“It’s going to be a rough day, Sheila. The numbers aren’t good, but I really believe we can still turn things around.”
The hand wringing stopped, and Sheila smiled. With a nod, she said, “If anyone can do it, you can, Maggie.”
The weight of such unfailing belief was a difficult burden, but as Sheila left the room, Maggie stiffened her spine and flipped on one of the morning business shows. The commentary from the talking heads was harsh, but it could have been worse. One reporter even made a positive mention of some of the cost savings Maggie had accomplished by renegotiating one of their union contracts and another with a delivery firm. As they finished with their discussion about the Sinclair Corporation, Maggie shut off the television and prepared herself for what would follow now that people knew that the grand old lady of Fifth Avenue was in trouble.
The first email hit her inbox seconds after the financial reporters ended their talk. She muted her computer speakers in an effort to ignore the bing-bing-bing as a deluge of messages flooded her mailbox, and she phoned Sheila to warn her that she didn’t want to be disturbed in case anyone called.
She hung up and leaned back in her chair. There was no doubt the situation had become dire in the last year. While her father was a whiz when it came to real estate transactions, retail had been her mother’s gift, making for a good partnership at the time. But the retail arena was different now. To save the stores and the employees’ jobs, not to mention the Sea Kiss home she loved, they needed to make changes in how the stores were operated. And they needed cash and lots of it. With the leak of the report, it would be difficult to get a loan from any of the banks, and worse, it was possible some of their vendors would start cutting off their lines of credit.
Opening her personal folder once again, she ran down the list of prospective white knights she had identified. After this morning, she could cross a number of names off the list. Only a few viable candidates remained, including Owen Pierce.
She didn’t know why she had recently added him, except of course that she had no issue with him personally. If anything, she had long felt it was time to end the rift between the families. Maybe even explore her fascination with Owen in order to get past it.
Owen had been on her mind a lot since Tracy’s wedding and their assorted meetings in the last few weeks: the late-night beach walk, their local gym, her favorite neighborhood Italian restaurant, and, last but not least, during her walk-through at the store the other day. That barely there kiss on her cheek had held the promise of so much more.
Or is that just wishful thinking on my part?
She shut her eyes tightly, picturing him in his tuxedo at the wedding and jeans afterward. Remembering him in his elegant suit as he stood in the store, thoughtfully looking for a gift for his assistant.
“Ignoring me?”
She jumped as she realized her father stood before her desk, a bemused look on his handsome face. Shaking her head, she rose and invited him to take a seat. “Sorry, Dad. I was lost in thought.”
Guilt bit into her that she wasn’t being completely truthful by omitting what she had been thinking about. Or rather, who.
“I know it won’t be easy to handle the reporters or the other shareholders after this morning,” her father said.
“I don’t mind, except there’s one question that is sure to keep popping up: What do we plan to do about the stores?”
Her father’s features tightened, and his lips thinned into a disapproving slash.
“I don’t want to discuss this again, Maggie. You know my position on it.”
With frustration, she raked her fingers through her hair, pulling the shoulder-length strands away from her face. “It’s been a very long time since Mom died, Dad. It’s time to let go and honor her memory in another way,” she urged.
“Really, Maggie? How do you propose we do that?” he challenged, ruddy color erupting on his cheeks. A nervous tic pulsed along his clenched jaw.
“We make the changes we need to so that the stores can be successful again. We make Mom proud of what we can do together.”
“Maggie, I’m not sure—”
“Can you do that, Dad? Are you willing to take that risk with me?” she pressed, trying to make her father understand that they were almost out of options. As she met his shuttered gaze, however, she knew he was unconvinced, and that left her with few prospects for the future. As much as she wanted to honor her mother’s memory and save the stores, she wouldn’t do it by dishonoring her father by getting the other shareholders to give her their votes in order to have control of the board.
It was why she had mortgaged so many of her personal assets to provide loans to the company, but she was close to the end of her rope. She had to do something to convince her father to change his mind or risk losing everything.
* * *
Maggie had thought that the day couldn’t get any worse, but then a tearful Tracy phoned near midday.
“I hate to bother you. I know you’re busy,” she began.
Maggie quickly jumped in. “I’m never too busy for a friend. What can I do?”
“Lunch would be nice. Are you free?”
Although she had a lot of work to do, she could use the break after the kind of morning she’d had. Besides, when a friend needed her, she couldn’t say no. “You know that Mexican place at Forty-First and Third? How about I meet you—”
“I’m in the lobby. The security guard wouldn’t let me up.”
“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” she said. After letting her assistant know that she was going out, she headed down to the lobby where her friend waited in the large space, looking decidedly lost. As she approached Tracy, she examined her friend and immediately recognized the signs of a major Tracy tragedy. The nearly opaque sunglasses probably hid tear-reddened eyes and dark smudges from a lack of sleep. Tracy’s bottom lip was bitten clean of lipstick, and her hands gripped her Prada purse so tightly, her knuckles were white from the pressure.
There was just one big difference from all her earlier romantic tragedies: this time, it was about a husband and not just a boyfriend.
Maggie hugged her friend. “Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”
A watery sniffle escaped Tracy, and her friend nodded. Maggie slipped her arm through Tracy’s, and they walked quietly to the Mexican restaurant where they were seated quickly, since it was early for lunch.
Tracy finally slipped off her sunglasses and laid them beside her on the table. Her eyes were red and puffy, just as Maggie had guessed.
Leaning closer over the narrow width of the table, her friend said, “I think he’s cheating on me, Mags. Tell me what to do.”
Maggie considered her friend at length before laying her hand over Tracy’s as it rested on the pristine white tablecloth. “What do you want to do?”
Tracy looked away, avoiding Maggie’s scrutiny. “I want it to work, only… Maybe this marriage was a mistake,” she said softly. “You all knew, and you all tried to tell me in dozens of ways, but I didn’t listen.”
No, you didn’t listen, Maggie thought.
Gently squeezing Tracy’s hand to comfort her, she said, “Whatever you want to do, we’re here for you. We understand what you’re going through.”
Tracy shook her head and twisted her lips into an angry smirk. “How could you? How could any of you? When have you ever taken the time to fall in love? You’re all so…”
“Independent,” Maggie filled in when her friend hesitated.
Tracy leaned forward once again and fixed her gaze on Maggie’s. “Afraid. You’re all so frickin’ afraid.”
Maggie jerked away, as taken aback as if her friend had slapped her. “Afraid? Who says I’m afraid?”
In an accusatory whisper, Tracy said, “I saw you kiss Owen that night at your grandmother’s. I saw how the two of you looked at each other at my wed
ding, only you’re too afraid to defy Daddy. Connie’s too afraid of being like her unwed mom. And sweet Jesus, don’t even get me started on Emma, because that girl’s got major mommy and daddy issues and who knows what else going on.”
Tracy’s voice had escalated. Maggie knew it was soul-deep pain talking, so she didn’t take offense, although it bothered her a little that her friend might be right about some things.
“I know you’re hurting, so I’ll forgive you for being a bitch just now. And you know that no matter what you decide, we’ll all be here to help you.”
At that moment, the waitress brought over the margaritas they’d ordered. Tracy picked up her drink and eyed Maggie over the salt-laced rim. With the hand that held the glass, she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Maggie and said, “You’re always there to help, Mags, but the bigger question is who’s going to help you?”
Maggie narrowed her gaze and, slightly puzzled, said, “What do you mean?”
“The business. Your love life—”
“I don’t have a love life.”
“Exactly,” Tracy said with another wave of her hand.
Maggie was about to protest again but snapped her mouth shut, because in the emotional state that Tracy was in, it would do little good to argue. But as the meal came, she wondered how a lunch that was supposed to be about making her friend feel better had ended up making her feel so miserable.
Chapter 4
The letters started doing a little jig across the page.
Or maybe it was a moonwalk, Owen Pierce mused as he closed his eyes and scrubbed his face with his hands.
It had been a long, tiring, and frustrating day spent negotiating a new lease agreement for one of their commercial Midtown properties. Now he was trying to make up for the time he had lost by burning a little midnight oil to review a contract for another location the company wanted to acquire in Queens. With properties in Manhattan and Brooklyn running at a premium, they needed to be in the next most likely hot location.
Unfortunately, the letters continued to dance across the paper in a blur, a clear sign it was time to stop for the day. Besides, Queens wasn’t going anywhere overnight.
As he closed the file, he leaned back in his leather executive chair and laced his hands behind his head. All he could think about was going to his favorite restaurant for a quick dinner followed by a relaxing night sitting in front of the television, watching the ball game. Especially since it looked like the Mets would make the postseason this year.
Surging from the chair, he slipped his suit jacket back on, straightened his tie, and headed out of his corner office and into the main space of his family’s real estate business. There were a few ambitious souls huddled at their desks on a Friday night, but for the most part, the staff had gone home to start the weekend.
Outside the building on Sixth, traffic streamed uptown while across the street, a crowd of tourists mingled in front of Radio City Music Hall, waiting for a show.
He sauntered eastward to Fifth where he was lucky to grab a cab to take him downtown to the restaurant near his condo in the Flatiron District, although he reconsidered just how lucky as the cabbie swerved and dodged other cars and trucks at breakneck speed before jerking to a sudden stop only inches shy of a pedestrian who had been paying more attention to his cell phone than to traffic.
The cabbie muttered a curse under his breath and shot off again as the light turned green, tossing Owen against the seat back and yanking a curse from him as well. Not that the cabbie took note of that or slowed his speed.
The city went by in a blur of noises and smells. Horns honking and a distant siren. The riot of colors from the neon and lights on buildings and the summer clothing the tourists wore to walk around. The pungent scent of the hot dog vendor’s cart was quickly replaced by the sweetness of cinnamon rolls from a food truck parked on the next block.
Owen was infinitely relieved when, a few minutes later, the taxi dropped him off in front of the Italian restaurant on Park Avenue South. He flipped the cabbie the fare and told him to keep the change, earning a “Thanks, man.”
When he glanced through the plate glass window of the restaurant, he muttered another curse when he realized how crowded it was. He hoped it wouldn’t be too long a wait, although with the kind of luck he was having today, he wouldn’t bet on it.
He walked in and froze. There was no ignoring who stood in front of him, elegant and feminine in a dove-gray designer pantsuit. Her thick, dark hair hung loose to her shoulders, and pearl earrings winked from beneath the lush strands. A pearl necklace graced her long, slender neck while a slim gold watch completed the classic look.
Maggie.
She turned, and the heat of embarrassment snaked through him as he realized he’d said her name aloud.
Surprise colored her crystal-blue gaze as it swept over him, and she stumbled through her reply. “O-O-Owen. Hello. I just came by for a quick bite.”
He looked past her to the packed restaurant where only one table for two was free. “Me too, but it looks like I may have to wait. So much for quick.”
The hostess rushed over and blurted out, “I’m so sorry, Mr. Pierce. We’ve just seated a number of the other guests, so it may take an hour or more for the next table to free up.”
He gestured to the sole empty table and locked his gaze on Maggie’s. “Would you mind sharing?” he asked, arching a brow. It occurred to him that maybe today was going to be his lucky day after all.
* * *
It was on the tip of Maggie’s tongue to refuse, but Tracy’s words from earlier that day challenged her.
Hell no, she was not afraid of Owen, their family feud, or her father.
Besides, the temptation of all that was Owen Pierce was too much for her to resist. Plus, she was hungry, and he could be really charming. A part of her even wondered if she could feel him out about the loan she needed, although after the kind of day she’d had, the business, the mortgage on the beach house, and the possible mortgage on her town house were the last things she wanted to think about.
“I wouldn’t mind at all,” she said, offering Owen a grin to dispel any doubt he might have about her sincerity.
With a broad smile, the hostess picked up two menus and led them to the table in the back. As she did so, a couple of heads in the restaurant swiveled around to follow them.
Tracy’s friend Toni Van Houten was dining with her husband sans her trio of boys. Toni and her husband kept a pied-à-terre in Chelsea.
One of the morning show financial reporters sat at another table with his brother, a sportscaster at a local television station. They were rambling far from their Uptown studios, but this restaurant was popular with the local media.
After they were seated and the hostess stepped away, Maggie unfurled her napkin and said, “You know there will be gossip all over by the morning.”
Owen’s broad shoulders shot up in a nonchalant shrug that stretched the deep, navy-blue merino wool of his bespoke suit jacket. “How about this? For tonight, no talk about our businesses or our families. Just about us.”
She exhaled sharply, although humor tinged her words. “I thought we were all about our businesses and families. What’s left?”
He grinned, and his startling charcoal-gray eyes lightened to a rich slate color marbled with gleaming silver. “How about baseball? Please tell me you’re not a Yankees fan, because that’s one thing I could never forgive you for.”
She threw her head back and laughed as he had intended. “I’m a Mets fan through and through,” she said. She watched with too much interest as he jerked open his tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt, clearly intending to relax during dinner.
Mimicking his actions, she eased out of her jacket, and with it gone, it seemed as if a huge weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Funny how she had never thought of her business suit as being
a kind of burden, but in the short time since lunch with Tracy, she’d become somehow more sensitive about her situation.
The waitress came over quickly, barely giving her time to recover from that revelation.
“Would you like a drink while you make up your minds, or have you decided what you’d like?” the young woman asked.
Maggie was a creature of habit, and the chicken parmigiana here was the best she’d ever had. Since Owen had closed his menu, she ordered it, and when Owen ordered the same thing, she smiled. “Two things we have in common: chicken parm and the Mets.”
With a smile that awakened a dimple that made him look infinitely more boyish, Owen replied, “That’s a good start.”
She wanted to say there was nothing to get started because there was nowhere they could go, but that would be lying to herself. For way too long, Owen had played an on-again, off-again role in her fantasies, only tonight, he was no fantasy.
He was there right across from her, mouthwatering flesh-and-blood male wrapped up in a hand-tailored custom suit that totally amplified his aura of power. Everything about him said that he was a man used to getting what he wanted.
Her heart beat triple time in her chest as she wondered if he might want her. For tonight, she was going to take advantage of this opportunity to find out more about the man who fascinated her more with each encounter. Maybe even to find out how much he’d changed from the young boy who’d once built sand castles with her and then left her.
The waitress brought over their salads and a bread basket wafting yeasty goodness that was impossible to resist. They both reached for the bread at the same time, but Owen gallantly demurred.
“After you,” he offered.
She nodded, picked up a slice, and waited until he had grabbed one as well. “Sorry, I’m a carboholic,” she said in explanation as she tore a piece off the bread and popped it into her mouth.
That wicked dimpled grin erupted again. “Guilty as well. Nothing better than a good hunk of bread, some cheese, and wine. Which reminds me.”
One Summer Night Page 3