder down beside him. "Want the truth?"
Calder smiled. She loved when he asked.
"Always."
"My balls and I are strong enough to take a little busting. When warranted." With a gentle touch, he ran a finger across her cheek. "I trust you'll use your powers wisely?"
One of the good guys. The knowledge sang in Calder's mind. Through her blood. Her heart, pounding wildly, listened.
"I have all kinds of powers." She straddled Adam's legs, her skirt riding up her thighs. "Some you've never seen. Interested?"
Adam pushed her dress a little higher until the hem met the edge of her silk underwear.
"As I said, I'm no fool."
Lips a whisper's breath from his ear, Calder bit the lobe. Adam rewarded her with a deep groan.
Before she could blink, he flipped her around until her back was flat on the sofa, his body blanketing hers. Calder barely managed to gasp out the promise she couldn't wait to keep.
"You are about to get so lucky."
Slowly, Adam shook his head.
"I already am."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
~~~~
CALDER APPROACHED THE entrance to the solarium with determination. But little enthusiasm.
Since the incident with her father, Calder had wrestled with the proper course of action. Edwin felt he could ask her anything, she didn't feel as free.
She was his daughter. His only child. Had been for close to thirty years. Yet, the entire time he'd relegated her to the fringes of his life. Every time Calder believed she didn't care, he proved her wrong.
Try as she might, Calder couldn't turn off her feelings. If her father was in trouble, she wanted to know. Her mother could be a surprising font of information where her ex-husbands were concerned.
The sound of Billie's slightly off-key singing hit her ears. She only sang when she thought no one was around to hear.
What Billie didn't realize was how far her high-pitched vocalizing carried. For a woman who insisted she was a closet singer, she belted every song as if she were at Carnegie Hall. And the sound system was on the fritz.
Disco was her songbook of choice. Today, Billie did her best Donna Summer tribute, shaking her backside as she arranged a large bouquet of stark white roses. Hot Stuff, indeed.
"Nice flowers."
Billie gasped.
"Why do you girls insist on sneaking up? Scared the life out of me. If I die a decade early, you and your sisters will be the reason."
A familiar complaint, Calder simply smiled. Billie, quick to forgive, smiled back. She held up the vase of roses and preened.
"Ingo sends me two dozen three times a week. He's so thoughtful."
Though Calder hated the smell, she could appreciate a rose's beauty. Ingo Hunter was another matter. She had a meeting scheduled with Dee Wakefield later today to go over what she'd uncovered. For now, she had another man on her mind.
The solarium was located on the far west side of the mansion. Billie spent more time in the room than anyone else. She claimed the moist heat, necessary to keep the abundant tropical plants healthy, was good for her complexion.
Calder suspected the true reason had more to do with the connection to Lilianna Benedict. Billie's mother died shortly after the addition she'd designed was completed. Just before her daughter's tenth birthday.
Pictures of Calder's maternal grandmother showed a woman of striking beauty. The shape of her eyes. Her bone structure. Even the way she held her head was Billie's perfect match.
"Have you spoken to my father lately?"
"Edwin? Such a dear man."
With a vague smile, Billie pressed her face into the bouquet and inhaled. Calder sighed.
"Has he called?"
"No. Why would he?"
The filled vase in her hands, Billie left the solarium. Calder followed, determined to get a satisfactory answer. Subtle didn't work with her mother. Time to get direct.
"Did Edwin mention money problems the last time you saw him?"
"He told you? I'm so glad." As she walked and talked, Billie placed the roses on each surface she passed. Never satisfied, she picked up the vase and moved to the next table. Then the next. "I told him you'd understand. But you know your father. Proud and stubborn."
Yet, Edwin confided in Billie. Because…? Calder's stomach sank.
"How much money did you give him?"
Billie brushed off Calder's concern with a wave of her perfectly manicured nails.
"What if I did? He doesn't ask often. Only when his other options have dried up."
Edwin's problems weren't something new? The revelation made Calder's head spin. She believed her father was an accomplished, successful businessman. Obviously, she was wrong.
When she realized Billie was almost to the end of the hallw
ay, Calder hurried to catch up.
"How often does Edwin ask for money?"
"Hmm?" Billie set the flowers on an antique table, stepped back to survey the results, a frown of deep concentration on her face.
"Billie! How often?"
"A few times since we divorced."
"A few?" Calder prodded. "As in twice? Three times? What excuse does he give?"
"Honestly, Calder." Billie rolled her eyes over all the fuss. "Six? Maybe. I've lost track. Bad investments. A downturn in the stock market. That actress who took him to the cleaners. Silly man. I could have told him not to marry her. She had thick ankles."
Since ankles, thick or otherwise, had no correlation, Calder ignored the comment.
"If Dad is in trouble—"
"You don't need to worry about Edwin. He's never down for long." Billie bit her lip. "Promise you won't mention our conversation to Ingo. He doesn't understand why I remain friends with my ex-husbands. I see nothing wrong with helping your father. He might not agree. Understand?"
No problem. Calder avoided the man like the plague.
"Don't worry. I won't say anything."
Her mind already on more important matters, Billie turned her head from side to side as she considered the roses.
"What do you think? Should I leave the flowers here, or move them to the downstairs foyer?"
Any more questions would be useless. Billie had ever so briefly drifted into Calder's world. Now, safely in her own happy cocoon, she was back to her old, carefree self.
"I'm certain wherever you choose will be just right."
The big picture about her father's financial woes had come into focus. The specific details were a murky mess. She could do some digging. Rather, she could put Dee Wakefield on the trail.
To what end? Calder started up the back stairway, deep in thought. Even if she wanted to help—outside of money—what could she do?
~~~~
"YOU CAN'T DO a thing."
Calder sat in Andi's office as her sister sorted through a stack of gauzy material. She'd come for advice. As expected, the verdict was swift and to the point. Yet, for some reason, she felt the need to protest.
"I might be able to help."
"How? Give him money? If Edwin asked, what would you say?"
One Way or Another: A Friends to Lovers Contemporary Romance (The Sisters Quartet Book 1) Page 17