Simple Riches (13 page)

She’d been waiting to talk to him for four days, waiting for just the right time to ask why he’d invited her to his uncle’s birthday party and then disappeared with another woman. Of course, she’d saved face, slipped away before anyone even saw her, except Michael. So, why had Nick left with
her
? He couldn’t possibly know her and she couldn’t know him, not really. Did this woman, this Alex Chamberlain, know that Nick only ate the insides of éclairs? That he kept a stash of caramel corn in his bottom left drawer, in the back behind the Nutri-Grain bars? And that he hummed
You’ve Lost That Loving Feelin’
when he thought he was alone? Or that he’d shaved his head last year when Jenny Sanalucci started chemo and lost all her hair?

Did Alex Chamberlain know
any
of this? But more than anything, did she know, have even a speck of an idea how much Elise Pentani loved him?

“Elise.”

It was Nick. She loved when he spoke her name, longed to hear him whisper it in a soft caress. Someday… She picked up the day’s schedule. “Yes?”

“When’s my last patient?” His eyes were still closed, head tilted back.

She scanned the sheet in her hand. “Four-fifteen. Mr. O’Shaunessy. Possible kidney stones.”

“Okay. Call me when he gets here. I’m just going to rest my eyes.”

“How’s Mr. Lubovich doing?”

“I think he’ll be okay. Looks like a midbrain stroke and I guess if you have to have one that would be the best choice. Edna’s the one I’m really worried about, crying and screaming. The poor man was more upset about her than he was about the stroke.” He paused, rubbed his eyes. “Thank God Alex was with her.”

Alex?
“You mean the woman reporter?”

“Yeah, I guess you could call her that. She’s staying with Chuck and Edna. She’s the one who called 911.”

“Oh.”

“Got Edna calmed down, took her to the chapel to pray, then home to bed.”

“Where was Tracy? Didn’t anybody call her?” Edna’s daughter should be taking care of her mother; they didn’t need an outsider to share their grief.

He blew out a long breath. “Edna said she and Ted went to Niagara Falls for a few days.”

“They must be speaking to each other this week.”

“I guess.” Nick swung his chair around, opened his eyes. “Say, Elise, Alex Chamberlain said she tried to call me a few days ago, three or four times, but I never got the messages.”

“Oh.” She had called, four times to be exact, but Nick had been with patients, and then, well, then Elise had decided if the woman really wanted to talk with him, she’d find a way, which obviously she did, and if not, then maybe Alex Chamberlain would just go away. “Yes, she did call, but it was busy and—”

He waved a hand in the air. “I understand, don’t worry about it. I told her it wasn’t like you to forget messages but we’d been very busy so it probably got pushed aside.”

Elise attempted a half laugh. “It has been crazy.” Her voice dipped. “I’m sorry.”

Nick smiled, his left upper lip rising a bit higher than his right. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Nick? About the other night, the party?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry you couldn’t make it. I was there until around ten o’clock or so and then I left.”

I know, Michael told me
. “I got tied up with my dad, getting ready for Gloria’s communion party. Two hundred rolls and five dozen cupcakes, frosted and delivered.”

“That’s okay. No big deal.”

That’s what you think
.
It was a big deal, Nick, a very big deal
. “Maybe… maybe you can invite me another time?”

“Sure. There’s always some kind of Androvich get together.”

He ran a hand through his hair, thick, with just a hint of wave, perfect for a woman to run her hands through… She swallowed. “Sounds great.”
But it would sound better if you and I could get together, alone, without fifty of your closest relatives
.

“I’m sorry you didn’t see Michael.”

That got her attention. Her smile faltered, faded. Had that little skunk squealed on her? “Why…why do you say that?” She should have known better than to trust him, should have known that he didn’t know anything about honor, or trust. Damn, but she’d been a fool.

Nick shrugged. “No reason. I just thought maybe the two of you might enjoy each other’s company.”

“Michael and I?” She laughed. Michael hadn’t betrayed her. It was worse, much worse. The man she was in love with was trying to fix her up with his
brother
. That was so bizarre, so ludicrous, it was funny.

“I happen to think you’d make a great couple. Have you ever thought about it?”

“No. Never.”

“Michael just needs somebody to care about him, who’ll make a commitment and won’t run out when things get tough. You wouldn’t do that, Elise. You’d hang in there, you’d make it work.”

You’re right, I would. So why won’t you give me a chance?
Let me show you that I care, that I can commit, that I can and do love you
. “Nick—”

“I know he can be a bear and he’s having a tough time right now. Hell, I want to strangle him myself half the time. But if he had a good woman beside him, he’d straighten up, quit the bars, stay home.”

“Nick—”

“Just think about it, okay?”

“I really don’t—”

The office door opened, cutting off the rest of what she was about to say. Elise turned, expecting to see Mr
.
O’Shaunessy for his four-fifteen appointment. She did not expect to see Michael Androvich standing there, in jeans and a T-shirt, bronzed and grimy from the woods,
Androvich Lumber
ball cap pulled low over his head. His two children, Kevin and Sara, trailed behind, with Sara clutching his left pant leg.

“Elise.” His lips curved up in what might have been taken for a smile had she not heard the mockery in his voice. “Did I interrupt something?”

“No. Nick and I were just finishing.”

“Michael? Is that you?”

“Uncle Nick, Uncle Nick!” Kevin and Sara broke loose and ran into Nick’s office.

“Hey, kiddos!” He scooped them up in his arms. “How are my two favorite rugrats?”

Sara wound her arms around his neck, kissed his cheek. “Scratchy.”

Kevin rubbed his fingers over Nick’s cheek. “Double scratchy.”

Nick laughed, let them down and pointed to the candy jar filled with Jolly Ranchers on his desk. “One.”

Elise watched him as he held the jar open. He needed more children—two or three—she could give them to him…

Michael leaned against the doorway watching her, his eyes hidden under the bill of that stupid baseball cap he always wore. She wondered what his face looked like these days since she never saw more than cheekbones, nose, jaw, and a tangled mass of longish hair curling down his neck and around his ears. “I got the cradle.”

“Great,” Nick said. “Will you”—he paused, went on—“have time to refinish it?”

Elise knew why he’d paused, knew what it meant. Michael had nothing but time, but he wasted it in Cody’s bar or God-knew-wherever-else he disappeared to, probably some woman’s bed. There’d been talk, a lot of it, about a year ago that he’d taken up with Trudy, the bartender at Cody’s. Did he wear his
Androvich Lumber
cap when he was in bed with her?
Oh, God
, what was she thinking! Elise pushed the thought of a naked Michael Androvich as far out of her consciousness as she could get it.

“It’s done,” Michael answered, a hint of challenge in his voice.

They were talking, they were being civil, that was good; not like it used to be,
before
, but at least it was better. There was a time when Nick and Michael were inseparable. She remembered seeing them as a young girl, dark heads bent toward each other, talking, whispering, laughing. And then it all changed, because of
her
, because of Caroline, because one brother married her and another brother still loved her.

“Thanks.” Nick nodded, crossed his arms. “I appreciate it.”

“No big deal.”

“Did you get it in Clarkton?”

Michael shook his head. “I found a better place, just kind of picked it up one day. It’s at the house if you want to stop by.”

“I will. We’ve still got a few weeks before the shower.”

“Mom says Gracie’s been nosing around.”

“Figures.”

“Yeah.” Then Michael turned to her. “Hey, Elise, I’ve got a really big favor to ask you.”

A favor?
Michael Androvich needed a favor? Was this a form of blackmail for not telling anyone she’d shown up at his uncle’s birthday party? “What?” The word came out harsh, defensive.

He smiled. “I have a few things to take care of this afternoon. Do you think you could watch Kevin and Sara, when you’re through here? Say until six-thirty?”

“I…” she stumbled around. Why was he asking
her?

“I’m really in a bind. Mom’s got a meeting at the church and Gracie’s got her hands full already.”

“I…”

“We can all go out for pizza afterward. How about it?”

Say no, say no. You do not want to start doing this man any favors
.
He’d never be back by six-thirty, more like nine-thirty or ten-thirty. Say no.

She opened her mouth to speak.

“I’d really appreciate it… Elise.” He tipped back his hat, just a fraction, but it was enough for her to see his eyes… a soft whiskey color with gold. Beautiful eyes. And then he smiled.

“Yes.” The words fell out before she realized she’d spoken them.

Alex sat in the living room of her condo, sliding her fingers over the smooth satin of a cream-colored pillow. This one had tassels, elegant combinations of cream and white woven together. Soft, rich, very expensive. She tossed it aside, watched it land on the floor and picked up the blue-and-green hand mirror beside her.
The true jewel is in the mirror.
Her father’s words surrounded her
. Look into it, Alexandra, look into it and see the jewel.
It would be four weeks tomorrow since she’d packed up and headed to Restalline, but it felt like much longer—months, years, light years.

She was a stranger in her own home, surrounded by order and quiet, with the exception of an occasional yap from Jessica, the Pomeranian next door. Her owner’s name
was
Elaine—she’d checked the mailbox on the way in.

Alex brought the mirror closer, stared into it, through it. Who was the stranger looking back at her? Where had she come from? Why wouldn’t she go away? It was like this every time, right before a deal went through, she’d be plagued with guilt and indecision. Should WEC Management have such power over another person’s life? The questions went on and on, but eventually she’d convince herself once again that growth was good, expansion was necessary, and individual prosperity was to be applauded, not condemned.

But this time, it felt different. This time people’s faces were crowding out the logic—Stella Androvich making noodles and sharing her recipe for cucumber salad and bread dumplings, a smile on her weathered face; Edna Lubovich, eyes swollen with tears, clutching a rosary in one hand, and Alex’s fingers in the other, praying for her husband; Norman Kraziak, smiling at her through misty eyes as he talked about his dead daughter; Gracie, coaxing Alex’s hand over her belly as the baby inside her kicked and moved; Justin, running after a baseball, grit and determination on his small face.

And Nick. They’d spent the last few weeks together, but never alone, not since the night he’d kissed her and knocked her world off its comfortable, logical axis. He showed her the town, from his perspective, in between office hours and emergency calls, with Justin between them most days or running off ahead, an unknowing chaperone, a protector of propriety and inhibitor of male-female emotions.

Alex hiked the backwoods trails behind Restalline, crossed three creeks, climbed a tree with Justin, picnicked once again on the banks of Sapphire Lake—careful not to get too near, despite his pleas that she kick off her shoes and run in—and helped build a campfire next to Androvich Lumber where all the Androvich grandchildren congregated to roast marshmallows and tell ghost stories. It was what she’d always imagined families doing and for the first time since she was eight years old, she almost felt like she was part of it, part of a real family.

Nick had given her all of the tools to take the town away from its people—he’d shown her everything, with honesty and pride. Restalline would be the perfect summer-winter resort, ten times better than the one in New York. There were natural slopes for ski trails, paths for hiking, wilderness exploring, a cool temperate climate, two or three fresh springs… and Sapphire Lake. It was all here, in a natural wooded area, nothing prefabricated or contrived. And that meant big money.

But if she used that information to make her pitch to Uncle Walter, would that be betraying Nick? If she could get the town twice fair market value, because the return on investment would be triple that, would
that
be betraying Nick? What if she could convince Uncle Walter to let Nick stay on as a consultant of sorts, maybe to oversee the development of the project, ensure that wherever possible trees were left standing, what then?
Would that be betraying Nick?
And the rest of the town, what about them? Would Edna and Chuck Lubovich pack up their yellow kitchen and call her a traitor? Would Chuck have another stroke when he found out Alex’s real purpose for coming to Restalline? And Gracie? Would she still tell her she wished Alex were her sister? And Stella? Would she smile and make little comments about how Nick needed a good woman?

And what about Norman Kraziak? What would
he
do? She’d dropped in to see him about a week ago, sat in his office across from the portrait of Caroline, and asked him if he’d ever thought of moving away. There’d been no mention of Ruth or the fact that she needed professional help—they’d both carefully skirted the issue. Norman had rubbed his chin, pulled off his black reading glasses, and tossed them on the desk. He’d turned his chair just enough to see Caroline’s portrait. When he spoke, it was the voice of a man who was tired and defeated. This had been Caroline’s legacy, he’d said, and one day it would be Justin’s. But the boy already had Androvich Lumber in his blood. So, if Norman could cash out, he’d rather give his grandson a huge trust fund as opposed to a sawmill and a furniture factory, but only if the price was right, better than right, say three times fair market value. Then he’d give selling some serious consideration.

What would Uncle Walter say to three times fair market value? He’d refuse at first, that was expected, but once the annoyance settled, then what? Would he consider it? Possibly agree to it? With slight modifications? He was a great believer in addendums. And then what? If Norman Kraziak sold both of his companies, Restalline Millworks and NK Manufacturing, hundreds of people would be out of work, they’d sell out, and Androvich Lumber would be forced to close its doors.

Alex’s stomach churned. And what about Nick? What would he say? Something was happening between them, she could feel it when he looked at her, his gaze moving over her with slow, careful precision, dissecting her every move in a way that made her lightheaded.

It had never been this way before, not even with Eric. Nick could strip away the walls she’d so carefully constructed with nothing more than a look, a word. He questioned her logic, made her question it herself.
Why can’t you take a walk in the woods or just sit by the lake without telling me how much people would pay to be near all of this? They don’t have to pay anything, Alex. Don’t you get it? It’s not for sale. It’s free.

What was he doing to her? What?

***

Alex pulled the photos out of her handbag and passed them to her uncle. “I think you’ll like what you see,” she said, leaning over his desk so she could give him a narrative of what he was viewing.

Uncle Walter lifted the pictures from the packet, slid his reading glasses on his nose. “Hmm.”

“The town is surrounded by pockets of wood just like these.” Alex pointed to the clusters of maple and oak. A few weeks ago she’d barely been able to tell a maple from a pine. Her uncle flipped to the next photo. “Those are the natural springs. There are two of them on the outskirts of town. Kids love them. Tourists would be very intrigued.” She remembered the day Justin took her to one of the springs and showed her how to get a drink by putting her mouth just below the tip of the rock and catching the water as it trickled over. There were more photos too, of back roads, trails, huge trees, hills, and finally… Sapphire Lake.

“Beautiful,” Uncle Walter murmured.

“It is, isn’t it?” Looking at it reminded her of the first time she’d seen it… with Nick.

“It’s perfect.” He rubbed his jaw, his gaze fixed on the blue water.

“It’s even more beautiful in person.”

He laid the photo of Sapphire Lake aside. “I’ve studied the reports you sent in great detail. You’ve done a good job, very informative.”

“Thank you.”

“But you haven’t indicated your recommendation yet.” His gaze shot to the picture, then settled on her. “What will it be, Alex? Are you advocating we purchase this land and turn it into our next resort?”

“I don’t know,” she said, her voice falling. “Maybe, but I need more time. There are still too many things to consider.” That was the honest truth.

“I see.”

She could tell from the tone of his voice that he didn’t like her answer, expected something more definitive, and she couldn’t blame him. It wasn’t like her to exhibit such uncertainty.

“What’s this?” Uncle Walter asked, holding up the next picture. “A farmhouse?”

“Actually, that’s Stella Androvich’s house. It’s got a lot of character.” She pointed to the right side of the photo. “There’s a small stone pathway that leads to the backyard. She’s got a magnificent garden, with tomatoes, peppers, zucchini, cucumbers, everything. And there’s an old tree house, and a swing…” …
where Nick Androvich kissed me.

He flipped the photo face down on his desk. “Alex?”

“What?”

“Forget the house, it doesn’t matter. You know there’s no sense getting attached to it or the owners.” He leaned back in his leather chair, steepled his fingers under his chin. “If we buy the place, we’re only going to flatten it.”

She looked at him, trying to find the words to tell him that it
did
matter. Very much.

***

Something was wrong, he’d sensed it the minute she’d walked through the door. And now she was telling him that if they did decide to go ahead with the project, they should offer two times fair market value for each house. What was she thinking? It was absurd. Ludicrous.

“I’m a businessman, Alex,” Walter said. “Not a charitable organization.”

“I know, I know.” She leaned forward in her chair, turned her hands over, palms up. “But the lake is already there, the slopes too, once you clear out the trees. It wouldn’t require extensive manmade duplications.” Her voice lowered. “Did you review the plans and diagrams I sent you detailing the rest of the town? I think it
might
be what you’re looking for… what you want…”

“So why should we pay double for it?” Alex reminded him of her father right now, filled with some ridiculous notion of paying double for something he could get for less than half. It wasn’t like her to let her emotions get in the way of cold logic and common sense.

“They love their town,” Alex went on. “Everybody I’ve met has a story, a history… It’s hard to put a price tag on that kind of thing.” She paused. “If we offer them an extraordinary amount up front, I think it may help assuage any guilt or feelings of uncertainty.”

“For whom? Them or you?”
What was going on here?
“You make it sound like this is the first time you’ve done this. You’ve been going to small towns for seven years. You know the routine—you go in, you look around, if it meets our requirements, we make a deal, and everybody’s happy.”

“We also debilitate the town by buying out the industry that supports them which forces the people to unload their property for well below market value.”

He leaned back in his chair, rubbed his jaw. “And? Didn’t they teach you at Wharton that that’s known as good business?”

She studied her hands. “I just think if we decide to go ahead with the deal, we should consider offering them a hefty price up front.”

“Alex? What’s wrong with you? That’s totally unreasonable. Why would we do that? We’re in this business to make a profit, not give handouts.”
What was she thinking?
“What about the businesses? Kraziak and Androvich? Any thoughts on either of them?”

“Well… yes, maybe. Norman Kraziak indicated he might consider selling… if the price were right.”

“How much?”

She met his gaze, held it. “Three times market value.”

“
Three?
Are you serious?”

“Very. And I think he might be, too, given the right incentives.” She paused, pushed back a lock of hair. “His businesses are his life… he lost his only daughter several years ago, and his wife… well, she’s… not well.”

“This is absurd. Do you know what you’re asking here? You want me to ignore every business principal I’ve ever learned, and offer this man three times what his business, no, businesses, are worth? I’d be a fool to do that.”

“You’d get your money back.”

He raised a brow. “I’m disappointed in you, Alex. You know better.”

“It may be the only way he’ll sell.”

“There’s never just one way.” He paused, said, “What about Androvich? What kind of prospect is he?”

She looked away. “He isn’t.”

“Oh?”

“At least not yet… but… I’m working on him.”

“Oh?”

She nodded. “I need some time.”

“Maybe I should send Eric—”

“Absolutely not.”

His gaze narrowed on her.

“This is my project. I’ll get it done. Just give me a little more time.”

“One month. You’ve got one more month to get this project, these people, in place. If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it then. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll expect you to call me every few days with feedback.”

“But I—”

He held up a hand, cut her off. “Communication, Alex, that’s the key. I need to know where you are, what you’re up to. Understand?”

She nodded.

“Good. And work on this Androvich. I’ll be damned if I’ll pay three times market value for anything.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “I’ll have Sylvia make reservations at Emilio’s. I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty.”

Alex left a few minutes later. Walter picked up the phone, buzzed Sylvia and said, “Tell Eric I want to see him. Now.”

***

Beethoven’s
Moonlight Sonata
filled the air, swirling over tables draped in stiff white linen, with delicate gatherings of pale pink orchids spilling out of Waterford crystal like a gentle waterfall. The waiters wore black tuxedos with crisp white shirts and heavy accents. They knew each patron by name, first as well as last, knew also, their spouse’s name, perhaps, even their mistress’. Filet mignon, veal Oscar, chicken Florentine; these were not just meals, they were presentations, productions served with great fanfare and flowers. Emilio’s prided itself on its food, its elegance, and its exclusiveness.