by J. B. Lynn
As he spoke, Jackson, Brady’s childhood friend and neighbor, joined them.
“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Brady told Tom. “Do you think I should find someone else to look after Mrs. M.?”
“She’s a big girl. She can handle herself,” Tom replied easily. “So is that what’s bugging you?”
Taking a shot from the free throw line, Brady shrugged again. His shot missed.
Jackson chuckled. “I don’t think so.”
Clenching his jaw shut, he shot his oldest friend a dirty look. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“It’s the chick, isn’t it?” Jackson taunted, recovering the ball.
“Chick?” Tom asked, intrigued.
“Amy.” Jackson threw the ball to Tom.
“Why don’t I know about this Amy?” Tom sank a shot.
Scrambling after the ball, his back to his friends, Brady said, “We’re over.”
“Over?” Jackson asked. “How? When last night you were giving her puppy dog eyes?”
Brady dribbled the ball three times. “Her choice. Not mine.”
“So change her mind,” Tom urged, slapping the ball out of Brady’s hands and passing it to Jackson.
“Not everyone gets a Happily Ever After like you,” Brady growled.
Tom and Jackson shared a look.
“Oh he’s got it bad for this one,” Jackson said with mock seriousness.
“He certainly does,” Tom agreed.
“Question is,” Jackson threw the ball to Brady, “what are you going to do about it?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Amy climbed the stairs to her apartment tiredly. She hadn’t even inserted her key in the first lock when the door across the hallway opened.
“Hey, Amy.”
Turning, she offered Roscoe a half-hearted smile. “Hi.”
The big man frowned slightly. “You okay?”
“Rough couple of days.” She leaned against the wall behind her.
“Your date didn’t work out?”
“It was never going to,” she muttered.
Tilting his head to the side, he considered her thoughtfully. “Want to talk about it? I just made a pot of coffee and I’ve got cinnamon buns in the oven.”
Amy’s mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten all day and she knew that Roscoe’s baked goods were always delicious.
“C’mon,” he invited, pushing his door wide open and beckoning for her to follow him inside.
The scent of coffee and cinnamon proved to be a siren’s call she couldn’t resist. She followed him inside. She’d never been in the apartment across from hers and she couldn’t believe how different they were. While hers was dull and barren, Roscoe’s brimmed with life. Houseplants of all kinds seemed to spill from every corner of the room.
“Wow.” It felt as though she’d stepped into a greenhouse. “It’s beautiful.”
“I need something to occupy my time.” Roscoe moved across the apartment to the kitchen area and poured her a cup of coffee. “How do you take this?”
“With sugar if you’ve got it,” she replied, eyeing a collection of cookbooks stacked almost to the ceiling. “Black is fine if you don’t.”
“What kind of baker wouldn’t have sugar?” Roscoe tssked. “So tell me why you and, what was his name? Brady? Didn’t work out.”
Instead of answering him directly, she asked, “Do you have family?”
Pulling a pan of steaming dough from the oven, he seemed to choose his words carefully. “I do, but we’re not in touch.”
Amy, who was pretty sure she’d do just about anything to have a family, asked quickly. “Why not?”
He handed her a cup of coffee, but remained silent.
When Roscoe didn’t answer, she felt a surge of guilt. “There I go again, inserting my foot into my mouth. I should have minded my own business. I had no right to ask.”
“They weren’t there for me when I faced the murder accusation.” He spoke so softly, she had to strain to make out the words.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered back.
Shrugging, he turned away to pry some cinnamon buns out of the pan. “Ancient history. You didn’t answer my question about Brady.”
Feeling as though she owed him the same kind of honesty he showed her, she said slowly, “I had a choice to make and I didn’t choose him.”
“And you regret that?”
“I’m not sure,” she admitted, reaching for the safety deposit key she’d stowed in the front pocket of her jeans. She wrapped her fingers around the piece of metal that would unlock her future. “I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“What happens tomorrow?”
“I’m hoping I get to meet my father.”
An hour later, having thoroughly enjoyed coffee, two cinnamon buns, and Roscoe’s company, Amy made another choice. This one was easier than giving up Brady.
She strode into Busy Bea’s with a sense of purpose. After exchanging pleasantries with the kitchen prep staff, she went in search of Adrian.
She found him in the office, sprawled out on the couch, watching an episode of Gordon Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares. Unaware of her presence, he chuckled as the celebrity chef told off a hapless restaurant owner.
She glanced around the room, noticing how he’d made it his own. He’d stripped every last bit of Bea’s influence from it. Bea was no longer there, which meant Amy no longer needed to be there either.
“Despite the yelling and cursing, he gives good advice,” Amy said from the doorway.
Adrian didn’t bother to sit up, turn off the television, or even take his eyes off the screen. He just waved her inside. “Did you need something?”
Amy had mentally rehearsed a whole impassioned speech about how much Bea had meant to her and what a difficult choice she’d had to make, but all she said was, “I quit.”
That got Adrian’s attention. He jumped up from the couch. “You can’t.”
“I can,” she told him steadily. “And I just did.”
“But you promised Bea.”
“I kept my promise to Bea, but you’ve done nothing but sit on your butt since you inherited this place. You don’t want to learn. You certainly don’t want to work.”
“Don’t you dare judge me,” Adrian roared. “I don’t need to listen to a lowly waitress.”
“Of course you don’t,” she agreed pleasantly. Turning away, she tossed over her shoulder, “Good luck, Adrian.”
“Wait! Stop!”
She paused.
“When will your last day be?”
Squaring her shoulders to bolster her determination, she spun around to look him in the eye. “I quit effectively immediately.”
“You can’t do that. You owe me at least two weeks’ notice.”
“No, Adrian. I don’t owe you anything.” Head held high, she walked out of Busy Bea’s.
As she emerged into the parking lot, she noticed the diner who always insisted on sitting at her table, sitting in a car watching her. She made eye contact with the creepy guy, making sure he knew that she knew he was there.
He rolled down his car’s window and gestured for him to come closer. “I owe you an explanation.”
Against her better judgment she took a few steps in his direction. “You can’t go around following me,” she blustered. “I’ll go to the police. I’ll get a restraining order.”
He smiled and shook his head sadly. “You sound so much like your mother.”
Amy jumped back a step. “You knew my mother?”
“Your father may have a lot of enemies, but he has many friends too.”
Amy stuck by the story she’d believed most of her life. “My father died before I was born.”
Ignoring her empty lie, the man continued, “We’ve been watching over you. Making sure nothing happened to you.”
“You’re not doing such a bang-up job. First, I was robbed and then I tangled with a mugger.”
“But you didn’t walk in on the burglar,” he reminded her, cau
sing her to remember the old man who’d stopped her on the street corner the day she’d been robbed. He’d grabbed her arm and made her repeat the directions he’d asked for four times before finally letting her go. Had he intentionally slowed her down so that she wouldn’t run into the thief?
“And as for the mugger,” he shrugged expressively. “You attacked him and it’s not like he’s in any position to retaliate.”
Amy stared at the man in the car, wondering if he’d just suggested that the reason the mugger had ended up dead was her.
A cold shiver skittered down her spine. If these were her father’s “friends,” how bad were his enemies?
“Found ya,” Diego crowed triumphantly from behind her. “
Frightened, she let out a shriek. Whirling around, she smacked his shoulder. “You scared me to death.”
Behind her, a car engine revved. Spinning back around, she watched her dad’s crony drive away.
“You’re a hard person to track down,” Diego complained.
She considered telling her oldest friend about the conversation she’d just had, but then decided to keep it to herself, so she said sarcastically, “And yet you figured out I was only here.”
“Only because Roscoe told me you would be.” He made a point of looking behind her. He flashed her his cheekiest grin. “Where’s your boyfriend?”
The mention of Brady made her chest contract painfully. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
Seeing her reaction, Diego’s smile faltered. “What happened?”
“I had a choice to make.” Her throat closed and tears welled in her eyes.
Diego stepped forward and hugged her tightly. “It’s going to be okay.”
“I think I made the wrong choice.” She sobbed into his shoulder.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Brady paced nervously outside the bank, waiting for it to open. As a result, he was walking away from Amy and didn’t realize she had arrived until he turned back around.
Recognizing him, her eyes widened with shock.
“Hi,” he said, determined to keep things casual in order to not scare her off.
“What are you doing here?” She didn’t sound pleased to see him.
“I thought you might need some help.”
“Turning a key?” she asked sarcastically.
“I thought you might need legal counsel since you’re not a signatory on the account.”
She considered that for a long moment. “I’m not supposed to see you.”
He took a step closer to her. She took a step back.
A vise tightened around Brady’s heart. “Why not?”
“I promised your mother.”
He clenched his fists, trying not to lose his temper. “She had no right to do what she did.”
Amy looked away.
“But I sort of understand why she did what she did,” he said slowly. “What I don’t understand is why you agreed to it.”
She hung her head in shame. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Stepping closer, he said softly, “Try me.”
Raising her chin, she stared at him defiantly, unshed tears shimmering in her eyes. “It’s my chance.”
“Chance for what?”
“A chance to have a family. If I can find out who my father is, I won’t be alone.”
“You’re not alone now,” he reminded her quietly, hating the pain he heard in her voice and saw etched on her face.
Two tears spilled down her cheeks.
She dashed them away angrily. “And what would happen when you decide I’m right about us not fitting into each other’s worlds? I’d be alone.”
He knew from the desperation in her tone that she wouldn’t believe him if he said that would never happen, so he said nothing.
Behind them, the bank manager unlocked the door, opening the place for business.
“I have to take this chance,” Amy insisted.
“Then I’ll keep my promise and help you.” He pushed the door to the bank open and ushered her inside, torn between wanting her to find what she so badly wanted and hoping the box would be empty and that he could find a space in her life again.
Thankfully, she’d brought her Social Security card, so getting the bank employee to let them into the box wasn’t a problem since whoever had opened the account had included Amy’s name and social security number, but opening the box was a bit of a letdown since all it contained was a leather bag that contained a VHS tape.
“Old school,” Amy murmured, putting it back in the bag.
“Let me call Gerald to check to see if we have a VCR at the office,” Brady offered.
“No need. Diego has one.”
“You’re sure?”
“He’s into classic.” She made mocking air quotes with her fingers. “Cassettes, 8 Tracks, Record Players, and VCRs are his thing.”
Brady frowned, realizing he couldn’t help anymore. “Will I see you again?”
“I don’t know. Thank you for your help, Brady.” Standing on her tiptoes she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek before hurrying away.
He stood in the bank’s foyer, watching her walk out of his life, not knowing how to stop her. He was about to chase after her and beg for another chance when his cell phone buzzed.
“What?”
“Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed, but that’s no reason to bite my head off,” Lara admonished.
“Sorry.”
“I thought you’d want to know that Eric just fired Gerald.”
Brady glanced at his watch. “Before ten on a Monday morning?’
“The kid’s heartbroken. His bowtie is all crooked.”
Brady watched Amy turn the corner. The pain of knowing he might never see her again felt like a physical blow.
“You have to do something,” Lara urged.
“I know.” Brady groaned.
“Are you okay?”
Laura’s sharp concern made him aware she’d been saying he had to do something to help Gerald, not to win back Amy. “I’m on my way.”
On the drive over to the office, Brady weighed the pros and cons of confronting Eric about the Hasburgh Industries mess. In the pro column, he listed doing the right thing and saving Keith’s business. Knowing he could be fired and not get a decent recommendation for his next job filled the con column.
His decision was easy.
Riding the elevator, he turned on his phone and stared at the picture he’d taken of Amy. Just like he knew that the right thing to do was to confront Eric and inform Hasburgh, he knew that he needed to confront his mother and tell Amy how he felt.
He strode off the elevator, filled with purpose.
“Where is he?” he demanded of Lara as he marched toward her desk.
Her eyes flicked nervously toward his office.
“He’s in my office?”
“Of course not,” she shook her head. “He’s in his office. What are you going to do?”
“Protect my client to the best of my abilities.” Without saying anything else, he strode toward Eric’s office.
Eric was seated at his desk, staring at his computer screen.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Brady asked as way of greeting.
Eric guiltily slammed his computer shut before going on the offensive. “Let me guess, you’ve been talking to Gerald.”
“I’m going to be talking to Keith Hasburgh,” Brady warned. “And I’m going to tell him that I don’t support your plan because it puts him at risk. Gerald showed me the two sets of numbers you’re juggling. He figured out what you’re up to and I’m going to tell Hasburgh.”
Eric jumped to his feet. “You can’t do that.”
“I’m going to.”
“Then you’ll be fired too.”
Brady rocked back on his heels and shook his head. “I know your father didn’t raise you to take shortcuts like this, Eric.”
“My father was a sap,” Eric spit. “How else would you explain him putting you
through college?”
“It was a loan,” Brady reminded him. “And between my unpaid internships and the cut I took on billable hours, I’ve repaid the firm.”
“You’re fired,” Eric decided, “and if you even think about going to Hasburgh, you’ll be in violation of our hiring agreement. I checked.”
The smirk on the other man’s face made Brady want to punch him.
Brady scowled at him, realizing he had no leverage. “So get ready to sue me. I’m telling Hasburgh.”
He spun around and stalked out before he gave into the urge to throttle Eric. Blinded by rage, he crashed into someone.
“Easy there, son,” a deep voice rumbled.
Focusing, Brady realized that the person he collided with was none other than Keith Hasburgh.
“What are you doing here?” Brady blurted out.
“I wanted to talk to you and your secretary was kind enough to lead me here.”
Keith jerked his head back, pointing to where Lara stood in the hallway, a self-satisfied smile lighting up her face.
Brady had to stifle a chuckle when she winked at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Eric appear in the doorway.
“Mr. Hasburgh?” The other lawyer’s voice squeaked like that of a frightened schoolboy.
Brady couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re the one who’s fired, Junior,” Keith informed him matter-of-factly.
“But,” Eric protested weakly.
“Shut up before I bring you up before the board or whoever it is you report to.”
“The Bar Association,” Brady supplied helpfully.
Keith rubbed his hands together as though something wonderful had just occurred to him. “Shut up before I hire Brady here to report you to the Bar Association.”
Eric paled and snapped his mouth closed.
Clapping a hand on Brady’s shoulder, Keith added, “I’m looking for in-house counsel and it would appear you’re looking for a job. What do you say?”
Behind the old man, Lara nodded her head vigorously, encouraging him to accept the offer.
“I can’t start right away. Can I have a little time?”
“Sure.”
“But in the meantime, I’d like to hire my secretary,” he nodded to Lara, “and my associate Gerald. I assure you, they’re both top-notch.”