“I’ll be at the Royal Globe Towers,” he told her with a wry half smile, making her wonder if he could read her mind.
Then he hopped out of the car, meeting her on the sidewalk with her suitcase in his hand.
The doorman nodded to her in recognition, and they moved smoothly onto the elevator, riding up ten floors to her compact apartment.
“This is nice,” said Reed, taking in the French Provincial chairs and love seat, the proliferation of plants and the small dining-room table tucked against the pass-through to her tiny kitchen.
“Not much of a view,” she apologized. If you craned your neck, you could just barely see past the stone building next door to the street below.
“You made it nice inside.” He gestured with the suitcase toward a closed door.
“Yes, please.” She quickly opened the bedroom door and flipped on the bedside lamp.
Reed set her suitcase down on the bed.
“You’re rehearsing all day tomorrow?” he asked, standing close.
She nodded, holding her breath. Would he touch her? Hug her? Kiss her?
“Dinner after?” he asked.
“Sure. Yes.” She quickly nodded.
“I’ll call you? Seven?”
She gave another nod, and her tongue flicked involuntarily across her lower lip.
He obviously caught the movement. His gaze held for a long second on her lips.
She felt them soften, tingle, part ever so slightly.
Reed cleared his throat. “I’d better get back to the car.”
Disappointment washed through her.
He took a step back. “Have a good rehearsal.”
“Thank you.”
He moved closer to the door. “Hope the ankle holds up.”
“Me, too.”
He was halfway through the door when he called back. “I’ll dress differently tomorrow.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Okay.”
“You have a favorite place?”
“Anything will do.”
“Okay. Bye.” And he disappeared.
She heard the apartment door shut behind him, and she let out a heavy sigh, dropping down onto the bed.
He didn’t stay. He didn’t kiss her. He didn’t even hug her goodbye.
How was a woman supposed to feel about that?
Caleb’s assistant at Active Equipment had arranged for Reed’s hotel room at the Royal Globe Towers. Entering the opulent suite last night, Reed had decided his brother was getting spoiled from being so rich. What man needed a four-poster, king-size bed, a chaise lounge and two armchairs in his bedroom? The living room had two sofas, a stone fireplace and a dining table for eight, along with two dozen candles and three bouquets of flowers and a marble bathtub in the bathroom that could hold a family of six.
It was ridiculous.
He’d have moved into something more practical, but he wasn’t planning to be in New York very long. And Katrina lived in Manhattan, so he preferred to stay in this part of town.
Still, he didn’t want to spend his entire fifteen million in the clothing shops on Fifth Avenue. So, this morning, he’d taken the friendly concierge woman’s advice and hopped on the subway to Brooklyn. There he found a nice shopping district that seemed to cater to ordinary people.
After wandering the streets for a couple of hours, he was enticed into a small bakery by the aromas of vanilla and cinnamon. The place had only a few small tables with ice-cream-parlor-style chairs, but a steady stream of customers came in and out for takeout. He bought himself a sugar-sprinkled, cream-filled pastry and a cup of coffee from the stern-looking, rotund, middle-aged woman at the counter and then eased himself gently into one of the small chairs.
The doors and windows were open, letting the late-morning air waft through. The staff were obviously busy in the back, smatterings of English and Italian could be heard, bakers appearing occasionally as the middle-aged woman and a younger assistant served customers.
Reed could hear a truck engine cranking through the open door to the alleyway behind the store. There was a sudden clang of metal, followed by a male voice shouting in Italian. The bakery went silent for a brief moment, then the customers laughed a little. Reed didn’t understand the language, but it didn’t take much to get the gist.
The older woman marched away from the counter, through the kitchen hallway, sticking her head out the open door and shouting at the man.
Reed thought he could figure that one out, too.
The man shouted back, and she gestured with her hand, scowling as she returned to the counter. The last of the current customers took their paper bags and moved out onto the sidewalk, leaving the bakery empty.
“Engine trouble?” Reed asked the woman, wiping his hands on a paper napkin as he came to his feet.
At first, he thought he was going to get an earful himself.
“The delivery truck is ancient,” she offered rather grudgingly.
Reed gestured to his empty plate, giving her a friendly smile. “That was fantastic.” It was easily the best pastry he’d ever tasted. Same went for the coffee—it’d been strong but flavorful.
She nodded an acknowledgment of his compliment, but still didn’t smile in return. The younger woman, however, gave him a broad, slightly flirtatious grin.
Then another bang reverberated through the alley, and both women jumped. It was followed by a deafening clatter and clang, and another string of colorful swearwords.
Reed moved swiftly and reflexively around the glass display case, down the short hallway, past the heat and bustle of the kitchen, past stacks of boxes, buckets and bins, and out the back door.
The alley was narrow and dusty. Stained, soot-covered brick walls rose up on either side. The awful noise was coming from the engine of a five-fifty panel truck, with Gianni Bakery written on the side in chipping blue paint, that blocked the alley.
A balding man sat in the driver’s seat with the door propped open.
“Shut it down!” Reed called, making a slashing motion across his throat.
The man shot him a glare.
“Shut it down,” Reed repeated, striding forward. “You’ve dropped a valve.”
“Always takes her a few minutes to warm up,” the man responded with confidence.
Reed reached in and turned the key to Off.
“What the—”
“It’s dropped a valve,” Reed repeated. “If you keep it running, you’ll blow a connecting rod.”
“You a mechanic?” the man asked.
“Rancher,” said Reed, stepping back. “But I’ve worked on plenty of diesels in my time. Some older than this.”
“I’ve been limping her along for a few months,” said the man.
“Does it idle a lot?” asked Reed, knowing that was the most likely explanation.
“In the winter,” the man said, reaching for the key.
“Don’t do that,” Reed warned. “You need to call a tow truck.”
“I don’t have time to call a tow truck.”
“If you try to start it you’ll only make it worse.”
The man clamped his jaw, rocking back in the worn, vinyl driver’s seat. “We’ve got deliveries to make.”
“Do you have a backup? Another truck maybe?”
This one wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and probably never. Even on the ranch, where they jerry-rigged pretty much anything back together, they knew when it was time to put something out to pasture. There wasn’t much point in replacing the engine in a twenty-five-year-old truck.
The man shook his head. “I’ve been looking for another truck for six months. The used ones are as worn out as this, and the new ones cost a fortune.”
“Tough break,” Reed commiserated.
“Irony is, these days, I need two trucks.”
“Business that good?”
The man rubbed his hands along the steering wheel. “Walk-in business is slowing.”
“Doesn’t seem very slow today,” Reed
observed.
“It’s slowing,” the man reiterated. “We need to strengthen distribution to other retail outlets. We also need to diversify.” Then he stuck out his hand. “Nico Gianni.”
Reed shook. “Reed Terrell.”
“You from Brooklyn?”
“Colorado.”
“On vacation?”
“More business than pleasure.” Reed’s interest had been piqued by Nico’s words, not to mention by his own experience sampling the bakery’s wares. “You’re saying you’ve got enough orders to run two trucks?”
“If I had two trucks, I’d bring my nephew in on nights, and run the kitchen twenty-four hours. The walk-in traffic may be going down, but catering, now there’s some expansion potential. Expensive parties, weddings, dances. The rich don’t stop getting richer.”
“True enough,” Reed had to agree.
Nico seemed to have a good handle on the industry, and he seemed to have a plan for his business. Reed sized up the building. “You own this place?”
“Me and the wife.”
Reed couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Danielle meant by buying a percentage of a business. This wasn’t exactly a start-up. Though, for Reed’s money, it seemed less risky than a start-up.
“So, you’re saying with a little capital for a new truck or two, your business would be in a position to expand.”
“It would,” Nico confirmed.
“You ever think about taking on a partner?”
Nico blinked.
“I mean a minor shareholder. A silent partner.”
“I don’t understand.”
Reed rested his hand on the top of the open truck door, assuming a casual pose. “One of the reasons I’m in New York is possibly to invest in some business opportunities.”
“You’re interested in a bakery?”
“Maybe. Do you know what the real estate’s worth? Have the annual gross and net handy?”
“Is this some scam?”
“No.”
“You an eccentric rich guy?”
“No. I’m a rancher. But if we can make a deal, I’ll kick in enough cash for a couple of new trucks. You cut me in for an appropriate percentage, and maybe we both win.”
“So you’re looking to diversify?” Nico nodded thoughtfully.
“I’m looking to diversify,” Reed agreed. “I’ve got this sharp, prissy lady lawyer who wants me to sit in her office and review balance sheets all day long.”
Nico grinned.
“But I don’t want to invest in companies,” said Reed. “I’d rather invest in people. And I’d rather invest in your pastries, Nico. They’re damn fine.”
“It’s a secret family recipe.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Come inside and take a look?” asked Rico.
“Absolutely,” Reed agreed. “And, can you give me the name of a good tailor who works fast?”
Rico grinned and hopped out of the truck. “Salvatore’s. Around the corner. He’ll fix you up.”
Salvatore turned out to be one heck of a tailor. And he had a business-expansion idea that sounded as promising as Nico’s. So Reed left the store with two new suits, half a dozen dress shirts and another potential business investment.
Back at the Royal Globe Towers, he called Danielle, and her assistant put him straight through.
“Good afternoon, Reed,” her crisp voice came on the line. “How can I help you?”
“I just spent half a million dollars.”
“On a sports car?”
“No.” Reed unzipped one of the suit covers as he talked. “A bakery and a tailor shop.”
There was a long moment of silence. “Reed?”
“Yes?”
“I have a law degree from Harvard, but you’ve got me confused.”
Reed retrieved the charcoal-gray suit. Salvatore had told him he could dress it up with a white shirt or down with steel blue and a diamond-pattern tie. “I need the money to buy a percentage of a bakery and a tailor shop in Brooklyn.”
“Oh. Okay. Give me the company names. I’ll start an investigation.”
“I don’t need some bureaucratic investigation. I just need a check.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I met the guys today. I saw their operations. I looked into their eyes and shook their hands. The deal’s done. Gianni Bakery and Imperial Tailors.”
“How did you meet them?”
“I was hungry.”
“You’re losing me again, Reed.”
“Nico sells some excellent pastries, but he needs a new delivery truck. Well, two new delivery trucks.” Reed stripped off the plastic covering and stepped back. He really did like this suit.
“You ate a pastry today, and now you want to invest in his business?” Danielle confirmed.
“Pretty much.”
“Reed, wandering around Brooklyn is not a reasonable investment strategy. You can’t do things that way.”
“It appears I can.”
“Reed.”
“Danielle, it’s my money.”
She gave a long-suffering sigh. “Fine. Okay. I hear you. But I’m looking at their financials before we cut the check. That’s not negotiable. And if you’re going to spend any more than this, you have got to talk to me.”
“Sure,” Reed agreed easily, holding the diamond-patterned tie against the steel-blue shirt then the white one.
“You keep saying yes, and then you go ahead and do whatever you want.”
“Funny how that works.” Reed decided to go with the blue.
“You are impossible.”
“Know any good restaurants in Manhattan?”
“Dozens. What do you have in mind? Please tell me you’re not buying one.”
“I’m eating at one.”
“Good. Steak? Seafood? Greek? Thai?”
“What about French?” French was elegant. Then again, he was going with the blue shirt. “Greek. Make it Greek.”
“What part of town?”
“Midtown.”
“Try…Flavian’s. It’s near the Park, around Sixty-Fourth.”
“I will. Thanks, Danielle.”
“You’re keeping me awake nights.”
He chuckled and hung up the phone, then stripped off his cotton shirt and headed for the enormous shower that had two massive showerheads in the ceiling and six more jets in the walls. Ridiculous. He didn’t think any man needed to be that clean.
He stripped down, adjusted the water temperature and chose a small bottle of shampoo. There were still a couple of hours before he was meeting Katrina, but his stomach hitched in anticipation. He couldn’t help hoping she liked his suit.
On the other hand, he couldn’t help hoping she’d restrain herself with her own wardrobe. If she looked too good, it was going to be an awfully long night keeping his hands to himself and his promise to Caleb. Though, he supposed, it was going to be an awfully long night no matter what she wore. Katrina would look sexy in a burlap sack.
Katrina was gratified by the way Reed’s eyes darkened to gunmetal when he took in her red dress. She’d been hoping he’d like the short, clingy, off-the-shoulder number. It was made of lustrous silk with hundreds of black beads sewn into the low neckline and in a swirled pattern down one side. She’d paired it with spiky-heeled black shoes and a matching clutch.
Her hair was loose, flowing in waves around a pair of dangling onyx earrings, with a chunky bracelet and matching choker.
“We may have to upgrade the restaurant,” he told her, his gaze sweeping from her hair to her shoes and back again.
“You clean up good, too,” she teased, impressed as always by his athletic physique beneath the cut of his suit.
He was freshly shaved. His hair was neat, his shirt perfectly pressed, and his tie was in a smooth knot. He’d even forgone cowboy boots for a pair of polished loafers.
“What’s your favorite restaurant?” he asked her, stepping back in the hallway to make room for her to exi
t her apartment.
“Did you make a reservation?” As far as she was concerned, there was no need to change his plans.
“Danielle suggested Flavian’s.”
“Who’s Danielle?” Katrina fought a spurt of jealousy at the mention of another woman’s name.
“Caleb’s lawyer.”
“She lives in New York?”
“Chicago.”
Katrina was confused. “And you called her for a restaurant recommendation?”
“It’s a long story.”
Katrina waited, but he didn’t elaborate.
“Flavian’s is fine,” she told him. “The ballet company goes there a lot. They have a nice deck.”
She pushed down her curiosity and told herself to quit being jealous. Danielle was likely just a friend, a business acquaintance at that. In fact, it sounded as if she was a business acquaintance of Caleb’s rather than Reed’s. Which didn’t explain why Reed would call all the way to Chicago for a restaurant recommendation.
“Will you be warm enough if we eat outside?” he asked, gazing critically at the little dress.
Katrina determinedly put Danielle from her mind. She reached for the black wrap she’d hung on a hook near the door and draped it over her shoulders, tucking her small clutch purse under her arm.
“They have outdoor heaters on the deck,” she told him. Then she stepped into the hallway and pulled the apartment door closed behind her.
He lifted the door key from her hand and secured the dead bolt for her. “You do know there’s something fundamentally wrong with the dress code.”
“What dress code?” As far as she knew, Flavian’s didn’t have a dress code.
“New York City’s dress code.”
She raised her brows in a question.
He pressed the key into her palm then held out his arm. “You’re going to freeze, and I’m going to swelter.”
She replaced the key in her purse and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they started toward the elevator. “That’s so you can be a gentleman at the end of the date and let me wear your jacket.”
“You think this is a date?” he asked. There was a level of unease in his voice.
“What else would you call it?”
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