Unlikely Allies (9 page)

“Aw, Rick, don’t be like that.” She leaned up and uttered something in his ear.

He dropped his neck back and stared at the ceiling, drawing in several deep breaths. Then he twisted toward Matt and squinted at the empty plates. “Let’s go.” Mr. Stone shoved the chair under the table so hard, water splashed out of the glasses and a fork fell toward the floor.

Maggie dove to catch it but missed, her hand brushing along Mr. Stone’s thigh. “Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed at how close her fingers had come to his zipper.

Miss High and Mighty cast a perturbed glare at her and stepped into her personal space, squaring off. “Not quick enough. He loves fast and hard. Trust me, you wouldn’t be able to handle him.” She crossed her arms, unwilling to back down, and not the least uncomfortable that some of the customers nearby overhead her inappropriate announcement.

Clamping his large hand around the big mouth’s arm, Mr. Stone tugged, and then pushed her around tables and out the door.

“I guess I’ll take care of the check then.” Matt came up alongside Maggie. “Everything was fantastic. If there’s any dessert left over, bring me some when you come to work later.” He patted his stomach again. “I didn’t get enough. Don’t be so stingy next time. I want at least a dozen of those.”

She heard him but didn’t look his way much. Instead her eyes kept gravitating outside to the couple arguing on the sidewalk. Mr. Stone paced, then stopped to say something, and darted back and forth again. The shameless woman threw her arm out to halt him, flapping her gums and yelling whatever. Anytime the door opened from people going in and out, she could hear the remnants of the determined woman screeching.

“Catch ya later, Mags.” Matt strolled in front of her and blocked the view, waving over his shoulder.

She raised her hand, mimicking him, but he didn’t see her. “Bye,” she called. “Thank you.” Her voice rose above the noisy chatter. A peace sign shot up above his head, causing her to giggle.

After paying the check, Matt exited the restaurant just as Mr. Stone hailed a cab and assisted the woman into it. He ducked his head inside and stayed there a bit before closing the door and pounding on top. The taxi took off.

Mr. Stone’s eagle eyes locked on her exact position. Shivers rolled through her. Not the bad kind, the good. Too good.

“Service, Maggie.” Antonio’s shout jolted her and helped get her priorities readjusted.

She rushed to her station, filling the single order remaining in the machine as service wound down. A glance over her shoulder showed both men were gone.

A red leaf salad, Charcuterie Plate, Escargot, and Le Gourmet burger kept her hands busy, while she gave herself a stiff talking to:
you have responsibilities,
tons on your plate, men are trouble,
you don’t need another problem added to the list.

Just forget him.

“A
ND YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE
a Casanova? How the hell did you get that title after that fuck up?” Matt’s jab was punctuated with a hard smack on Rick’s shoulder as they walked toward the office building.

“The last time I had anything to do with Lisa was at least six months ago. Believe me, I wasn’t goin’ there again. She wails through her whole orgasm. It’s so high pitched you’d swear a car’s brakes locked up. The screeching doesn’t stop until the coming ends in a head-on collision. My eardrums are thanking me. I swear they burst the last time. That got old as soon as it happened. How the hell anyone could put up with that on a regular basis I have no idea.” During his rant, his story picked up pace, hoping to lay it out as quickly as possible and end the conversation once and for all.

“I wasn’t talking about her, shithead. No wonder you were the college dodge ball champ four years running. You duck and run better than anybody. I don’t ever remember you getting hit until now.”

Ticked off, Rick reeled around and let his best friend have it. “Are you on a sugar high? Because you’re talkin’ stupid.” Turning his back on him, he took a few steps and then bolted around, pointing his finger at Matt’s chest. “Don’t get me confused with you.” He got nose to nose, ensuring Matt heard his message loud and clear over the honking horns and traffic. “I’m sick and tired of everyone telling me what the hell I’m supposed to do with my life. You can take that shit you’re spouting and shove it up your ass.” He swung his arm in the general direction of the restaurant and snarled out his parting protest. “She’s
nothing
to me.” When he said it, his gaze flicked away from Matt’s knowing stare while the denial escaped his mouth. “No kids. No women with kids. And definitely not a woman who is obviously running from something or
someone.
Now, take your advice and give it to somebody who gives a damn.”

As Rick took off at a sprint, Matt shouted, “I’ll see you Sunday. Lizbeth and Harley’s birthday party.”

Rick extended his hand in an acknowledging and consenting wave. Even pissed off, he would never miss such an occasion. He might not want that lifestyle for himself, but he loved Matt and his family. Regardless of the bullshit his buddy rode him about, he’d never let a few disagreements come between them. They’d pledged the same fraternity their second semester and hit it off from the start. Rooming together helped, but they were also a lot alike. As bad as Rick might be, Matt had been a hell of a lot worse when it came to one-night stands, which kept their dorm room quite active. The routine continued until the end of senior year when Matt met Sophia at a party. His partner in crime fell hard, certain he’d met “the one.”

Married a year after graduation, Rick had been Matt’s best man, celebrating the special occasion and each one ever since. Whenever he had a few hours to spare, he spent it with them. The twins turned six this weekend, and Grace, a pudgy little thing just a few months old, didn’t do much more than sleep, eat, and vomit. A few times when he’d been burping her, she got him good, spurting disgusting, yellow slime down his back. Once, so much spit came out of her, it seeped into his pants and boxers. Yeah, if that wasn’t enough to tell him kids were a pain in the ass, that event would have convinced him for sure. The best part though, when he said goodbye, he didn’t have to deal with glitter being sprinkled in his hair, his nails being painted neon yellow, princess tiaras thrown on his head, and kiddie tea parties again until weeks later, or as soon as he could fit in another visit.

Nope, he didn’t need any of that insanity.

Board meetings took three to four hours. A new goal of Rick’s had been to keep them as brief as possible. He just set a record, finishing in under two. At least he’d done something good today.

“What the hell are you doing?” Grandfather’s shout echoed in the conference room.

He peeked over his shoulder expecting to see him there. When he didn’t, he walked into the hallway. Behind his secretary’s desk and sitting in her chair—Cece, spinning in circles. Did anyone pay attention to where that kid went? Where the heck was Maggie?

“Quit that right now, young lady,” Grandfather demanded while Cece continued to turn even faster.

By the time Rick came up behind him, Grandfather’s arm had shot out to catch the whirling chair. His did too but latched onto the old man. “Leave her alone. I’ll take care of this.”

“Another example of why this place is falling apart. If this kind of thing goes on when I’m here, I can only imagine what happens when I’m not.”

“Max,” Cece repeated with each swing around until she came to a gradual stop. He could’ve sworn her face turned yellow then green as projectile vomit spewed out of her mouth, down his pant legs, and onto Grandfather’s custom-made Italian loafers. Bent over, she held her stomach as never-ending chunk-filled, watery globs flew out.

Stunned silence, except for the retching, happened first. Then more chaos.

“Shit.” Kat rushed to Cece, scooped her up and over to a trash can, ignoring the splattered mess on Cece’s overalls and the gook that now stuck to Kat’s Westlake shirt.

“Take that wretched little—”

Rick held up his arm, cutting Grandfather off. His glare communicated he’d better not say any more. For once the grouch listened and turned tail, shaking his left and then right shoe, grumbling on his way out about the business being in the gutter by year’s end.

Before Kat could whisk her niece away, he ducked down to get a good look at Cece. He set his hand on her back, rubbing up and down. “How you feeling?” Brushing a lock of red hair out of her eyes, he swiped his thumb along her flushed cheek.

“My tummy hurts.”

“Yeah? Mine would too if I spun like that.”

Cece reached up, her hand coming to rest under his chin. “I take care a ya.”

The stab to his heart caused the air in his lungs to gush out and blow across her face, flitting tiny, sweaty curls back and forth and clinging along her temple.

“I’d better get her in the bathroom and cleaned up.” Kat walked around him, carrying Cece toward the Westlake office.

With her fingers pressed to her thumb, Cece’s duckbill-shaped goodbye and chubby-cheeked smile over Kat’s shoulders kept him at his secretary’s desk unable to move until she disappeared.

“Oh, my,” Mrs. Collins said behind him.

He looked at the lumpy globs on the carpeted floor.

“I’ll get something to clean that up,” Mrs. Collins chimed, not showing the least upset about the mess sprayed around her desk.

“No, I’ll take care of it.”

A pat on his shoulder pulled his attention to his secretary. “I can do it. This could take a while. Besides, you have a meeting in an hour.” She pointed to his pant leg. “And you need to get cleaned up too.”

Since he didn’t have time to rush home to change and often needed to be ready for any occasion, a walk-in closet in his office, which he’d stocked with professional and casual wear, came in handy. A bathroom with a shower in his suite also made it easy to get refreshed at the last minute.

Unwilling to have Mrs. Collins take care of something that had nothing to do with her job, he went hunting for paper towels and garbage bags stored in the break room. When he returned with his hands full, Mrs. Collins was already on her knees with gloves up to her elbows and a bucket at her side. The ammonia hit him. “Whoa, that stinks.” After setting the supplies on the spotless half of her desk, he grabbed her arm, stopping her from doing any more cleanup.

“More than vomit?” she mocked, pinching his bicep. “I told you to leave it.”

“When do I ever listen?” he countered, pecking her on the temple.

She dropped the rag in the pail and faced him, her eyes softening. “You’re a good boy. Don’t worry about your grandfather. He wants the best for you and doesn’t know how to communicate it as well as your dad.”

For the second time his chest constricted, in this case, a reminder of his supportive father and how he always knew the right thing to say.

He ripped the paper towels off the roll and dove in, mopping up and dumping clumps in the trash. Before he knew it the floor, chair, and desk were spotless. His sweaty shirt and pants stuck to his skin, and he reeked of sour milk and who knew what else. His lower back had stiffened from being bent over for so long. He stood and rubbed it.

“Uh, excuse me, Mr. Stone. You left this at the restaurant.”

Exhausted and annoyed, he rocked back on his heels and turned toward Maggie. She set a folder on Mrs. Collins’s desk and said, “Um, you don’t look so good.” Her unnecessary reminder pricked the hair on the back of his neck. She pinched her nose. “What happened?” Her nasally, muffled question pissed him off, and his control evaporated.

“Well, let’s see.” He swiped the moisture off his upper lip, needing a minute to figure out what he wanted to say. The extra time hadn’t helped. It just renewed his fire, a carryover from lunch. “If you watched your kid better, you’d know.” His arms crossed along his chest, and he went on, ignoring her wide green eyes and gaping mouth. “That smell is from your daughter throwing up all over the place.” He whipped a hand toward his damp and smeared pant legs, her gaze drifting over them. “She was unsupervised, again.” Then he swung his arm to the sparkling clean chair. “Spinning around in my secretary’s seat. No one with her. Nobody, Maggie.” He closed in, moving nearer to her with each account and continued to rattle off one jab after another. “What if she got lost? Hurt? What if someone took her? Do you have any clue what she does? Where she goes?”