Sabrina's Clan

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  She picked up the first shot of tequila the waiter had slid in front of her and tossed it back. It slid down her throat with a satisfying warmth.

  The two men made their way through the open-plan restaurant. Graham Summerfield stopped at three tables on the way, shook hands, laughed, spoke shortly and moved on. He waved at several other diners.

  Everyone was watching the two of them head over to their table. Maybe Cory was right to feel paranoid. Maybe there was a reason for picking such a public and popular restaurant in the heart of Wall Street on a weeknight.

  Graham Summerfield stopped at the table and thrust out his hand toward Cory. “Cory, it’s good to see you,” he said jovially.

  Cory lurched to his feet and took Summerfield’s hand.

  Sabrina stood up, too. She glanced at the other man. He was wearing a blue tie with his blue suit and the tie exactly matched his eyes. Wow.

  He was watching Graham Summerfield and Cory shake hands. Cory waved toward Sabrina. “This is my Director of Financial Reporting, Sabrina Castillo.” He said it the English way, pronouncing the ls as ls, not as a y as Spanish speakers did.

  Graham Summerfield leaned over the table and shook her hand. He had a firm grip and didn’t try to break her hand the way many men did. Then he indicated the other man. “This is my nephew, Jacob Summerfield.”

  “Jake,” the other man corrected, with a warm and sincere-looking smile. He shook Cory’s hand, then Sabrina’s. Like his uncle, he didn’t squeeze as if his hand was a vise. It was a short, simple shake. His flesh was warm and his hand large, making Sabrina feel petite, which didn’t happen very often. At five foot eight, petite just wasn’t one of her descriptors.

  Even with her heels, she was still shorter than Jake Summerfield. He took the chair next to her and tilted his head to look at the shot glasses. “Tequila,” he said. “Casa Dragones by the smell.”

  “Yes, it’s Jóven,” she confirmed. “You like tequila?”

  “I like drinking it on the beach in Acapulco,” he said. “Preferably at sunset.”

  Graham Summerfield shook his head. His mouth, Sabrina noted, stayed in a firm horizontal line. He wasn’t one for smiling, clearly. “Sunset is when the markets close. There are better places to be than on a beach with the tourists and hippies.”

  Jake smiled at her. “He’s exaggerating. It’s our own private beach, that comes with the house. Do you know Mexico at all?”

  Sabrina shook her head. “Born and raised in the mid-west,” she said shortly, hoping it would side-step the oh-you’re-an-orphan-such-a-shame sequence she had to go through with new people. “I’ve never been outside the States.” She’d never been able to afford a passport and the ticket. All her money had gone toward her education. She realized how her short statements would come across and tried to soften them. “I’ve seen the Rockies, once.”

  “Sabrina is a dedicated professional,” Cory added. “One of my best.”

  She let the praise slide by. Cory was merely trying to impress a client. Instead, she picked up the second shot and tossed it back.

  The waiter hurried over to take drink orders.

  “I’ll have two of the Jóven as well,” Jake said.

  “It seems like a good way to start the meal,” Graham Summerfield said, putting the drinks menu down. He looked at the waiter. “Why don’t you bring a full bottle for us?”

  The waiter looked at Sabrina and spoke in Spanish again.

  “I don’t speak Spanish,” she said flatly, deeply annoyed.

  Graham looked at her sharply. Cory looked panicked.

  Jake spoke to the waiter in what sounded like perfectly good Spanish, then looked at her. “Lemons or limes?”

  “They said they didn’t have any limes, earlier.”

  “It seems they’ve found some.” Jake gave her an easy smile, showing white, peridontically perfect teeth, then finished with the waiter, who picked up the drink menus and hurried away.

  Everyone went back to studying the menus, with some desultory conversation about weather and sports scores, neither of which interested Sabrina. The real conversation wouldn’t happen until the main meal had been served and the waiters left them alone.

  The tequila arrived, with a small tray of shot glasses, the lime wedges and salt. The waiter broke the seal on the bottle and poured each of them a shot, then put the bottle in front of Graham. It seemed he had been nominated the head of the table.

  Sabrina reached for her shot and would have drunk it immediately, except Jake held his glass up in the air. “To…?” he said.

  “Sunsets,” she said shortly and drank.

  Graham gave a moue of approval then threw back his shot with a practiced toss.

  Cory sipped his. He wasn’t a drinker at all. He rarely moved beyond two or three red wine labels he knew well.

  Jake opened his mouth a little to let the air play over his tongue. It was something the really practiced tequila drinkers did. The sippers, anyway.

  “You’d be better off with a Reposado. This is blanco. It’s only good for shots,” she told him.

  Jake looked at her, his brow raised. “You were raised in the mid-west, you don’t speak Spanish, you’ve never travelled, but you know your tequilas very well indeed. Yearning for your cultural roots, Ms. Castillo?” He said her name the Spanish way.

  “I just like tequila,” she said shortly.

  Cory looked at her, the panic back in his eyes.

  “And it’s been a long day,” she added, trying to smooth over the moment.

  “I’ll drink to that,” Jake said easily, pouring himself another shot. He sipped it this time and looked thoughtful. “It’s very good, even for a blanco.”

  The waiter arrived to take their orders. There was some general discussion about gluten the waiter handled deftly, assuring Graham Summerfield they could cater to his sensitivity, then everyone ordered. Sabrina stuck to her usual salad and almost handed the menu back, except something caught her eye. She held on to the menu. “Do you have any Carolina Reaper salsa?” she asked.

  “What on earth is that?” Graham asked.

  “Oh dear…” Cory murmured, closing his eyes.

  “Carolina Reapers are the hottest chilies on the planet,” Jake said. “I’ve never seen anyone eat them outside a hot sauce contest.”

  “They have contests for that?” Graham asked, sounding bewildered and amused.

  Jake considered her. “You really like them?”

  “I really like them,” she said flatly and looked at the waiter expectantly.

  He muttered in Spanish.

  “They do have them,” Jake confirmed. “Uno, gracias,” he told the waiter.

  “Make it two servings,” Sabrina said.

  “I’m not eating any of that stuff,” Cory said shortly. “I value my stomach lining too much.”

  Graham laughed. “I think I’m going to live up to my age and pass, too.”

  Jake sat back. “I’ve heard what they’re like….”

  Sabrina lifted her brow at him the way he had just done to her. “Sitting on the beach at sunset is your maximum speed, then?”

  Cory drew in a sharp breath.

  Jake’s eyes narrowed. “You’re challenging me?” His voice was soft.

  Sabrina shrugged. “You can eat it or not. It doesn’t matter to me. If you don’t it means the only one at the table with the courage to eat the salsa is the one wearing the skirt.”

  Cory widened his eyes at her, trying to warn her to back down. Sabrina ignored him. Being reckless felt good. Not riding herd on her tongue felt even better. The tequila tasted wonderful. She poured another shot of the tequila.

  “Perhaps you should slow down a bit?” Cory suggested, keeping his voice down, trying to speak so only she could hear.

  “Let them go,” Graham Summerfield said, weaving his fingers together and sitting back. “It will be the first pissing match I’ve ever seen waged over a bowl of salsa.”

  Jake stood and removed his jacket
, hung it over the back of his chair, rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. “Game on,” he said shortly.

  “Are you sure?” Sabrina asked him. “Carolina Reapers are twice as hot as ghost peppers.”

  “Ghost peppers?” Graham said and laughed.

  “I’m in,” Jake said flatly. He took off his very expensive, very heavy watch and sat it on the table with the band curled under it so the face was tilted toward him. “Let’s see how long you last.”

  The two bowls of salsa were placed on the table between them, with dishes of tortilla chips and fingers of baked eggplant. There was only half a cup of salsa in each bowl. Most diners would be unable to eat even that much.

  “Could I have a glass of tomato juice, too, please,” Sabrina told the waiter.

  “Putting out the fire disqualifies you,” Jake said shortly.

  “The tomato juice is for you,” she told him sweetly. She got to her feet and removed her jacket and pushed the bracelets up her wrist and sat back down. She twisted her hair and hung it over one shoulder.

  All three men were watching her now. Cory looked distressed and his round face was very red. Graham just looked interested.

  Sabrina picked up one of the chips and dipped it into the bowl, picking up a good tablespoon of the salsa and waited.

  Jake copied her and held the chip up, close to his mouth, watching her.

  “Go,” she said and ate.

  The fire didn’t start for about fifteen seconds or so and by then, she had eaten another mouthful. She paused, letting the heat register in the back of her throat. The first time she had tried these peppers, it had been shocking and she had spent the night sitting up, suffering heartburn and wondering if her stomach would implode. Now, she was used to it.

  “Holy hell,” Graham breathed, sounding awed.

  Jake made a coughing, gasping sound. He had stopped eating.

  Sabrina looked at him. He was sweating, the perspiration dotting his forehead and temples. “Drink the juice if you have to,” she said.

  He shook his head. “Again,” he told her. His voice was hoarse. He dug into the salsa once more.

  Sabrina shrugged and ate another three loaded chips worth, then reached for the shot glass and drained it. After the salsa, the tequila tasted like bitter water.

  Jake put both hands on the table, staring at his uncle. No, staring through him.

  “Jake?” Graham asked, sounding concerned.

  “I think my mouth is blistering.” His voice was strained.

  Graham smiled. “Drink the juice,” he said. “Admit you’ve been beaten by a woman.”

  Jake swallowed. There were tears in the corners of his very blue eyes, but he didn’t reach for the tomato juice. “It’s easing off,” he said. “Mama Mia!” He tugged at his tie, loosening it even more, then unbuttoned the next button on the shirt. His skin was flushed. About now, he would be feeling the heat all through his body. It was why she had taken off her jacket and got the hair off the back of her neck.

  “There’s still some salsa left,” she pointed out.

  Graham shook his head. “Daft,” he muttered.

  Jake lifted the bowl in front of him, considering the remains of the salsa. Then he firmly pushed the bowl away. “I’m done,” he said. “I’m surprised the stuff hasn’t killed someone yet.”

  “It’s good,” Sabrina said, eating the rest of her bowlful with relish.

  “I think we’ll all have to take your word for it,” Graham said. “Another round.” He picked up the bottle.

  “Yes, please,” Jake said.

  Sabrina pushed her glass toward him, too.

  * * * * *

  Sabrina ate too much to get sloppy drunk, although her head was thick with booze and every now and again, her tongue and lips wouldn’t cooperate and she had trouble pronouncing a word and would have to concentrate to get it to come out straight.

  It was the perfect place to be. Her brain had stopped working. She was floating, free of concerns and worries. The big black cloud hovering over her retreated until she no longer thought of it every passing second or two and that was the greatest relief.

  When she stepped out of the restaurant it was almost a surprise to find it was dark and raining. It wasn’t a heavy rain, just one of the light drizzles that kept everything damp and miserable.

  People were huddled under the awning, waiting for cars and taxis to pick them up. She joined the line, walking carefully on the high heels, because the fresh air had hit her like a hammer and she was almost dizzy with it.

  For the first time that evening, she regretted drinking so much. It would be good to get home and sleep and put this behind her. She would have to patch things up with Cory, although Graham Summerfield hadn’t seemed upset in any way. He had been quiet, though, as if he had been thinking heavily.

  Sabrina could barely remember what they had spoken about over the enchiladas and salads. Had she said the right things?

  Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she could fix things. There was no way she would be able to do anything about it right now.

  The couple at the front of the line stepped forward as a cab pulled up. The man was carrying a baby capsule, maneuvering it carefully as though he carried fragile cargo.

  Sabrina couldn’t look away. She watched him put it carefully inside the cab, next to his wife. Sabrina strained to see inside the capsule. She just wanted a glimpse. All she could see was soft pink blanket. The woman’s hand straightened the blanket, tucking it in properly. Then she rested her hand on the blanket for a moment, as if she was drawing joy from the touch.

  As the cab pulled away. Sabrina’s vision blurred. Her chest hitched. Pain rammed into her middle and twisted and she bent over as it seemed to grab all her muscles and yank. She breathed hard, as the tears spilled down her cheeks.

  “Are you alright, miss?” a man asked, behind her.

  She nodded frantically. She couldn’t find her voice. The invisible force was squeezing her throat, locking it all inside her. It occurred to her that if she could just breathe, then this would pass.

  She couldn’t breathe. That was denied her, too.

  “Hey, Sabrina.”

  A hand on her arm, straightening her up.

  She knew the voice. She knew who it was. Jake Summerfield, of the blue eyes and the spoilt life of private beaches and handmade suits. Of course it would be him. Of course it would be someone like him who got to see her humiliation.

  She frantically wiped her face of tears as he stepped in front of her, frowning. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  It took her two tries to find her voice. She sucked in a breath, her chest and throat unlocking just enough to let her lungs expand. “Nothing,” she said and gave him what she hoped was her brightest and most professional smile. “I’m just waiting for a cab.”

  Graham Summerfield stood just behind Jake, with his hands in his pockets, watching the traffic go by on the street with a complete lack of interest in her, thank heavens.

  “I’ll take you home,” Jake told her.

  “No, I….” There was something she was going to do, wasn’t there?

  The sanctuary of her room and the softness of her pillow was infinitely more attractive than the fragmentary concern that she was supposed to be somewhere else right now.

  “No arguments,” Jake said, his voice low so no one else would hear. He turned on his heel and looked at Graham. “Can you catch a cab home?”

  Graham’s mouth opened, as if he was going to flatly refuse. Then he looked at her properly. “I guess,” he said with a sigh.

  A private limousine pulled up at the curb, all black paintwork and smoky windows. Of course. The Jake Summerfields of the world didn’t travel in public cabs.

  Jake drew her over to the curb, the strength in his grip impossible to argue with. He opened the door and stepped out of the way.

  Moving carefully, Sabrina slid onto the wide, comfortable seat and moved over toward the other side, as Jake settled in beside her. “Home, p
lease,” he told the driver.

  “No, I need to go home,” Sabrina said quickly.

  “You’re not in a state to go anywhere,” Jake replied. “I have espresso at home and more food would be good, too. When you’re straight once more, I’ll have Daniel take you home. I am not letting you wander around New York half out of your gourd, okay?”

  She bit her lip, looking at the rain beading on the windows, sliding sideways as the car moved through the night. Keeping her head averted, she nodded.

  When she thought he wasn’t looking, she wiped her face.

  Chapter Four

  The espresso was very good. Sabrina got the impression Jake didn’t make many compromises in his life, his choice of coffee included. The apartment was a spacious thing of white floors and walls, even white rugs under the armchairs. The kitchen, of course, was also white.

  There wasn’t much in the way of personal objects, anywhere.

  “I think I have some cream here,” Jake said, dumping his jacket on the end of the counter, then looking through the industrial-sized fridge. “I’ve been out of town for a while, although Maria is pretty good about keeping me stocked up…here we go.”

  “Out of town?” she asked, hugging herself as he poured the cream into the mug of espresso. “Sunning yourself on Long Island, perhaps?”

  He glanced at her and grinned. “That’s either a lucky guess, or you’ve been researching my family,” he said. “The house in the Hamptons is pretty well known.” He pushed the cup toward her. “I’ll make you some toast. Peanut butter and jelly.”

  “Just the jelly, thanks,” she said. “I can’t stand peanut butter.”

  “Sacrilege! You’re an American.” He turned away and plunked bread in a toaster on the side counter.

  The coffee was very good and she sipped it appreciatively. The cold she was feeling was a reaction, she knew. Food and coffee would counter it. She had to straighten up. She had to get herself home. No one else was going to do that. Riley and she had once looked out for each other. There were plenty of times one of them had called the other in the small hours of the morning, in desperate need of help to get home, but Riley was…well, she was a mother now.