Back to You: Bad Boys of Red Hook (27 page)

“I’m not interested in recognition, only results. There’s so much riding on this.”

“Our lawyers think we should have no problem with the zoning board. Everyone wants another park. It will give all the tourists from the cruise lines and everyone who swarms like ants to Ikea another destination spot.”

She wasn’t buying it. “It still doesn’t explain why we’re not making a united front. We’re heading up the fund-raising committee, the community relations task force, and the business association. Now you want to sit in the back of the room and give me moral support?” She rested her folded arms on the table and leaned in. “What’s really going on, Daniel?”

The server dropped off her gazpacho, and suddenly it didn’t look very appetizing.

“Breanna,” he said, his condescending, Thurston Howell III tone making her bite her tongue to keep from saying something she would definitely regret. “I know how hard it was for you to take the Crow’s Nest and change it from a dive into the halfway decent restaurant and bar it is now—”

Bree’s forehead tightened. “Halfway decent?” The Crow’s Nest was the best bar in Red Hook, maybe the best in all of Brooklyn, and he dared to call it halfway decent?

“Well, it’s hardly Sardi’s, now is it?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out in a nice, easy stream and glanced around the crowded restaurant. “Daniel, we’re not trying to be Sardi’s. We’re an upscale
neighborhood bar and restaurant with excellent service, wonderful food, and great music. The Crow’s Nest is a place where real people gather, not a place on Broadway where people go to gawk at stars.”

“The point is, Breanna,” Daniel said, sitting forward and straightening his silverware, “your boss and his sons, not to mention a few of your friends, have questionable backgrounds, and I find myself—well, let’s just say, I think it’s best if I don’t associate with you too closely until you come to your senses.”

“Come to my senses? Now wait just a minute.” She leaned in and placed her napkin on the table. “My boss was a decorated cop. He’s taken in and raised three wonderful foster sons who are intelligent, enterprising, and successful members of society.”

“Hardly. Every single one of them has a record.”

“How do you know that? They haven’t broken the law since they hit puberty. Their records have been sealed since the day they each turned eighteen.”

He licked his lips. “I have my sources.”

“The kind you have to bribe? Or the kind who owe you money?”

Daniel’s face twisted into a sneer, and he spent one too many nanoseconds assessing her boobs. “You owe me.” His voice slithered over her like an oil spill. “If not for me, no one would have ever taken a no-account waitress like you seriously.”

Bree sat back, lost in the incredulousness of the moment. Was he serious?

“I made you respectable, and I won’t have you running around acting like a well-heeled trollop while our names are connected.”

Bree’s face flamed. It didn’t matter that what he said
wasn’t true. But the lunch crowd sitting within earshot all shifted in their seats like a wave after a Rangers hat trick at Madison Square Garden. “You have one hell of a nerve.” She flagged down the waiter. “Can you please pack this to go? I just remembered a previous engagement.”

“Certainly.” The waiter picked up her gazpacho and went to the kitchen pretty damn quick.

“Breanna.” Daniel reached across the table and grabbed her elbow with crushing strength.

Bree yanked her throbbing arm out of his grasp so fast, she almost knocked over her chair. She gathered her things, threw her bag over her shoulder, tipping over her iced tea in the process, and left him sitting alone at the table in a puddle.

She headed to the far end of the bar and stood beside the familiar-looking man who stared at Daniel with a look of disgust on his face.

The man shot her a smile and an I-got-your-back nod, and made more room for her while she waited for her food. “You work at the Crow’s Nest, right? I’m Jack Sanders—” The guy had sandy brown hair, a nice smile, and was built like a linebacker.

“Yes, I’m Bree Collins, the manager.”

“Francis is a friend of mine.”

“That’s right.” Bree smiled and slid onto the stool next to Jack. “I thought you looked familiar.”

The waiter returned, and Bree handed him thirty bucks. “Thanks, keep the change.”

Jack finished his coffee, tossed some money on the bar, and stood. “Francis mentioned he was working at the Crow’s Nest today.”

“He is.”

“I was going to stop by. Would you mind if I walked over with you?”

“Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’d love the company, thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Jack took her elbow, which was still sore from the tug-of-war with Dickerbocker, and escorted her past Daniel, who looked like one of those cartoon characters ready to blow his stack. Bree waited for the whistle to pop out of the top of his head.

Jack held the door for her. “That guy a friend of yours?”

Bree stepped out onto the sidewalk and turned toward home. “We’re most definitely not friends. Unfortunately, we’re on the Red Hook Revitalization Committee together.”

“Hmm.” Jack took her elbow and guided her around a woman pushing a stroller.

Bree looked up at him and smiled. “Yeah, that about covers it.” She gingerly straightened her elbow and rotated it.

Jack cursed under his breath.

“It’ll be fine.”

“It’s going to bruise. You’d better put some ice on that when you get back.”

“I will. Just do me a favor—don’t mention this to Francis; he’s a little overprotective.” And the last thing she needed was Storm finding out.

Jack didn’t look happy about it but held the door to the Crow’s Nest open. “If you insist, but watch your back with that guy.”

“Thanks, I will. And let me know the next time you come in. Dinner and drinks are on me.”

“That’s not necessary, but I’d be happy to take you out if you’re free some night.”

Bree smiled but shook her head. “Sorry. I’m seeing someone right now, but thanks.”

Jack grinned. “Always a day late and a dollar short. If that ‘right now’ bit changes, you let me know.”

“Definitely. I’ll tell Francis you’re here.”

She turned toward the office and ran right into Storm—again. She wondered how much of her conversation he’d heard. “Wow, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

“I came to see if I could interest you in lunch, but I see you’ve already gone out.”

The words “with someone else” seemed to hang in a cartoon bubble above Storm’s head—but that could have been just her guilty conscience, not that she had anything to feel guilty about. Jack asked her out, and she said no. Okay, so she felt a little guilty about saying she was seeing someone
right now
, as opposed to just
seeing
someone—as if her relationship with Storm had an unwritten expiration date. She thought back to the way he spoke last night; she wasn’t sure if that had changed or not. “Um, yes. Lucky for you I have enough to share if you want. Let me just tell Francis that his friend Jack is here; then we can go back to the office and eat.”

“You go ahead. I’ll get some plates and holler for Francis.”

“Okay, grab some spoons too.”

Bree went into the office and threw her briefcase on the couch. That went well, not. She hadn’t had a date for six months, and now men were popping up like freakin’ Whac-A-Moles. Weird.

She put all her papers in a neat pile and made room to eat at her desk before opening the to-go containers.

Storm came in, set down the plates, and grabbed the
arms of her desk chair before leaning over and kissing her. Damn, she could get used to being kissed like that—the kind of kiss that went from hello to nuclear in under thirty seconds, leaving her breathing heavy and wanting more.

Storm pulled away, rubbed his nose against hers, and groaned. “I’ve missed you.”

He had? “It’s been less than three hours.”

“Your point?”

She didn’t have one, other than shock and awe. She supposed she should say she missed him too, but she hadn’t had time to think about Storm. “I’ve been too busy to do anything but work.” Man, maybe that wasn’t the thing to say either.

He took a seat, looking resigned. “I took Nicki to the park for a drawing lesson.”

Bree unwrapped the sandwich and flipped off the lid to the gazpacho.

Storm leaned forward. “The kid’s got her own style. I didn’t know a ten-year-old could have a style, but she tells a story on the page without writing a word. She’s impressive.”

Bree smiled and couldn’t help but think Storm looked like a proud papa talking about Nicki the way he did. He clearly cared for Nicki, and for the first time, when she thought of them together, she didn’t feel the need to protect herself or Nicki. Odd.

She took a sip of gazpacho and wiped her mouth. She was happy to see Storm. She liked watching him, and listening to him, and hearing all about his day—or at least the few hours they’d been apart. “Okay, I guess I did miss you. I went to the Hope and Anchor to meet
Daniel, which was a disaster. I left him in a puddle of iced tea and got my food to go.”

Storm didn’t say anything. He just raised an eyebrow.

“Jack was there eating lunch and offered to walk over here with me.”

The tips of Storm’s ears turned red, and his jaw looked like it was throbbing. “Did Knickerbocker touch you?”

“There’s a big meeting with the zoning board on Wednesday night, and we were supposed to do the presentation together. Now Daniel tells me he wants me to do the presentation, which makes no sense. Anyway, things were said. I handled it. Now I’m giving the presentation, so I think I’m through with him except for our group meetings.”

“Did he touch you?”

Bree ignored the deep dark gravelly texture of his voice and stuffed her half of the sandwich in her mouth to avoid answering.

“I take that as a yes. Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, thanked God her shirt covered her elbows, and swallowed. “Are you going to eat or question me?” She pushed the rest of the sandwich toward him and let out a relieved breath when he finally took a bite.

“I don’t know what the heck this is, but it’s good.”

“Blue cheese, watercress, and fig jam on Italian bread. It’s my favorite.”

“It’s probably a good thing you didn’t tell me before I tasted it.”

“Not the adventurous type?”

The smile he sent her made her want to fan her face.

“I was talking about food.”

“Uh-huh, sure. I’m plenty adventurous when it comes to just about everything. I’ll prove it tonight—”

Bree’s hormones rose up and did the hula.

“At dinner.” Storm stuffed the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth and looked as if he were holding back a laugh, then licked his fingers.

She planted herself right on his lap so they were nose to nose, and did a bit of her own teasing. A knock on the door had her scrambling to her feet. By the time she turned, the beer distributor stood in the open doorway.

“Sorry to interrupt.”

Bree tried to pretend she hadn’t been caught making out in her office and grabbed her clipboard, holding it against her chest.

“No, it’s fine. We were just about finished. With lunch…”

Storm stood, wrapped his arm around her, and gave her another kiss. Damn him. “See you at home at six. Don’t be late for dinner.”

“Right.” She turned to face her distributor. “Gary, this is Storm Decker, Pete’s son. He was just leaving. Come on in. I’ve got the order all ready.”

The two guys shook hands, and Storm shot her a grin before leaving her to deal with work.

 * * *

Bree opened the door to her apartment, dropped her bag, and found Rocki and Patrice sitting on her couch. “How did you two get in here?”

Rocki twirled Bree’s spare key around on her pointer finger.

“I left that at Pete’s in case I got locked out. It’s not there for your convenience.”

Neither Rocki nor Patrice looked the least bit ashamed of ganging up on her.

Resigned, Bree went into the kitchen and grabbed a wineglass, the bottle of wine from the fridge, and pulled the cork out with her teeth. She filled the glass, wishing she had grabbed a red wineglass—they were larger. She’d learned that with certain parts of the male anatomy and wineglasses, size definitely mattered.

When Bree turned to face the music, she found Patrice leaning against the wall.

“Are you going to offer us any?” Patrice sashayed to the counter and held the bottle up to the light. “Damn girl, is there any left?”

Bree pointed to the wine rack. “Plenty—take your pick.” She went to her favorite chair, pulled her legs up under her, and stared at the door as Patrice and Rocki argued about which bottle to open. For the first time all day, Bree let her mind spin like the carousel at Coney Island. She was able to block everything out at work, and figured the only reason she’d been able to sleep last night was because Storm had literally put her in a postorgasmic coma. She secretly hoped he would do the same tonight, or she’d be toast.

Bree had never slept so well, which was surprising because it was the first time she’d ever slept in the same bed with anyone, ever. She’d never even had girlfriends sleep over. Her mother had always teetered like a four-year-old gymnast on the balance beam of mental health, so having friends spend the night was not something Bree had ever encouraged. Keeping friends as far away from her mom as possible had been the goal, and at that, Bree excelled. If not for Rocki, Patrice, and Francis, she’d have no friends at all. Listening to the two of them argue, Bree wondered if she wanted the friends she had. Okay, so she loved them, but damn, they had terrible timing.

While Rocki and Patrice fought over red or white wine, Bree did her best to get a grip. She’d believed her life had been on track, but after last night, after Storm had taken her blinders off, she saw it for what it was—stalled. It had been stalled for a long time. Way too long.

Shit, she was twenty-eight years old, she’d been out of her mother’s house for nine long years. After nine years she still had only a few friends, no love life—nothing but a job. If it hadn’t been for Pete giving her a home, a job, and a career she loved, where would she be?