Once Sandra disconnected, Alicia shook her head. “You’re being silly. Conor’s a big boy. He can take care of himself. And didn’t you say the people jumped at his first offer, no counters?”
“His first offer was generous and I made that point abundantly clear to them,” Sandy replied. She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as the downstairs door opened and closed.
“Ladies. What a nice surprise.” Jerome Biltman flashed his great smile from below as he moved toward the winding stair. Once at the top, he turned toward Alicia and waved toward the bedroom. “What do you think?”
Not prone to gushing over anything, ever, Alicia wanted to wax poetic over the room.. “It’s perfect, and totally goes against what I’d pictured.”
He grinned. “I’m glad you’re pleased. Harmony between the plaster and wood is important for the overall feel of the space.”
“Men rarely understand that,” Sandy noted, her voice carefully flat. “Where’d you get a head for decorating?” Judging from Sandy’s too bland expression, Alicia knew she hoped for a definitive masculine answer.
“My mother.” Jerome reached across, picked up a magazine from the workbench, and held up the center page, a pictorial layout of a Seattle home that made misted ocean breezes a reality by just viewing the pictures. “Lucille O’Leary. She has a head for seeing things, not as they are, but as they should be. Passed it on to me.”
“Lucille O’Leary is your mother?” Alicia cocked a brow his way.
He nodded. “Yeah. She’s pretty amazing, too. Managed to raise all three of us between here and New York, totally encouraged my ambitions into carpentry and fine finishing work, which is somewhat unusual for a New York or Princeton mom.”
His easy words tweaked Alicia’s guilt factor. She fought it down.
“She got a kick out of me being me, but then she’s about the most secure, self-composed woman I’ve ever met.” Jerome shifted his gaze toward Sandy. “Kind of like our Realtor, here.”
Sandy stepped back, surprised. “Me?”
Jerome regarded her, his eyes narrowed. “Yes. Focused but not foolish, ambitious, not driven, self-possessed, not steered by someone else’s timeline.”
Sandy’s expression was a dead giveaway. Alicia intervened, determined to save her from herself. “We should probably let you get back to work, Jerome. You’re doing a wonderful job.”
He shifted his gaze from Sandy to Alicia, but not before winking at Sandy. “Thanks. With the preliminary work complete up here, I’m on to the third bedroom today.”
“Teal.”
He nodded. “Let’s see if you like that as well once we’re done.”
Alicia shook her head, hands up. “You’ve convinced me. Totally. And since it’s historically accurate, I-”
Sandy’s cell phone picked that moment to ring. She stepped away, but the bare rooms of the old house made her voice bounce from wall to wall. “Mr. Bradstreet, thank you for returning my call.”
Alicia drew her shoulders back and her chin up, listening because it was impossible not to.
“First, I want to apologize for not recognizing the infestation initially...”
Sandy paused and laughed at something Conor said, her eyes bright. “Well, that would have been an indicator, I guess. I knew they had a dog, but I was caught unaware by the flea invasion.”
Alicia tried to read her friend’s face. Was Conor teasing her or righteously insulted by her offer to pay? Was he playing out his hand, liking the sound of Sandy’s voice, jousting with humor?
“No, I insist, Mr. Bradstreet. All right, then, Conor. No, seriously, I feel bad, the least you can do is allow me to cover the costs you incurred for extermination.”
A moment of silence ensued, then Sandy raised her eyes to Alicia’s. “Right here, actually. Would you like to talk to her?”
The thump of Alicia’s heart most likely audiated throughout the room. Drat and double drat. Conor was asking about her. Why?
Sandy laughed. “I’ll ask her.” She covered the sensitive mouthpiece and met Alicia’s look. “He wants to know if you have any advice for him yet as far as home refurbishing.”
Alicia shifted her gaze from Sandy to Jerome, then back. “Sure. Tell him to hire Jerome.”
Sandy arched a brow and obeyed. She sent Alicia a look of question at Conor’s response. “He wants to know who Jerome is and will you approve his work?”
Alicia reached out a hand. “Give me the phone.”
Sandy handed it off with a grin and stepped back to Jerome’s side.
“You have to ask my friends to question me? You can’t call me yourself?”
“Will you pick up when I do?”
Ah, that melted butter voice. Why did she always get soft and squishy when she heard it? She hesitated, considering her response, then...“Yes.”
“You haven’t always.”
“We’re playing nice now. Wedding, remember?”
“I do. Great concept, weddings. The fleas are gone.”
“Fleas lay eggs that resist death at all costs,” she informed him, her voice tart. “Did they really kill them or just their parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and assorted aunts, uncles and cousins, leaving future hatchlings to latch onto my unsuspecting legs?”
“You have great legs and your flea knowledge astounds me, but I have it on the authority of Mr. Frank Antori of Princeton Pest Control that our house is safe for habitation.”
“Your house.”
“Sorry. Old habits die hard. So. Who’s Jerome?”
Alicia thought she detected a heightened note in Conor’s tone, almost as if he was...jealous. The impossibility of that made it easy to rule out. “He’s the fine carpenter I hired to do the finishing work on the bookstore. He’s remarkable, Conor. Everything he touches is perfect.”
“Really?”
“He’s got a great eye for balance and color and his trim is precision cut. Amazing.”
“Gay, huh?”
Alicia sized up the way Jerome was leaning toward Sandy, his attention obvious. “Um...no.”
“Is there a reason you sound so sure?”
“Conor, I’m not having this conversation.”
“And yet, you told me to call you.”
“About normal things, yes,” she hissed into the phone. “Not things like that. Sandy’s right here. And Jerome, too.”
“You’re right. Discussing his personal life would be awkward with him in the room. Want to talk about it this weekend, say...over dinner on Saturday?”
“Does Kim want to meet about something?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
Alicia’s heart tha-wumped again, a cool but disconcerting maneuver against her breastbone. “You mean dinner just...you and me?”
“Yes. Are you feeling daring this week, Leash?”
“Conor, I don’t consider it daring to eat with you. More like...stupid.”
“Bad word, remember?”
“Grayce isn’t here.”
“Bad habit, then. She’ll catch you every time. Might as well clean up the language now.” He paused for three long seconds. “So. Dinner. You. Me. Food. Quiet time.”
She shouldn’t. She knew that, knew he was danger to the ‘nth’ degree, but wasn’t that part of what drew her years ago? “Your girlfriends all out of town?”
“No girlfriend. Told you that a few weeks back. Fresh out.”
“Perfect time to ask the “ex” out, then.”
Conor’s voice softened. “I’ve had other perfect times, but I was pretty sure she’d give me a flat-out ‘no’.”
“So what makes you think she won’t this time?”
He paused, then exhaled. “Because she’s trying to play nice. Me, too. I think dinner should be our reward. It’s been nearly two months of nice. Gotta be some kind of record.”
Alicia clutched the phone a little closer, remembering a time when playing nice was the norm, but that was a long, long time ago. “All right. Dinner. Where and when?”
“None of your business. We’re doing this the old-fashioned way. I pick you up at the house, take you out, and then bring you back home. None of that meet you stuff. Too easy to duck out, then.”
He’d read her mind. She hesitated.
“It’ll be fine, Leash. Promise.”
It seemed nice, but crazy, too, seriously crazy to go out on a date with Conor when she could be...watching the Saturday six o’clock movie alone. “Okay.”
She almost thought she heard him relax. “And tell your friend I’d be honored to have her foot the bill for the exterminator if it means that much to her.”
Alicia considered his use of words, then nodded. “I’ll tell her. And Conor?”
“Yes?”
“The kitchen should be done in antiqued cabinetry, maybe with an ivory wash or a light stain. Since it faces north, the kitchen tended to be dark with the cherry tones of the old cabinets. Something lighter would brighten things up appreciably.”
“Tell Jerome.”
She smiled and held the phone with a little more ease. “I will. Goodbye.”
Chapter Eleven
“Mr. Bradstreet?”
Conor’s executive assistant keyed him through the inter-office phone later that day.
“Yes, Colleen?”
“Chloe Martin is here to see you.”
Brian’s ex-wife. Conor breathed deep, stood, straightened his tie and nodded. “I’ll be right out.”
He strode through the door, unpretentious. Executive offices could intimidate, and his goal was to coax this young woman to their side, not frighten her off. He appraised her as he approached. Tall, lithe, eyes a touch glassy, pupils too wide, focus forced. Still using. Conor tucked aside the wave of disappointment. Rich guy disapproval would win him no points with this woman, he was certain of that.
“Ms. Martin, nice to meet you.” Conor presented his hand. She took it, her grip uncertain. “Thanks for coming in to meet with me. Would you like coffee? A soda? Water?” He sent a glance to his assistant. “What else is available, Colleen?”
She stood and gave them an easy smile. “There’s a Starbucks downstairs, so the list is extensive.”
Colleen’s comfortable air seemed to relax Chloe. “I’d kill for a white chocolate mocha.”
“I recognize that emotion,” Colleen replied with a nod. “Venti or Grande?”
Chloe smiled. “The tall is just way too short, isn’t it? What a misnomer.” She glanced from Colleen to Conor. “Grande is fine.”
“Mr. Bradstreet, the usual?”
Conor nodded appreciation. “You can bring them in when they arrive, Colleen.”
“They arrive?” Chloe sent him a look that said his words impressed her. “Starbucks sends them up?”
Conor leaned forward. “Over a thousand employees captured within our floors of this building, seventy hour work weeks for many of them. Starbucks is very okay with delivering to us.”
“I’ll bet.”
Conor stepped back and indicated the short, carpeted corridor to his office. “After you.”
She surveyed the wall as she went, an eyebrow arched occasionally as she scanned the artwork. Stepping into his office, she looked around, appreciative. “Beautiful, Mr. Bradstreet.”
“Thank you.” He waved toward the plush leather seating area against the far wall. “Have a seat.”
She sat on the couch and studied the table between them, one hand smoothing across the pieced wood surface. “Great effect. Intricate. A hint of cowboy beneath the suit and tie, perhaps?”
“Southwestern.” Conor pointed to a couple of Navajo prints on the wall and the woven blanket suspended below them. “I like Southwestern with leather. It fits.”
“What doesn’t fit with leather?” She sat back and offered him a more sensuous expression, fingers trailing the mellow surface of the couch back. “I find leather... enticing.”
Her tone and look alerted Conor to the fact that she thought she was here under different circumstances. Great. He leaned forward, his gaze frank. “Ms. Martin, I didn’t ask you here for professional purposes.”
“Oh?” She curved a smile as though she heard that line fairly often. And she probably did. That way men could deny the pre-meditation, fool themselves into believing a relationship with a high-priced hooker just happened. For a moment he understood his ex-wife’s disdain of his gender a little better. He tucked that thought aside for later examination. “Your ex-husband is engaged to my daughter Kim.”
“Oh.” The carefully sculpted face flattened, making Chloe look older than her twenty-seven years. “I see.”
“Probably not,” Conor disagreed, keeping his tone comfortable. “The reason I called you here—”
“Was to shut me up or buy me off.”
He frowned. “None of the above, but I forgive you for jumping to those conclusions. Totally understandable, under the circumstances. Ms. Martin,” Conor shifted forward, then raised his eyes and smiled his thanks as Colleen stepped in with their drinks. “Thanks, Colleen.”
He handed Chloe her sweet-smelling concoction and set down his machiato. He turned toward Brian’s ex-wife once again. “Do you like what you do, Ms. Martin?”
The look she gave him hardened. “Depends who I’m doing it with.”
Conor nodded. “Good answer, geared to throw me off guard, but I’m pretty inured to drama. Been there, done that, not a big fan. Here’s what I’m wondering.” Conor slipped her a recent photo of Grayce, prayed he was doing the right thing, and steepled his hands. “Brian said you loved to act and that you were good. I think his actual words were ‘really good’. He was impressed.”
“Nothing I did impressed Brian.” The rose-tipped fingers gripping the Starbucks cup whitened as she stared at the child’s photo. “In or out of the apartment.”
“You’re wrong.” Conor gentled his voice, sensing delicate ground. Alicia would have been proud because sensitivity hadn’t exactly been his strong suit back in the day. “Being divorced myself, I can see how easily opinions get skewed to the last available option. It’s hard to see there are other choices out there. Here’s what I’m wondering.” He considered how to phrase his offer to heighten its appeal, then shrugged. “If I could help you get into another line of work and off the drugs, would you like to be part of Grayce’s life again?”
Her eyes darted to his. “You think you can muscle me through her? Silence me? Keep me on the outside by dangling my daughter in front of me?”
“Absolutely not.” Conor met her angry gaze head on. “What I’d like is to see you clean up your act and become part of the family. You’re Grayce’s mother. She misses you and doesn’t understand why everyone else’s mommy likes them and hers went away. I’d like to see her have the best possible shot at growing up normal.”
“Define normal. Her father’s about to marry your daughter. I’m a drug user and a high-end hooker, disease-free last time we checked. No way does Brian want his strung-out, trick-turning ex-wife to be anywhere around his precious little girl.”
Conor lifted his cup of coffee and studied her through hooded eyes. “Or is it that you don’t want to be around for her to see the choices you made over her?”
Chloe Martin surged to her feet. “Listen, you know nothing, got it? Nothing. I gave up my life for that kid, turned my back on an acting career that was this close,” she held two fingers together to show the narrow margin of fate, “then ended up pregnant and out of the line-up.”
“You kept the baby,” Conor told her, keeping his seat. “That shows character.”
“Or fear.”
Conor acknowledged that with a nod. “Understandable. Ms. Martin, I won’t coerce you. That’s not my style.”
“Tell that to Mainichi Global.”
Conor shrugged. “You cheat, you pay. Simple justice. Some pay more than others. I think you’ve already paid enough, Ms. Martin.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
Conor stood. He thought o
f the file he’d had run on the young woman before him, but kept that information to himself. “If you want things to get better, I can help.”
“Afraid of appearances, Mr. Bradstreet?” She rolled one shoulder, an effective runway move, the loose drape of her silk shirt outlining delightful feminine curves.
“No. Just figured it’s nice to get a second chance. Sometimes that extra chance makes all the difference.”
She took a step forward.
Conor took a distinct step back. “Think about things. Please. You’ve got choices, including the stage, if that’s what you truly want, but the drugs have to go and the high-paying job that funds them has to go with them. For Grayce’s sake.”
She stared at him, jaw slack, eyes wide and scared. Haunted, almost, but for a brief moment, Conor thought he discerned a glimmer of hope.
“Call me,” Conor told her, handing her his card. “Let me know what you decide. It’s a big step, I know.” The look he gave her was meant to reassure. “But a friend once said to me, ‘kids don’t deserve stupid parents’”
“And you bought into that?” She hiked up her chin, her face stiff, her tone slightly insolent and a touch... encouraged? Conor thought so.
“I figured he was right.” Conor offered his hand. “Thank you for coming to see me, taking the time. I appreciate it, Ms. Martin.”
She eyed the hand as though intimidated, then accepted the handshake with caution. Conor gave her a firm, direct grip and some fatherly advice. “Call me. Let me help. There’s a world of things out there for a beautiful young woman like yourself. Don’t be afraid to reach for them.”
Expectation blossomed in her dark blue eyes, but its light dimmed as she contemplated the magnitude of her options. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s all I ask.” Conor saw her to the door and wondered if there was a specific saint or angel for ladies of the night. If so, he could use him/her/them right about now, en masse. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Martin.”
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