Unlikely Allies (20 page)

He dropped his fork onto the floor and when he leaned over to pick it up, shoved her hand onto her lap. On his way back up with the silverware in his grip, he placed his mouth next to her ear. “Don’t push me. You won’t like the results.” He waited until her eyes shifted from her plate to him. When it did, he added a final warning. “Leave her out of this.”

From wide-eyed wonder to narrowed scrutiny, Julia flipped the topic on its head. “You—you’re in love with her, aren’t you?”

His heart skipped a beat, then pulsed in spurts with the blood rushing to his head. He slammed his eyes closed, wincing from the stabbing pain or her declaration; he didn’t know which.

“You two better eat your food, it’s bound to be cold.” A scolding by most standards, but Mrs. Kensington’s smile widened as she examined their foreheads and shoulders pressed together.

Twice in one night, he excused himself from the table, this time, using an acceptable reason. Once he entered the bathroom, he headed straight to the sink and splashed ice-cold water onto his face. He bent over and cupped his palms under the stream, drinking several gulps, hoping it would cool off his overheated body.

He wasn’t sure how long he stared at the gushing water. It pooled in the glass bowl. Someone knocked at the door and asked if anyone was in there. That got him moving.

After the valet handed him the keys, he gunned the engine. The streetlights flashed across his dash like the events flickering in his head. A reminder of the evening’s bright and gloomy moments.

His cell phone rang and rang. He clicked it off. It was an interruption and interference he didn’t need. He’d pay the price later. For now, he couldn’t talk to anyone.

Nope, he had a specific purpose—tying one on.

T
HE HEIGHT OF THE EARLY
lunch crowd didn’t give Maggie a minute to think about anything else except pan-seared branzino, octopus tandoori, and saffron fettuccini with Prince Edward Island mussels. She ignored the growl of her empty stomach while she prepared one delectable dish after another. During any down time and prep though, her mind wandered. This morning after dropping Cece off at preschool and while walking to class, she got a call from Jake. She ducked into an alley, shielding herself from the street noise, and listened as he carried on, warning paybacks were a bitch and so was she. As usual, his tirade took less than a minute, but the aftereffect had long-lasting impact. Did she need to answer? No, but she did. A glutton for punishment, she had a twisted belief that no matter what he’d done, he was still Cece’s father. The Jake she knew in high school, when they dated, and their first year of marriage hadn’t been a bad guy. Lost yes, misguided sure, cruel no. That came later. She fell for the bad boy. Kat believed she was a hopeless romantic, and maybe her sister’s complaint had merit. Her role models, her mother and father, had married young too and were proof of the power of love.

Now though, after analyzing her and Jake’s relationship to death, she realized divorce would’ve been inevitable. His belief that children were a burden would have always contradicted with hers: they were a blessing. Stars in her eyes and caught up in the excitement of her first and only lover, she needled Jake about marriage. He wanted to live together, but she didn’t, not without a ring on her finger and papers in her hand. Besides, she knew her parents would be disappointed, and their opinion meant a great deal to her.

So maybe their failed relationship had been her fault too. In some awful way, perhaps she pushed Jake into returning to his criminal past, even though she thought he’d put it behind him. He had a steady job working as a mechanic until his arrest. Afterward she visited him in jail and pleaded with him to explain why he’d done it, but instead of defending himself, he told her to go home and not come back. She tried talking to him again before the trial and he refused. He gave her no details, no excuse, nothing. When she filed for divorce, he hadn’t even fought it, just signed the papers, agreeing to the settlement.

Last week she gave Matt details, including a breakdown of the events that transpired between her and Jake from the time she discovered the money in their garage to present day. He asked lots of questions, took notes, and promised he’d do what he could to protect her and Cece. He cautioned her to restrict contact, to not accept any more calls, and if she received additional letters, she needed to turn them in.

“Hi, Maggie.”

Not recognizing the voice over the buzz of the customers’ chatter and the crackle of heat when she tossed a handful of mushrooms into the olive oil, she peeked over her shoulder to see who had called out. “Oh, Emma, hi. How are you?” Maggie turned the flame down, wiped her hands on a towel, and stepped over to the counter as Emma took a seat.

“Good, real good. How about you?”

A simple question, but after repressing her tumultuous emotions all morning, she chomped on her inner cheek, not responding right away. Bending under the counter, she reached for a menu, giving herself a few more seconds to push the anxiety into her empty gut before answering. “Matt tell you about this place?” She placed the lunch options in front of Emma and extended a quick smile.

“Actually, Rick did.”

She nodded, and not wanting to discuss that topic, told his mother she needed to return to the stove before the food burned.

Back in the swing, she picked up where she left off, getting plates prepared and ready for service. When finished, she approached Emma again. After all, the Le Gourmet experience centered on the individual attention given to customers seated at the chef’s tables. Used to multi-tasking, she didn’t have a problem managing the back and forth demand since her grandparents’ restaurant existed on a similar belief. Before customers left, either she, Pappous, Baba, or Mama would visit the patrons to make sure everything had been to their satisfaction. That personal touch had contributed to the success of their Greek restaurant and made it the place to go in Houston.

“So Emma, what will you have?”

“What do you recommend?”

Tapping her finger on her chin, Maggie smirked and prodded, “How adventurous are you? The octopus is good but not everybody’s up for that.”

Emma closed the menu, pushing it aside. “I’ll take it. I’ve never had it before, but I trust your recommendation.”

“Good. I’ll get it started then.”

“Before you do, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“I had another reason for coming here today.”

Maggie remained motionless as she asked with caution in her voice, “Oh, what’s that?” Not interested in any more surprises, she held her breath, waiting as her stomach flipped from empty to nervous clenching.

“Well, I have a release party coming up. The caterer I hired backed out, and I need a replacement. I was wondering if you’d do it.”

“What do you mean release?”

“Oh, it’s for my novel.”

Being an avid reader, she leaned an elbow on the counter, eager to hear more. “You’re a writer?”

“Yes, mysteries.”

As soon as Emma mentioned the genre, she realized she might be in the presence of her all-time favorite author. “Oh my god, are you E.M. Stone?” Excitement made her bounce up and down on her tiptoes. She clasped her hands together as giddiness caused the nerves in her stomach to jump even more.

A blush lit Emma’s cheeks. “Yes.”

“Oh my god, oh my god, I can’t believe this. Why didn’t you say something at the birthday party?” Her voice rose at least an octave, causing customers to rubberneck her way.

Emma shrugged, picking up a fork and setting it back down and repeating the action. “I don’t talk about it unless someone asks.”

“Seriously? Jeez, I’d be shouting it from the rooftops. That is so awesome. Will you sign my copy of
Midnight Hour?
Please, please, please.” She thrust her hands into prayer formation, adding a pout on top of her pitiful begging.

Emma’s chuckles made her feel a lot better. “Of course.”

“Yes.” She bounced up and down, clapping.

“You got orders up,” Antonio yelled from behind her, making her jump again, except this time it wasn’t the good kind. Looking over her shoulder, she nodded, acknowledging him. “I better get back to work before I get in trouble. Listen, when I have some down time and while you’re eating, can we talk about the catering thing?”

“Sure, sure, go ahead. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.”

“It’s okay. I just need to pay attention.”

“I understand. If we can’t talk here, would it be okay to call you?”

“Yeah, that would be fine.”

“Now, Maggie.” Antonio stood next to her, jerking his chin toward the oven.

“Yes, sir.” An embarrassed smile offered to Emma, she pulled the order tape from the machine and returned to cooking.

Meals served, patrons happy, and Antonio off her back, she touched base with Emma here and there when she could, gathering as many details as possible. The timeline would be tight with just two weeks to plan. Since she didn’t have anything scheduled that Saturday, she told Emma she could do it. Good thing it wasn’t this weekend because it would have fallen on Cece’s birthday, and she wouldn’t have agreed.

When her classes and shift were finished, she gathered her jacket and umbrella and exited the restaurant. A torrential downpour and powerful winds bent her umbrella inside out, swinging it left to right and making it challenging to walk the seven blocks to Westlake. If she got there late, then Kat would pick up Cece, a plan they put in place early on.

As the rain came down even heavier, she stepped up the pace and jogged the last block, tucking the useless umbrella under her arm. Her hood provided some relief. After she ran into the building, instead of picking up Cece right away, she darted into the ladies’ room. Unzipping her drenched jacket and setting it on the counter, she yanked some paper towels out of the dispenser and dried off her face, neck, and hair. There wasn’t much she could do about her drowned rat appearance. She pulled the ponytail band out and ran a comb through the clumpy mess, twirling it into a bun on top. Wet and sleek, it didn’t look awful, just manageable.

While drying off, Kat called, telling her they were waiting upstairs. Since she wanted to see Cece before they went home, she rushed out of the bathroom, waving at Sam as she passed the security counter. The woman talking to him glanced up. “You, wait. You, I want to talk to you.” Not wanting to speak to her, she kept on walking to the elevator. “I said, wait.” The rapid clicking of heels picked up speed. When she punched the up button on the wall, the woman yanked on her shoulder. “I know you heard me.”

Ignorance could be bliss, but in this case, it didn’t help. When the determined woman tugged on her shoulder again, she had no choice and faced her. “What?”

“Don’t take that tone with me, missy.”

Maggie snorted and crossed her arms, repeating, “What?”

“I said, I want to talk to you.”

Stabbing the up button several more times, Maggie snapped, “So talk.”

“I have a proposition for you.” The blond monster from the previous lobby altercation and the fundraiser unbuckled the leather band on her designer bag and reached inside. The initials on the purse looked familiar, but she didn’t know who created it. Even if she could afford it, she’d never spend her hard-earned money on a useless extravagance.

The woman pulled a checkbook out and started writing. “I have something to give you.” Not having a clue and not caring to find out, Maggie scanned the corridor for an escape. The one she’d been waiting for still hadn’t arrived. Ready to head for the stairs, a stronghold on her arm kept her stuck in place. “Here, take this.”

The check had Julia Kensington embossed in gold script at the top. As Maggie’s eyes drifted from left to right, she noticed the “to” line had been left blank, but the amount had been filled in to the tune of ten thousand dollars. “Here.” Ms. Kensington lowered the monogrammed parchment paper, picked up Maggie’s hand, and shoved it into her palm.

The check fell onto the marble floor when Maggie dropped her arm to her side. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

Ms. Kensington tapped a pen on her cheek and remained silent, her keen brown eyes piercing her target. “I think you will be. You see, I bet you’d love to give your daughter anything she wanted. That will do it.”

“Are you on crack?” Maggie spun away from the lunatic and hurried to the stairwell. If she had to climb twenty floors, so be it. She’d heard enough and lunged up the steps, ignoring the heels hobbling behind her.

“Listen, if that’s not enough, I’ll give you twenty.”

On the landing between the first and second floor, fury bursting from her gut, Maggie grabbed the handrail and swung around. Hot on her tail, Ms. Money Bag’s chin rammed into her shoulder when she stopped. “What is wrong with you?”

Ms. Kensington backed up a step and lifted her nose high in the air. The frown she’d been sporting flipped to an awful imitation of sweet and charming. Staring straight in Maggie’s eyes and with a dead serious, unrepentant tone she said, “I’m giving you and your daughter a wonderful gift. You should be thanking me.”