Creed (The Marquette Family Book One) (2 page)

By the time Shada straightened, a knock had sounded at the door. She ran to open it, and the room filled with paramedics, hotel security, and a man he assumed was the manager. Creed was strapped into a gurney, a mask for oxygen was slapped onto his face, and he was wheeled out of the room with questions flying at his head. He shut his eyes and breathed as deep as he could handle, but the truth was he felt like he was on crack. He hated the reaction from adrenaline almost as much as he hated the allergic reaction.

After being started on an IV drip and hooked up to monitors, Creed’s equilibrium slowly returned. His heart calmed, and he began to feel a lot better. Allowing the hospital staff to do what they needed to for him, he lay still with his eyes closed. That didn’t mean he was calm. He thought of the woman and what she had put him through. His anger surged higher while he relived again and again the humiliation he’d suffered.

Hours later, Creed sat on the side of the hospital bed, pulling a shirt over his head.

“Do you need anything else, Creed?” his assistant, Jeff, asked.

“No, I’m fine,” he snapped. He didn’t mean to, but Jeff was used to his moods anyway, and he didn’t flinch. “I’m going back to the hotel, and I want a meeting with the head chef as soon as I get there. I want to know why the fuck they would give me food with nuts in it, knowing my allergy!”

“Of course.” Jeff tucked the bag he had brought Creed a change of clothes in under his arm. “I can take care of it if you like.”

“Hell, no! I want the satisfaction myself.”

“Sure. Will there be anything else?”

Creed slipped his socks and shoes on and then stood up. At last he felt presentable to do battle. He charged toward the door. “Find out where my brothers are.”

“You got it.”

* * * *

Creed ignored the outstretched hand of the man just entering the hotel manager’s office. The white uniform and hat said he was the head chef, and the set to his shoulders and high chin said the man thought a lot of himself. Why shouldn’t he? After all, this hotel was known for its quality and food. For that reason, and because of the way they had treated him up until now, he gave them his business. However, almost dying, incompetent staff, and lack of rest had changed his view.

“Mr. Marquette,” the chef intoned, “you have my deepest apologies for—”

“I’ve been a guest here many times over the years,” Creed interrupted, “and I was assured that you and all of your staff know of my severe peanut allergy. I can’t even smell them without having a reaction. Yet I get food with them in it, food
I
didn’t order?”

“Sir, I don’t know how this happened…”

“It was my fault. I’m so sorry.” Shada appeared in the doorway, twisting her fingers together, fear and sorrow in her expression. “I didn’t know. I haven’t been here that long, and usually I’m much more careful about this sort of thing.”

He glared at her. Once again, his body’s reaction took him by surprise, but memories of her helping him to get his pants on—
having to tuck me in!
—sickened him all over again.

“Ms. Howard,” the chef growled, “what would you have to do with anything? I fixed Mr. Marquette’s meal.”

Creed gave him credit for taking responsibility.

Shada stepped closer and raised her chin. Creed thought he saw a tremor in her lips, but then it was gone. “I wanted… Well, never mind what I wanted, but I delivered his food and added a little something extra.”

“Extra?” Now the chef’s chest swelled. “Why would my creations need something extra! Who are you to add
extra?
”

Shada faced him. “I admit I was wrong. I’m so sorry this happened. Trust me when I say I know how serious a person being sick can be. I just wanted recognition for my spinach feta orzo, and I went about it the wrong way.”

The chef sneered. “You wanted recognition? I’ll tell you what. How about you find it somewhere else. You’re fired!”

Shada gasped. “Fired? No, please don’t do that. I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please, I need this job.”

The man refused to hear her appeals. “I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue the hotel and I lose my own job. You think I’ll risk my reputation for someone like you?”

Creed held up his hands, his anger fading just a little. “There’s no need to—”

“Wait a minute. Hold on. Someone like me?” Shada stepped into her boss’s face. “What are you trying to say?”

Creed cleared his throat.

The head chef’s nostrils flared. “This.” He gestured to Shada from head to toe. “This attitude. From the beginning, you’ve clashed with everybody. You’re always angry and defensive.”

“That’s not true! Ask anybody. You’re the one no one likes working for.”

The man’s face reddened. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore, do you? Don’t expect a reference. Get your things and get out. In fact, I’m calling security to have you escorted from the premises.”

“Enough,” Creed bellowed, and both of them quieted down. Shada’s eyes flashed as she looked at him, and she folded her arms beneath her heavy breasts. He looked away from them to the head chef, who appeared just as put out by his interruption. Creed’s headache had eased after lying quiet in the hospital for a while. Now he felt a pulse beginning in his left temple again. “I don’t want to be the cause of anyone getting fired unnecessarily. I won’t be filing suit—
this
time.”

The chef nodded, but Creed saw he hadn’t changed his mind. Well, it had nothing further to do with him. He had received an apology and an explanation. Now, all he wanted was to get back to his room and sleep.

He left the two alone and started along the hallway toward the front of the hotel. When he turned a corner, he expected to end up at the bank of elevators, but somehow he’d gotten turned around. Grumbling, he retraced his steps, and his cell phone rang.

Creed stabbed the connect button. “Jeff, what is it?”

“I’ve found your brothers. They’re in New Orleans.”

“Why the hell would they be there?” He tried to recall if Damen or Stefan had said anything about where they were headed. Not that he kept tabs on them, but they did have responsibilities in the parent company.

“Um.” Jeff hesitated. “Maybe you should talk to them about it?”

Creed clenched his jaw. He knew what that meant. His brothers had done something he wouldn’t like. “Fine. Do you have a number? Because neither of them is answering their cell.”

Jeff passed on the information and rang off. Creed continued down the hall and turned right. He still thought he headed in the wrong direction, because the passages were stark and boring here, while the area near the front lobby was more stylish, with landscapes on textured walls.

The next intersection emptied out into a locker room. A security guard stood with arms folded, watching Shada clearing her locker. Guilt stirred in Creed, but he assured himself she would find something else soon enough. He started to turn the way he came when he heard her speak.

“No, sis, it’s okay,” she said. “I’ve been through this before. Not a big deal.” She tried to laugh, and Creed heard tears in her voice. He spun back to look at her, and she shifted the cell phone from one ear to the other. “I’ve got Lurch right here watching me. Like they have anything I want. Gotta go. I’ll be home soon.”

She disconnected the call and spun around at that moment. Her gaze lit on Creed, and she scrubbed an arm over her face. He found himself at a loss for words. He had made her cry.

Shada struck a saucy pose. “Come back to gloat?”

“Let’s hurry up there,” the guard said.

Creed silenced him with a glare and moved on impulse. He took his wallet out and removed a business card. “Call me. I’ll help you find something else.”

Her lips parted in surprise. “Why would you do that?”

“It was an accident, wasn’t it?” He raised an eyebrow at her. “Or were you trying to kill me?”

A flash of guilt. “Of course not. Death isn’t funny.”

He wondered at the seriousness of her tone now and when she had mentioned sickness in the interview. He wondered, as he did then, if she knew firsthand what it was like, especially since she’d been so quick to respond and knew what to do when he had the reaction.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll expect to hear from you.”

With that, he left her and found his way to the lobby and up to his room. Sleep called his name, and he intended to answer the summons until the next day.

Chapter Two

“Damen, you’ve been avoiding me.” Creed felt his nostrils flare in his anger. “What are you and Stefan up to?”

“Hey, bro,” Damen said, and Creed winced.

“Don’t.”

Damen chuckled and sobered. “I’m here with Stefan, taking care of a little business.”

“Here, as in New Orleans.” The words weren’t a question. Creed already knew from his assistant where his brothers had gotten off to. “I know Stefan likes to pretend I’m the sole owner of our company, but you at least I thought would be responsible. Damn it, Damen, when are you going to stop trying to be like him and accept that you’re…” He found himself at a loss for words.

“A nerd?” his brother supplied.

“Don’t be stereotypical.”

“My IQ is one fifty-eight. I have a PhD I got for the hell of it, which I’m doing nothing with, by the way, and you’re saying I should what exactly?”

Creed pinched the bridge of his nose. His head no longer hurt now that he had rested, but Damen’s issues weren’t what he wanted to deal with at this time of morning. Why did he always feed into it anyway? “I’m saying you’re trying to break out of one stereotype into another.”

“Now you’re insulting our baby brother.”

“Just tell me what the hell you’re doing in New Orleans.”

Damen hesitated, and Creed knew he wouldn’t like it when he heard. That’s why Jeff refused to give him the details and left it up to Creed to get it straight from his brothers. Noise from the background said Damen was in a crowded place, maybe a restaurant, as Creed could hear the clink of silver on plates and people laughing.

“Spill it, Damen. You know you always tell me anyway, and I end up having to wipe your asses.”

“Fuck you, Creed,” was the response.

“Well?” he insisted.

“We bought a restaurant.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I said. Stefan and I bought a restaurant here in New Orleans. It’s pretty cool, but it’s not going so well.”

Creed thought again of the background noise. His brother raised his voice at times to be heard over it. “Sounds pretty popular, from what I can hear.”

“I’m not at Marquette’s.”

Creed froze. “You didn’t just say…”

“Yeah, we named it Marquette’s. There’s a sign and everything. Stylish and classy, you know?”

Creed stood up and paced his office. He walked over to the door and glanced at Jeff with a look his assistant understood to mean he was not to be disturbed. Then he shut the door. When he returned to the conversation with his brother, he felt like he had better control of his temper. “We know nothing of running a restaurant, yet you two decided to give the place our name?”

“Jeez, Creed, get off it, will you? Listen, this is a great opportunity. It will be fun, something different than the corporate BS we’ve been dealing with for a while now. Think of it as an adventure.”

Creed knew everything that Damen was saying was just a repeat of what he had heard from Stefan. Not that Damen didn’t have his own thoughts. Damen was intelligent—the smartest out of the three of them. However, after Damen’s wife left him, Creed had noticed a change in his brother. Damen had loved a woman who wasn’t worthy of his time, let alone the Marquette name, and she tore him apart by walking out. She’d told him he was boring, and she couldn’t stand another day in his presence. On top of it all, she had also left behind their daughter, Nita. Nita had been two at the time. As far as Creed was concerned, good riddance. Neither of them needed that woman. Damen seemed to feel differently, and when she showed up a few years later wanting visitation rights, Damen had given in to her.

Creed returned to his desk and dropped into his chair. He used a pen to tap the desk as a way to keep his temperament even. Placing his brother on speaker, he set down his cell phone and spun to the side to look out on the city of New York. This was another tactic to ease his mind. Sometimes the tricks worked, and sometimes nothing helped. Sometimes, he let loose a barrage of words he regretted later. At those times, he hated himself, because he never wanted to follow in his dad’s footsteps. Not for any reason.

At last he spoke. “So I’m assuming you’ve purchased this restaurant for yourselves, just as a hobby?” He forced a smile even though his brother couldn’t see it. “That shouldn’t be a big deal. I mean we’ve got excess now, so much we don’t know what to do with it. We busted our balls to get to this place, so why not? Right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Damen sounded more excited. “You’re getting where we’re coming from. I’m glad you understand. Oh, but it’s not exactly a hobby. Stefan and I are serious about it. We want to do what we can to get it off the ground, but well, I guess we need your help. No matter how I crunch the numbers, I’m not seeing a way up.”

Creed knew Damen. When he rambled, that meant he left out facts, and already Creed didn’t like the “it’s not exactly a hobby” part of his brother’s speech.

“And since you’re part owner,” Damen went on, “I figure we need your input.”

“Part owner?” Creed ground his teeth. “Tell me you didn’t purchase this restaurant through the parent company.”

“Why not? We need two signatures to buy. We had them.”

“And you named it Marquette’s?”

“I said I did. Creed, have you been sleeping enough?”

“Give me the numbers, Damen.”

“I—”

“The numbers.”

Damen ran down the profits and losses for the restaurant in the last quarter. The red staggered Creed, especially with Stefan, a man born for marketing, supposedly in charge.

“You’re telling me you two have been at this for the last few months, and I never knew?”

“No way. We wouldn’t do that, Creed, but we know how much of a stickler you can be sometimes.”