The Henson Brothers: Two Complete Novels (9 page)

"Pamela, I'm sorry but I can't help you. Try the Docks. I'll get the phone number for you."

Pamela shook her head, her large earrings hitting her cheeks. "Don't bother. You're not getting rid of me that easily."

"Pity."

He stood and escorted her to the front door and held it open.

She stopped and stared at him. "You may be tough, but you're fair. I'm not giving up on you yet." She sauntered out.

"Why don't you just give her a chance?" Eric asked as Drake watched Pamela race across the street.

"Because I'm already mentoring a kid."

They heard the sound of shattering glass.

Eric grinned at Drake's groan. "And that would be him right now."

They both went into the back dining hall, where they saw Cedric Diaz sweeping up glass. His ponytail was held back by a red rubber band, his trousers were wrinkled, and his off-white shirt was beginning to resemble his olive skin. He looked particularly uninterested in what he was doing. Lance came up to them, followed by his assistant manager, Trent.

"He has to go," Lance said under his breath.

Drake rubbed his chin. "He needs time."

Lance ran a hand through his hair, staring at the mess. "I know you're trying to help him, but he doesn't care about the job. He comes in late, argues when corrected, and doesn't uphold the image we are trying to reflect. Just look at him."

Drake didn't want to. Cedric had a real attitude problem that wasn't going to take him far, but he didn't have a father and his busy mother was terrified that either gangs or death would take her son. Drake knew the fates of some former classmates who never reached adulthood and others who were spending their time in jail. He realized Cedric's life would never be easy, but he wanted to give him an opportunity he never had.

He patted Lance on the shoulder, appreciative of his patience. "Just give him a little more time. He'll straighten out."

Trent spoke up. "He doesn't deserve to be here. We weren't hired to be baby-sitters."

"No one is asking you to baby-sit."

"I am not being paid to excuse the mistakes of some overgrown kid with an attitude problem. This is a restaurant, not a job corps for delinquents."

Drake's voice was soft. "If you don't like your job you can leave it."

There was a terse silence. Then Trent said, "Fine." And stormed out back.

"I'll try to talk to him," Lance said.

Drake waved his hand. "Forget it. I don't like staff that argues with me in public. Continue working."

Lance sighed and left. Eric shook his head. "You should have tried to reason with him."

"Why?"

"Because he's good. The reason restaurants run well, are a direct result of our managers. Besides, he has a point."

"So?"

"You could have explained—"

"No. If people don't understand why I do something, that's their problem. I didn't get to where I am by explaining every action I make."

"Just don't lose people based on ideals. If Cedric doesn't shape up, you'll have to get rid of him. And that will be his fault, not yours." He patted his brother on the back, unable to stop a smug grin. "And now I'll leave
you
to find a new assistant manager since that is your fault and not mine."

* * *

He was a silhouette in blue jeans. Cassie watched Drake enter the restaurant, oblivious to the eyes of appreciation that followed him as he approached the large round table. He seemed to move in rhythm to the soft music that floated around them. She watched him walk up to the man who sat next to her studiously checking his notes. He said in a low voice, "There's a chair over there waiting for you. It includes a free drink," and slipped the man a five.

The man pushed the money in the pocket of his plaid shirt, gathered his notes, and stood. "It's all yours, buddy."

Drake sat down and smiled at Cassie's stunned expression. "Well, that was bold!" she said.

He scooted his chair closer, brushing his leg against hers. "I always take the advice of my instructors, especially if it works."

"I suppose you're aiming to be my most improved student."

He searched her eyes. "No, I'm aiming much higher than that."

Unable to think of a satisfactory response, Cassie began the discussion. However, keeping her mind focused proved difficult. She knew Drake wasn't trying to drive her mentally insane on purpose, but the fact could not be ignored. He was distracting. Just his voice made her lose track of her notes any time he asked a question. She was too aware of how he watched her, how his arm brushed hers when he moved, how his scent seemed to draw her to him, how his face remained serious when everyone else was laughing.

She silently breathed a sigh of relief when the remainder of the class arrived. She placed the group into couples to interact. After fifteen minutes, she told them to switch partners.

The exercise helped people relax in a social atmosphere, learn to conduct small talk, and utilize body language. Cassie tried to remain impartial, going around to all of the couples, listening and observing them, but her eyes somehow always found where Drake sat and strayed to whoever he was talking to. When the exercise was over, some students left while others continued their discussion. Cassie was invited to join a group for a meal, but she declined and gathered her things.

Cassie overheard two women who had been paired with Drake.

"Oh, my God," one groaned, buffing her nails. "The man is so stuck-up."

The other slipped into a bright sweater with embroidered giraffes. "Stuck-up? He's so boring he makes grass growing look good. Yesterday, you'd have thought he was some sort of seducer. What a disappointment."

"So true. All I know is that I never want to be paired with him again."

Cassie was amazed and too curious to keep her mouth shut. She came up to them. "Are you talking about Drake?"

The woman briefly stopped buffing. "You mean Drake the fake?" She laughed at her own wit. "He certainly fooled me."

"What happened?"

The first woman put her buffer away. "You mean besides him sitting like a statue?"

"Or talking about the benefits of tomatoes?" the other added.

She glanced at her buffed nails. "At first I didn't know why a guy like that would need this class. Now I know."

The other nodded, adjusting her sweater. "A toad—"

"In prince clothing."

Cassie cringed. "I'm sorry."

The woman in the sweater shook her head. "It's not your fault. You've got your work cut out for you."

They both headed for the bar.

"Can I add my two cents?" a little voice asked behind her. Cassie turned and looked down into a cherub face surrounded by frizzy red hair.

"Certainly."

"I think he's obnoxious, arrogant, spiteful, and mean I told him about my great-uncle Walter's funeral up in New York and how my second cousin was found sleeping with the widow of Mr. James Masters and the family scandal that happened afterward but he didn't show one ounce of interest. He actually yawned, he didn't even care about the fact that my mother's third husband ran off with the deacon's wife from Second Story Baptist Church. Now I've always been told what a great storyteller I am and though my stories tend to run long sometimes, okay not just sometimes, but most times, but I'm working on it which is why I'm in your class, which I love by the way. I love your clothes and your confidence I have confidence it's just that sometimes I get carried away while in conversation I'm sure you know all about that since you did that talk about 'sharing the floor' I really am not as bad as I used to be did I ever tell you—"

"You have obviously been working hard," Cassie interrupted, afraid the woman was getting her second wind. "But I suggest you learn to breathe between sentences. Remind me tomorrow to give you more tips. I am sorry your partner was so unpleasant."

"Such a shame since he's so good looking but I've found that most good-looking men are jerks it's as if—"

"You're forgetting to breathe again." Cassie smiled kindly to soften the criticism. "We'll talk about it tomorrow." She turned and searched the restaurant for Drake. She found him at the bar, smiling for the first time that evening, at something the bartender said.

She came up behind him and heard him compliment the bartender on his selection of drinks. She tapped him on the shoulder. "I need to talk to you."

He spun around and looked at her, a gleam of interest shining in his compelling eyes. "All right."

She took a step back. He was like an eclipse. She had to remember not to look directly at him or suffer something infinitely worse than blindness.

"Is that the one?" she heard the bartender ask.

He nodded, his gaze not leaving her face. "Yep. This is the one. This is Cassie."

"Nice to meet you, Cassie."

She pulled her eyes from Drake's. "Oh... uh... thank you."

The bartender smiled, then attended another customer.

"What did you tell him about me?" Cassie asked as Drake led her to a table.

"Take a wild guess," he said as she slid into the booth.

She glared at him. "What is wrong with you?"

The warm liquid eyes turned to stone. "What do you mean by that?"

She hastily apologized. "That came out all wrong." She glanced around the restaurant as if she could find the right words floating around her. "What I mean is, why do you give the impression of being an obnoxious jerk when you're not?"

He rested his arms on the table. "Would you like to order something?"

"No. Drake, you haven't answered my question."

"I'm not sure if it's a question or an accusation."

"It's not an accusation. I know you're not a jerk."

He nodded grimly. "Thank you."

"I'm not criticizing you. I'm just trying to understand what went wrong. Your three partners complained about you."

He shrugged. "I have a few complaints myself."

"You have to be cordial, inviting."

"I was."

A woman in a green silk dress and high heels that could be used as ice picks approached the table and smiled at Drake. "Excuse me. Do you have the time?"

He glanced at the band on her wrist and frowned. "Why don't you check your watch and find out?"

The woman blushed, covering the watch with her other hand. "It's broken."

His frown deepened, confused. "You want it to do something besides tell time?"

"Uh, no. Uh... thank you."

Drake watched her leave. "What a strange woman. She has a fully functioning watch and asks me for the time."

He turned to Cassie, who had her head buried in her hands. She moaned.

He leaned forward. "Do you have a headache?"

"Yes. Don't worry about it," she said when he stood. "It will eventually go away."

He sat back, doubtful. "Are you sure?"

"No. Do you realize that you just humiliated that woman?"

"I just made her aware of her mistake."

She stared at him, exasperated. "She hadn't made a mistake. She was trying to flirt with you."

"Why would she be flirting with me when you're sitting right there?"

"Because I'm not a threat."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Cassie didn't wish to explain that most women didn't see her as competition. "Never mind, I just want to know why you didn't get along with your partners. I'm beginning to see why, but I still don't understand. You were fine with the bartender."

"That's because I didn't have to flirt."

"How come you can flirt with me and not other women?"

He dropped his gaze to the table. "The reason's simple."

"What is it?"

He looked up. "I want you."

"Don't say that," she ordered, heat touching her cheeks.

"Why not? I'm being honest. The other people didn't interest me."

"Drake, you could like them if you gave them the chance."

"Are you suggesting I act like I care when I don't?"

"I'm suggesting you act civil."

He reached across the table, grabbed her hand, and brought it to his lips. "How can a rogue act civil when what he desires is close enough to touch?"

She pulled her hand away. "This is a classic case of a student having a crush on a teacher."

"There's nothing classic about it. I wanted you even before I knew you were my teacher." His voice deepened as he slid next to her. "However, I like you as my teacher and I'm eager to learn."

"You just feel comfortable with me."

His finger trailed the sensuous line of her jaw. "I think you're beautiful."

Cassie turned away, dismissing his words. "Drake, do you really want to go to your reunion?"

His eyes lit up. "Would you like to go with me?"

"No. I'm only mentioning it because you're going to have to break out of your comfort zone and be friendly to people who bore you or don't interest you."

He rested an arm behind her head and sighed, resigned. "I know that."

"Then why don't you practice? That woman sitting near the stage has been eyeing you for a while. Why don't you go up to her and—"

"No."

His refusal was so swift and definite, Cassie sat back in her seat, bewildered. He must be more awkward than she thought.

"I know she looks intimidating because she's gorgeous, but—"

"Gorgeous? She looks like she had her last meal during the Irish potato famine."

Cassie poked him hard in the side. "Don't be rude."

"I know her type. You take them out to dinner and they order the most expensive meal, then proceed not to eat it."

"You don't know if she's like that."

"She hasn't even touched her grilled salmon with rice pilaf and spinach."

Cassie squinted at the woman's plate. "Are you sure that's spinach?"

"Yes, it's definitely spinach. Lightly garnished with strips of carrots and walnuts."

"I love sesame spinach."

"I should make it for you. Actually, I make an excellent spinach lasagna with—"

She held up her hand to stop him before her mouth began to water. "Wait a minute. We've gone completely off the subject."

"Hmm." He toyed with the soft hairs on the nape of her neck.

"Stop that."