“Um, would you have anywhere to stay while this is being renovated?”
She turned to face me, looking alarmed. “No, I hadn’t even thought about that.”
“Don’t worry about it. You and Daphne can stay at my apartment in Manhattan. I’ll put your neighbor up in a nearby hotel.”
“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” she said, gripping my hand. “It’s too much.”
I shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I usually stay in the Hamptons during the week anyhow. I just come to the city on weekends to meet up with friends or…” Hook up with women. But I couldn’t say that to her.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to say it,” she said, poking my stomach. “I get it.” She smiled to let me know she wasn’t concerned. “But why have you been here the last couple of nights if you’re working in the Hamptons?”
“Thursday night I met Damon and Deacon here. Last night, I met Billy. Tonight, it was Chase.”
She rolled her tongue around in her cheek, looking amused. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were making excuses to see me.”
I grabbed her waist, pulling her close. “Damn, you figured me out.”
“Well,” she said, gripping my shoulders, “let’s finish this grand tour so we can get the hell out of here.”
I couldn’t argue with that, though the thought of having Chelsea in close proximity to a bedroom did hold some appeal.
“This is my room.” She bit her lip, waiting for my response.
There was nothing in it, just a mattress on the floor and a single small dresser with a stack of library books on top. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want to embarrass her, but I couldn’t stand the thought of her living this way. She deserved so much better.
“And this is Daphne’s room.” She threw the door next to hers open so fast, it banged against the wall behind it.
This room was slightly larger than Chelsea’s, and at least it had a dresser with mirror, a real bed, and a single nightstand.
“So that’s it. You’ve seen the whole place.” She pushed past me as though she couldn’t wait to get out of there.
“Hey,” I said, gripping her wrist and hauling her back against my chest. I curled my arms around her, and it took her a minute to relax, so I knew she wasn’t comfortable with the idea of being confined. “We’re gonna make this better, Chels. You’ll see. You won’t even recognize it when I’m finished.”
“Um, I hate to ask,” she said, her voice low, “because obviously I know the place needs work and we’re really grateful you’ll be making improvements, but do you think you’ll have to raise the rent a lot?”
“Not a penny,” I whispered in her ear.
“Darius, we don’t want charity. It’s only fair we—”
“What you’ve been paying for this place, in its current state, is anything but fair. Once I make the improvements, then it’ll be worth what you’re paying. I’ve done my homework. The average rent in this area for a two-bedroom is fifteen hundred, and this place is far from average. It’s way, way below average.” I kissed her temple to soften my words. “But by the time I’m finished, it’ll be way above average.”
“But shouldn’t the rent reflect that?”
If only she knew how impressed I was with her. The fact that she clearly had nothing but was concerned about being fair to someone with my resources blew my mind. “That landlord hasn’t been fair to you all along. You’ve been paying a lot more than you should for this place. All I’m doing is making things right.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “No one has ever…” She shook her head when her voice caught. “I’m just really not used to people doing nice things for me without expecting something in return.”
“For the record, renovating your apartment has nothing to do with the fact that I’m attracted to you. I’d be doing this if you lived here with your husband because it’s the right thing to do.” She stiffened in my arms, and I could tell right away that I’d said something wrong. “What is it? What—”
“Let’s just go,” she said, grabbing my hand. “I need to get out of here.”
Chapter Six
Chelsea
Darius said he was craving pizza, so he talked me into walking down the street with him so we could share one. When he’d mentioned a husband earlier, I was so tempted to tell him about Shaun, to explain that what had happened with him was why I could never get close to another man. But in the end, I’d chickened out. Maybe because I selfishly wanted just a little more time with him before I dropped the bomb.
“We like our pizza the same way,” Darius said, winking at me over the mouth-watering deep-dish pie. “That has to be a good sign, right?”
“I think you’re reaching now, Starkis.”
I rarely had money for takeout, so the last couple of nights had been a rare treat. My dinners usually consisted of cold cereal, ramen noodles, or microwave Kraft dinners. I made spaghetti with tomato sauce when I felt like splurging. My diet meant I was probably seriously deficient in a lot of nutrients, but I hoped I wouldn’t have to live like this forever.
“Have you thought any more about my offer to manage the club?”
“Sure, I’ve thought about it.” Full-time hours and a salary would mean I could quit the bartending job I hated. Serving alcohol to a bunch of drunk asses with two sets of hands was not my idea of a good time. “But I don’t want to get my hopes up. You still have to figure out whether you really want to take this club on. It’s a lot given how busy you are.”
I didn’t know why I felt the need to remind him of that. Darius buying the club and building could be great for me, both personally and professionally, but I’d learned a long time ago that when I looked forward to something, I often got disappointed. I tried to keep my wishful thinking to a minimum.
“Why do you do that?” he asked, reaching for his soft drink.
“Do what?” The way he was looking at me made me uncomfortable, as though he’d figured out a secret about me that I wasn’t ready to share.
“Refuse to hope.”
That was a loaded question if I’d ever heard one. For men like Darius, hope led to the inevitable outcome of getting what they wanted. For me, it led to heartbreak. I’d allowed myself to believe that my marriage would work out, that somehow Shaun and I would figure things out together, and he’d checked out before we had a chance.
“I’m hopeful,” I said, trying not to sound as defensive as I felt. I didn’t want him to see me as a negative person who saw only the rain clouds, never the sunshine. I wasn’t a pessimist. I was a realist. “I hope I’ll be able to save enough money to go to school. I hope I’ll be a headliner at a hot comedy club.” I felt bad indicating Billy’s was a stepping stone for me, but as much as I loved the people I worked with, I would have to move on eventually, unless Darius proved to be a miracle worker.
He was watching me carefully, making me squirm. “Go on. What else do you hope for?”
How was this man drawing these things out of me? I never shared my secret wishes with anyone, not even Daphne. I used to be a dreamer. As a child, I’d talk to my foster families about the amazing parents who would adopt me one day. But after years of being made fun of for “being stupid,” I’d just stopped dreaming and accepted my fate. No one was coming to rescue me. I had to figure out how to make it on my own. And I did.
“I hope to get a better paying job so I can quit the bartending gig,” I said.
“Just not your thing?”
I considered letting it go with a brief nod, but I heard myself say, “I grew up around quite a few alcoholics who behaved badly. I guess I never wanted to get into the habit of using it as a crutch the way they did.”
“Did they ever hurt you while they were drinking?”
The genuine concern in his eyes touched me. I had friends who cared about me, but Darius barely knew me. He had no reason to care so much.
“No, the foster kids were their meal ticket. Any reports of abuse would hav
e resulted in an investigation, which may have resulted in charges but most definitely would have meant the state wouldn’t have continued to place children in their care. They wouldn’t risk that.”
“Did you ever have foster parents who were… decent?”
“Sure, I guess.” The scale of decency was skewed in my mind though. If they left me alone and didn’t raise their voices or call me names, I thought they were decent.
“What kind of impact did being a foster child have on you? I mean, did it influence your decision about having kids of your own someday?”
“I won’t have kids.” I shook my head. “I’m not cut out to be a mom. It’s not that I’m selfish—at least, I don’t think I am. I just happen to do better on my own. I can’t imagine having someone else depending on me when I have enough trouble taking care of myself.”
“But what if you had someone to help you?” he asked. “A partner. Someone you could lean on.”
I thought of Shaun. He’d told me I could always count on him. He promised he would always be there for me. He wasn’t the first person to tell me that, but he was the first person who’d made me believe it. “I don’t lean on people. That’s dangerous.”
“What about Daphne? Don’t you lean on her?”
I considered my relationship with my best friend. I loved her, but I didn’t need her. I could survive without her, but it would be tough. Since I lost Shaun, I’d vowed I’d never need another person again, no matter how tempting it may be. “Sure, I lean on her. She leans on me too. But our relationship will change eventually. We won’t always live together.” I pushed my plate aside, reaching for a paper napkin to wipe the grease from my fingers. “She’ll fall in love someday. Then he’ll become her best friend.”
“You could fall in love too, find someone who’ll be your best friend.”
“No.” I shook my head slowly. “I did that once before. Never again.”
“Just because your last boyfriend disappointed you doesn’t mean all men are the same.”
It wasn’t so much that Shaun had disappointed me. My relationship with him had just made me question how well I knew myself and whether I could trust my own judgment. I didn’t think I could anymore. That was why my easy conversations with Darius were so troubling—I didn’t know what to make of them.
“It’s not about men,” I said, trying to make him understand. “It’s about me. Some people are just meant to be single. I’m not sad about that.” I chuckled. “All people who are part of a happy couple, or hope to be, think that all single people are miserable. We’re not. Some of us just choose to be single.”
He reached across the table. “I think you choose to be single because you’re scared.”
I withdrew my hand quickly, and I saw the sting of rejection in his eyes, making me regret the action. “I’m not afraid of anything. You can’t possibly know me, Darius.” I really needed to drive this point home so he wouldn’t get any ideas about where this could go. “There are parts of myself I’ll never share with anyone, not even my closest friends.”
“Why?”
I considered that question carefully, trying to find the right words to explain. “Some people go through life being wide open and expressive. They wear their hearts on their sleeves. Some are more introverted, deep and brooding.” I considered where I fell on the scale. “Some, like me, believe that laughter soothes the soul.” I inhaled deeply, thinking about how amazing it felt to have a room full of people share my laughter. “In those few brief moments, when I’m on stage, I really feel connected to people. I’m giving them a glimpse of who I am. When they laugh, I feel like they approve of me. When they don’t, it feels like rejection.” I wasn’t sure, but I thought most comedians probably felt the same way.
He reached for both of my hands, proving that he was willing to take another chance, even though I’d just rejected him. “You know what I think? Inside, you’re still that vulnerable little girl who just wanted someone to love you. You get up on stage, and their laughter makes you feel as though they love you, or at least they love what you do.” He kissed my hands, one after the other, while looking into my eyes. “Here’s what you need to realize, Chels. You’re not hard to love. Give people a chance, and you might be surprised by how much they could love you.”
***
Darius
Sitting in a room with guys whose salaries I paid as they told me things I didn’t want to hear was starting to piss me off. They told me the club was in a bad location. It attracted the blue-collar crowd that didn’t have money to spend on food and drink, which would have provided higher margins. Wrong demographic. Not easily accessible via public transit. More male patrons than female, unlike other comedy clubs.
I was already too invested in this idea to walk away. Good or bad, I wanted them to tell me how to make it work, not give me all the reasons it wouldn’t work.
“Here’s the deal, guys,” I said, rapping my knuckles on the table. “I’m buying the club. I’m buying the building.” When they started to object, I raised my hand to silence them. “I’ve heard everything you said and realize if this fails, I have no one to blame but myself.”
I’d asked Damon to sit in on the meeting since he’d offered to let us use his boardroom and I wanted his input. His raised eyebrow told me I’d hear his opinion later and probably wouldn’t like it, but I didn’t care. I knew what I wanted to do, and no one would talk me out of it.
“But now your objective is to figure out how to overcome all of those obstacles you just highlighted. I realize we can’t do anything about the location, but I want you to put together a team to help retrain the staff, rework the menu, and devise a marketing strategy. In the meantime, the owner of the building is waiting outside. Once he and I hammer out a deal, I’ll get started on the reno and let you know when our grand reopening will be. I’ll need things on your end to be ready for the big launch.”
“Any idea how long that will be?” Barry, the senior consultant, asked.
“Let’s plan on three months.” I expected the renovation to take two and half months, but I had to allow for extra time for unforeseen problems.
“You’re the boss.”
Both men stood and shook my hand before assuring me they’d start on my directives right away.
“Are you sure about this?” Damon asked once we were alone. “If I’d heard everything they just said, I’d be ready to walk away from this deal.”
I knew emotion shouldn’t figure into a business decision. My father had hammered that into my head enough times over the years. But this went beyond a healthy bottom line. I wanted to help a woman I cared about, one who really deserved a break. “I’m sure, Damon. This is what I want to do.”
“You’re doing this because of that girl, aren’t you?”
I’d been able to think of little else since I met her. Yeah, I was doing this for that girl. “The people who work there can’t afford to lose their jobs. Chelsea and her roommate, not to mention the widow in the other apartment, deserve better living conditions. Trust me when I tell you they’re deplorable.”
“You’re not a non-profit out to help people in distress, cuz. You’re a businessman. You need to think about the bottom line.”
He was right. But maybe I could put this in terms he would understand. “If Eleni had been living hand-to-mouth when you met her and had to walk through a goddamn dark and dangerous alley at two in the morning just to get to her apartment, would you have stood for that?”
Damon tipped his chair back, his gaze hitting the ceiling. “No. Are you saying Chelsea’s—”
“Living in a shithole and sleeping on a goddamn mattress on the floor. Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.” I couldn’t think about that excuse for an apartment without wanting to beat the shit out of her landlord. And now that we were about to come face-to-face, it would take everything in me to restrain myself, especially if he wasn’t willing to man up.
“That sucks, man.”
I knew million
s of people lived that way, some even worse off than Chelsea, but I didn’t know them personally. Their beautiful blue eyes didn’t haunt me when I tried to sleep. The thought of their laughter didn’t make me smile at random times throughout the day.
“Yeah, it does. So do you get why I’m doing this?” I didn’t need Damon to understand or approve, but it would have been nice to hear someone tell me I wasn’t crazy.
“I do.” He pushed his chair back before offering his hand. “Good luck with it. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“Thanks, I will.” When Damon curled his hand around the doorknob, I said, “Can you send the slumlord in? He should be waiting in the lobby.”
“Should I send security up here to supervise?” Damon asked with a half-smile. “I’m not sure I should trust you alone with this guy.”
“Only because I’m in your office building,” I said, hand to heart, “I’ll behave. I swear.”
“You better,” Damon said, rubbing his hand over the white wall. “Blake and I just had this place painted. We don’t wanna see any blood splatter.”
I chuckled as he left and closed the door. After our pizza date last night, Chelsea had given me her cell number. I wanted to use it now, just to check in, but I decided to wait until I had good news to share.
After a brief knock, a young, well-dressed man entered. “Darius Starkis?”
“Yeah.” I stood, extending my hand before gesturing toward the chair across from me. It wouldn’t help to put him on the defensive. I had to feel him out first, make sure he was still as receptive to selling as Billy had claimed. “Thanks for meeting me, Mr. Smyth.”
“Not a problem.”
He released the button on his dark suit before sitting, and I took in the little details that screamed wealth. Well-cut suit, probably designer. Italian shoes. Diamond watch. By contrast, I wore faded jeans, my trusty steel-toed boots, and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back. I didn’t have to dress to impress, but he clearly did.
Darius (Starkis Family #5) Page 6