by Lyz Kelley
“Okaaayyyy.” Haley didn’t sound convinced. “But what did you write on the card?”
“I offered her the managing director position at Empower House.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Mike pushed straighter in his chair. “With no signed non-disclosure, you offered her the job? What if she goes to the press? Any media outlet would love to get their hands on this story. You inherited a mess. I can just see the headlines now, ‘Billionaire Slumlord.’”
Heat crept up Weston’s neck. “If you talk any louder, she won’t have to tell anyone, because everyone in this restaurant already heard you.” He slumped back in the chair. “I didn’t make this mess, but I intend to clean it up. Those shelters aren’t run well, but I will make the necessary changes to ensure all code violations are fixed and every dime is spent on the people who need it most.”
Mike and Haley exchanged looks. He understood what they didn’t say.
Everyone in his family tried to talk him out of taking over Empower House. Even the family lawyer tried to convince him to walk away, or at least turn the organization over to someone who knew how to run a shelter, but he refused. Empower House had been Kirsten’s dream, and he wouldn’t let it die. He’d make sure the nonprofit was a top-tier organization, even if he had to work seven days a week and spend every penny he made. He owed her that much.
“Why don’t we get our order to go?” Haley suggested. “We can discuss this at your apartment.”
“My apartment is a forty-minute cab ride from here.”
Haley pointed toward Canal Street. “Not that one, the apartment just around the corner.”
Mike bumped Haley’s shoulder.
“What?” She opened her eyes wider and stared at her husband.
“No one is supposed to know about his other apartment,” he whispered out the side of his mouth.
Weston tossed his phone on the table. “How did you find out? Isn’t there anyone left in this world who can keep a secret?”
“Besides you? No.” Mike winked.
“I keep telling you, if you two hadn’t found my sister after she vanished that night at the theatre…”
“Yeah, we’d be fired,” Mike snickered. “But you love us. We do good work.” His eyes challenged Weston. “We found McKenzie, and we found your secret apartment.”
Dawgs. Both of them. “Come on.” Weston stood and tossed a twenty on the table for the inconvenience of holding a table and not ordering. “Let’s walk.”
He lengthened his stride and didn’t stop until he reached the edge of the curb, letting his irritation drain away. He didn’t like people knowing his business, a holdover from his childhood days when his siblings ratted him out for every little rule deviation. As the oldest child, he wasn’t allowed much slack.
“Even my parents aren’t aware that I own a second apartment. How did you find it?”
Mike and Haley exchanged another glance. “As head of your security team, it’s my job to know everything. What you eat. Your habits. Who you hang out with. That way, if you ever deviate from the norm, I’ll know something’s wrong.”
“I see.” Weston let a tourist reading a map and not paying attention pass before turning toward the street corner. “Let’s stop talking about my personal life and focus on our current problem.” Weston shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for the crosswalk light to turn green. “Has the accounting team located all the misappropriated grant funds at Empower House?”
“Not quite,” Haley shook her head. “The director is being arraigned next week on bank fraud, money laundering and conspiracy. She’s lawyered up and still not talking.”
“That’s unfortunate for us.” Fury flashed from his chest to his extremities before settling in his shoulders. “If the forensic accountant finds anyone else is dirty, I want them prosecuted. I’ll fire the entire staff if I have to, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. We need to mend this situation, and fast.” He glanced at the tall man matching him stride for stride. “Mike, I want you to find out everything about Courtney Kramer that the recruiting team missed. I need the thorough report on my desk next week. She’s desperate to save her business, and I don’t want to end up with another money-skimmer on our hands. She’ll come knocking on my door again soon enough, and I don’t want any skeletons jumping out of the closet.”
“What if we find something?”
“I doubt you will.” He held off Mike’s objection with a stare. “If Valerie Borum says she’s the best, then she’s the best person to run my nonprofit. Valerie has been in the business a long time, and not much gets past her, but I just want to make double sure.”
Haley looked at Mike the way only a wife can look at her husband when she has something to communicate but doesn’t want anyone to hear.
“Haley? If you have something to say, say it.”
“I’m familiar with Courtney Kramer. She enjoys creating controversy. Then again, she’s brave. If she believes in something, she’ll be the first one in the fighting ring. I’m worried about the difference in your working styles, though. Courtney likes to be in the spotlight, while you prefer to work behind the scenes.”
“Fair enough.” Weston nodded. “Mike what do you think?”
“She reminds me of Liam.”
Weston’s steps faltered. “My brother? How does she remind you of him?”
“Liam’s sometimes reckless. Impulsive. But a genuine genius. You admire those traits because you’ve always had to be the wiser, older, conservative brother. I watched you in that restaurant. You admire Ms. Kramer’s tenacity, and my gut tells me I’m right. Otherwise you wouldn’t have offered her the director position without a thorough background check.” Mike moved to the side of the busy street to allow a woman pushing a metal cart to pass between him and Weston. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
Weston stopped in front of a gray door. There wasn’t a number showing an address or even indicating that someone lived in the building. He pressed his finger on the biometric door lock, then opened the door to a long, narrow hall and began climbing a flight of stairs. He stopped at the top to key in another code. “You’re not wrong, but I assume Courtney won’t accept the position. Not right away. Her pride won’t allow it. When she runs out of options, she’ll be back.”
“Then what?” Haley asked.
He opened the door, leading Mike and Haley into a wide-open space.
“Wow,” Haley tilted her head back.
Warmth followed the expanding joy. “Different, huh?”
Weston scanned the large open space, which was complete with kitchen, dining room and floating stairway. Street art covered exposed brick walls. The reclaimed wood floor made the room masculine and stylish, and a large panel of windows welcomed in a dramatic view of the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Night and day.” Haley looped her arm through Mike’s. “Did you expect this?”
“A little. At this very moment we’re getting our very first glimpse of the real Weston Carver.” Mike glanced up the stairs. “What’s up there?”
Weston returned from the beverage refrigerator with three bottles of handcrafted beer. “There are two more floors. The next floor is the office, the top floor a master bedroom and my garden.”
Mike scanned Weston’s face. “When we first met, I thought you stayed on your family’s yacht, or the place in Spain, or on the island your dad owns when you needed a break. But when I called about McKenzie’s disappearance, you were at the office in less than a half hour. You couldn’t have returned from a vacation spot that fast. So I did some investigating. This is where you come when you want to disappear.”
“Guilty.” Weston shrugged and lifted his beer to take a swig. “All the other family-owned properties have full-time staff. It’s harder to relax, much less think. Besides, it’s easier to hide in plain sight.”
“You do a terrific job of hiding. It took me months to find this place.”
He loved this three-story apartment. Every aspect of the garden terrace penthouse
suited him. Feeling the heartbeat of the city. Sitting out under the stars on his terrace. Hearing music from the jazz club below, or friends enjoying each other’s company. He loved relaxing and cooking fresh food with herbs from his garden, and listening to the city’s voice. Sometimes she was active and rowdy and other days she was moody.
Haley sipped her beer while gazing at the view. “Who watches this place while you’re gone?”
“Angel does.” He pointed to a small room off the kitchen. “I hardly see her. She was pretty abused as a kid, and she doesn’t trust people. I pay her to house-sit, and the job works for both of us. She has a room of her own, and I have someone to alert me if there’s a water leak.”
“And you stay in your uptown apartment to maintain the Carver image.” Mike set his beer on the counter.
“Mom and Dad believe in making a statement.” Weston frowned while shoving his phone in his back pocket. “Dad made sure my siblings and I didn’t embarrass the institution by having the legal department put a line in our employment contracts saying something about living and dressing in a manner appropriate to the position.”
Mike popped all the knuckles on his right hand. “Man, I sure wouldn’t want to be you.” Mike glanced past his shoulder. “What is that?”
Weston turned and crouched down, holding out his hand. “Come here, Sophie. Meet some friends.”
The cat limped forward, doing her best to come to him. Watching her struggle poked at his heart. He pushed to his feet, and reached under her belly, careful to avoid her scarred skin. “Mike, Haley, meet Sophie.”
“Is she yours?” Skepticism saturated Mike’s tone.
Sophie closed her eyes as he rubbed under her chin. “No. The only way Angel would leave the streets is if Sophie could live here as well. The two are inseparable, and both of them were badly burned.”
“What happened to them?” Haley whispered.
“Angel hasn’t told me the whole story, but I know more than most.” Weston gently sat Sophie on the ground and looked at the closed door. “One of these days maybe Angel will tell you herself. For now, I can tell you neither Angel nor Sophie has lived an easy life.”
Manhattan has so much to offer, yet hides so much pain.
He considered how many more people he could help if he lived on the Lower East Side full time. He could slip a twenty in a jar or hand a bag of food or hygiene supplies to someone who needed the help.
But who was he kidding? His father reminded him every Sunday, over family dinners, that he’d serve more people as the CEO of the family business. The Carver family medical equipment company shipped their products all over the world and saved hundreds of thousands of lives every day.
At least he was extremely well paid for running the company. With that kind of money, he could at least make a small difference in his hometown.
He fought off the sadness. “There’s Vietnamese takeout around the corner that cooks up some incredible Pho. It’s not Greek, but mighty good grub.”
“Yummm.” Haley climbed up on a backless wood and metal counter stool. “I say bring it.”
Mike grunted and then smiled at his wife. “For someone so small, you sure do like to eat.”
“If you weren’t so insistent on bed-bouncing a couple of rounds this morning before getting up for work, I might not have such an appetite.” The sass in her tone gave him a little tease.
“You two are sooo married, and I don’t need the details.” Weston slid a menu across the counter. “You call the order in. I’m going to turn on some music.”
As he climbed the stairs, he glanced back through the railing.
Mike had pulled Haley in close and was nuzzling her neck. She giggled and pushed at her husband and lover’s chest. Envy stabbed his heart.
For a brief moment he indulged himself in longing for the impossible, then turned away.
A love like theirs would never happen for him.
People associated the Carver name with dollar signs. With money came greed.
His family understood all too well that money didn’t buy happiness. Money caused pain. It was why the Carvers allowed very few people into their personal lives.
Chapter 3
Scuzzball. Slimebag. Snake. Courtney continued down her alphabetized list of derogatory terms for men—in particular wealthy, powerful men like Weston Carver.
She wasn’t about to work for a manipulative, woman-mongering man.
After hip-bumping the shelter’s heavy wooden door shut and giving Brutus the obligatory “it’s okay” scratch behind his ear, she kicked off her shoes and marched across the black and white checkerboard linoleum.
“Whoa, there,’ Valerie chastised from the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips and clutching a dish towel. “Since when does anyone get to slam doors around here?”
She raked her fingers through her hair and pulled. “It’s been such a frustrating day.” She whipped around the counter, aiming for the chocolate jar...only to find it empty. Go figure.
“No excuse. You made the no-slamming-doors rule for a reason. I thought the roof was caving in.”
“I’m sorry. I’m just off today. No excuse, I know.” She cringed when she heard herself sounding like a hormonal teenage resident.
She hadn’t meant to use that much force. Really she hadn’t. Well, maybe she had, just a little.
What was it about Weston Carver that made her react irrationally? He was a mega-wealthy, somewhat sexy, quiet type. Well, to be perfectly honest, he was downright magazine-cover gorgeous. But he was still a man, and other than her father and three brothers, men didn’t have status in her life.
Courtney moved to the front stairway but found Valerie in her path.
“Something on your mind you’d like to share?”
Courtney tugged on the wad of hair hovering over her eye and made another attempt to tuck the short strands behind an ear. “Why are all men jerks?”
“Sit.” Valerie spread her arms, barring forward movement and herded Courtney into the kitchen. “I’ll get my chocolate stash and we can talk about what’s behind that question.” Valerie opened a kitchen cabinet door and reached into the back, bringing out a bag of dark squares and plopping them on the kitchen counter. “Tea?”
“Sure. Thanks.” Sitting at the kitchen island, Courtney let the house settle around her and ease the frustration spinning at tilt-a-whirl speed around her brain, thinking so hard she didn’t realize the teapot had whistled and the tea box clicked open until Valerie was across from her, sipping from a steaming mug, cinnamon and orange essence wafting through the room.
Brutus turned in a circle and folded his big, muscular frame into a pile on the floor.
“Baby, you got one mighty big conversation going on with yourself. Ready to share?”
“Why do you believe Weston Carver could—or would—help us? He’s as self-centered as the rest of them.”
“By rest of them, you mean Dave Morgan.”
The name from her past made her stomach churn. “I’d prefer not to hear that name again, and please don’t put on your clinical psychologist face. I don’t want to assess my feelings or ground my emotions—not right now.”
“Why is it social workers can help others, but we have a hard time helping ourselves?”
Courtney reached for the gallon bag of chocolate, removed two brown squares, and then offered the bag to Valerie.
Valerie shook her head and took another sip of tea.
“I bet you think it’s because Weston Carver’s family has money that I’m comparing him to Dave—but that’s not true.”
Valerie peered at her over a steaming blue- and purple-glazed mug rim. “Okay. If you say so.”
“What Dave did to me in college was different.”
“Uh-huh.” Valerie tapped her non-cup-holding fingers on the cup in a rhythmic pattern.
“Yet part of me wonders if Weston only helps women because of his sister’s kidnapping.” She crunched down on a piece of chocolate to bask in its
bittersweet-flavored comfort. “What? Don’t look at me like that. Her abduction was the first news article that popped up on my phone.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. “You Googled him, so now you can accurately assess his motivations?” Valerie reached for the bag of chocolate. “Baby, the only way to comprehend what’s going on in a person’s head is to ask. I’ve known Weston Carver for a long time, and he’s about as far away from Dave Morgan as you can get and still be here on Mama Earth.”
“Then explain this.” She reached in her pocket for the business card and slapped it on the kitchen island, stabbing it with a finger. “This looks like blackmail to me.”
Valerie slid the red-rimmed glasses off the top of her head and settled them on her nose. She squinted at the writing. After she finished reading, she tipped her head down, her brown eyes peering at Courtney over her glasses. “Hmmm. Blackmail? Don’t think so. This looks like a job offer to me.”
“Grrr.” Courtney covered her face with her hands. “You would see only the positive.”
Valerie clicked her tongue. “Baby, why are you getting all worked up? If you don’t want the job, don’t take it.”
Courtney rubbed her temples. The pounding ache beat on her brain. “If I don’t take the job, then what will happen to all the women here? The way his offer sounded, he’d only help me buy this building if I agree to help him.”
Valerie slowly lowered her pottery mug to the counter. “Let me ask you this. If I, instead of Mr. Carver, offered to buy this building in exchange for you managing my nonprofit, would you do it?”
Why did the woman always have to be so pointedly right? Courtney popped another chocolate square into her mouth, hoping the dark cocoa would soften her animosity toward men. “I don’t like being manipulated.”
“If I wasn’t happy here, and too old to take on such a big, challenging job, I’d jump at the chance to work for Mr. Carver. Then again, being around all that yummy sexiness might give me another heart attack.”
“We wouldn’t want that, and he is rather cute.” Courtney admitted, albeit grudgingly.