CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
I enter the lobby of the Four Seasons, searching for James. I’m confident he’ll be able to direct me to a hairdresser who can solve my problem.
My first stop is the check-in counter. The receptionist directs me to a special office where I find James sitting behind a desk shuffling papers. He looks up at me and smiles. “Hello, Ms. Fields. It’s nice to see you again.”
“You too, James. I’m here to see if you can help me out with something.”
He stands and points at the chair across from his desk. “Please, have a seat. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Cool.” I sit down and arrange my fancy purse on my lap before I begin. “I have a group of men who need new haircuts. These are people who have been living in the eighties all their lives, so I need somebody who can do an updated look but not something so shocking that they can’t adjust to it.”
He folds his hands in front of him, resting them on the desk as he nods. “Let me think about this for a couple seconds.”
I know I’ve come to the right place; he’s not just sending me to any old salon.
He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a pad of paper and a pen. “I’m going to give you two names. The first one would be my preference, but the second one is really good too.” He pauses for a moment as he’s writing. “Do you have a special budget you want to stick to? Because the first one is a bit more expensive than the other one.”
I shake my head. “No. There’s no specific budget. Basically, whatever it takes.”
He hands me the paper. “I’m pretty sure you’ll be happy with either one of these. Please tell them that I sent you. Name-dropping will help you get in sooner because they’re usually booked solid for weeks in advance.”
I take the note and stand. “I knew I came to the right man. Thank you so much, James.”
He stands and reaches his hand across the desk to shake mine. “Anytime. Did you get to see a Broadway show?”
I pause on my way out. “Nope. I don’t have time for that right now.” Because I’m a busy businesswoman who works in the music industry! Yeah! “Maybe before I leave.” I feel so professional, so important. I never felt like this at the farmers’ market. I refuse to think about what will happen after these two weeks are over.
“If you need tickets, let me know.”
“Will do.” I open the door to leave, but pause. The man I spoke to in the bar with the long hair is walking through the lobby right in front of me. He takes three more steps and stops, holding out his hand. Another man appears, moving out from behind a screen of potted plants, to greet him. He’s wearing a suit. My jaw drops open when I see who it is.
I pull back into the office and close the door most of the way, leaving it open only enough for me to peek out.
“Is there something wrong?” James asks me.
“No. Nothing.” What are they doing out there? How do they know each other? Did I see that guy in Lister’s office? Is that why he looks familiar?
They’re having an animated conversation. Neither one of them looks very happy.
What should I do? Should I go out there and confront them? Before I can make a decision, they part ways. Lister goes over to the reception desk, and the long-haired man in leather walks away, headed toward the exit. I open James’ door and lean out to confirm the man is gone before I leave the office.
James is right behind me. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I don’t want to get him involved in my conspiracy theory, which isn’t even defined in my own head yet. “I’ll see you later, James.” I walk away, headed for the reception desk. I can see Lister’s back from here. He’s speaking with the woman working at the computer. I need to get close so I can listen in.
Unfortunately, I can’t get near enough to hear anything without seeming like a creepy weirdo. I chew the inside of my cheek as I try to decide what to do next. I’m just standing here staring at him, which is no plan at all.
Plan? Why am I thinking about making plans to spy on Lister? My overactive, problem-solving brain is going to take over and ruin everything. I should turn around and leave, locate these hairdressers, and talk to one of them about getting appointments for the band. Whatever Lister does on his own time is none of my business.
The moment my decision is made to walk away, Lister turns around. He stares at me in shock.
“Surprised to see me?” Screw the hairdresser plan. Let’s see him talk his way out of this one.
“I was checking to see if you were available, actually.”
I pull my phone out of my purse and look to see if he’s called. The only thing on my screen is a text from my sisters asking me what’s going on. “That’s funny . . . I don’t see any missed calls from you.” I look up and wait for him to explain himself.
“I was in the neighborhood. I dropped by.”
I tilt my head trying to act innocent. “Really? What were you doing in the neighborhood?”
“Client meeting. Do you have a minute to chat?”
Client meeting? Is he making up stories, or is that man really his client? The man he met looks more like a private investigator to me. But why would Lister hire somebody to follow me around? I don’t know, but I’m never going to find out unless I talk to him and ask the right questions.
“Sure,” I say, acting totally casual. I hope he doesn’t expect me to invite him up to my room.
“How about a cup of coffee in the restaurant?”
“That’s fine. But then I need to get going. I have a lot of things to do today.”
Lister holds his hand out, gesturing for me to precede him. I walk over to the restaurant and let Lister take over. He quickly acquires a table for us.
“I’ll have a cup of tea,” I say to the man standing at the table ready to take my order.
“Espresso for me. Thanks.” The waiter leaves us alone and Lister turns his attention on me.
“Have you met with the band yet?”
“Yes. We had a meeting this morning. In the studio. It went well.” That’s all he’s going to get from me. If he wants details, he can ask his clients. I don’t work for him.
“I wanted to talk to you about the legal settlement.”
I wasn’t expecting this. “What legal settlement?”
“The one that my clients offered to you and your sisters. The inheritance.”
“Oh. What about it?”
He fiddles with the edge of his napkin. Something tells me this tiny gesture is a loss of control for him. He’s nervous about something. I can’t wait to hear what he has to say.
“Are you still inclined to refuse the offer?”
“I thought I was perfectly clear about it before.” Is he suggesting that now, because I’m involved with the band, I’m somehow going to want their money?
“I just wanted to be certain that I understood.”
“Just because I agreed to be paid for the work I’m doing now, it doesn’t change anything else.”
He nods, looking very satisfied. “Good. I just wanted to . . . verify.” He reaches up and sticks his finger behind his tie at his neck, moving his collar around a little bit.
Sweating much? “Why?” I ask, watching him closely for more signs of strained nerves.
The waiter arrives with our drinks, ruining everything. Lister takes the moment afforded by the delivery of our beverages to collect himself. His confidence is restored; it’s written all over his smug face.
Maybe Lister thinks he’s off the hook for whatever it was he was worried about, but when he’s done mixing in his sugar and I’ve poured some tea out of the pot, we’re going to have a little do-over.
“Are you enjoying your stay in Manhattan?” he asks.
“Why did you want to be sure?” I ask, disregarding his attempt at redirection.
“Excuse me?”
“I asked you this before the waiter came, and I just repeated the question . . . Why did you want to be sure I was still rejecting the offer from the band?”
His finger goes up to his necktie again. “Just clarifying. It’s no big deal.”
Yeah, right.
He drinks his coffee in two long sips. How he does it without scalding his throat is a medical mystery.
I might be from out in the sticks, but I’m not as naïve as he thinks I am. He’s nervous about something, and now that he’s figured out what he needed to, he wants to get out of here before I can ask him any more questions. Too bad, Lister. I’m on a roll.
“Who was that guy I saw you in the lobby with?” I ask, knowing I’m turning up the heat.
Maybe I’m mistaken, but it looks like he’s lost a little bit of the pink in his complexion. He uses his napkin to wipe his lips. “I didn’t meet anyone in the lobby.”
I fix Lister with a stare. “I saw you shaking his hand.”
“Oh, that was no one. I wasn’t meeting him here. It was just a chance bumping-into-someone kind of thing.”
I’ve never heard Lister be this ineloquent before, which tells me he is completely full of baloney right now. “He reminded me of Red when I saw him the other day.”
“The other day?” Lister is really paying attention now.
“Yes. He must be staying here in the hotel. I’ve seen him twice already before today.”
Lister checks his watch. “Listen, I need to get going.” He looks at my full cup of tea and the teapot that still has at least two more servings inside it.
I wave in dismissal, done playing this game with him. “Go ahead and go. I know you’re a busy man.” And also totally full of shit and running away from me and my questions.
He stands, pulling some cash out of his pocket and sliding it under the saucer of his small espresso cup.
“I’ll be in touch to check in with you,” he says.
I look up at him, my anger mostly contained. “Am I supposed to be reporting to you?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. He presses his lips together and shakes his head before finally answering. “No. You don’t report to me.”
“Then why are you going to check in with me?” He is acting so weird. I wish he would just come out with whatever it is he’s thinking in that sly brain of his.
“Just looking out for my clients’ best interests.” He checks his phone again. “I really need to go. It was a pleasure seeing you again.”
“Sure,” I say, but he’s already gone. He probably didn’t even hear me.
I watch him negotiate his way around the tables, his perfectly tailored suit fit snugly to his athletic frame. I so prefer the look of the rocker I hung out with last night to this stiff and boring butthead. I’m sure they pay him a ton of money, but he is a terrible liar. I hope he doesn’t work for them in the courtroom.
I don’t bother finishing my tea. I only agreed to drink it because he wanted to have a chat. Instead, I stand and walk out of the hotel, keeping my eyes peeled for that person Lister supposedly wasn’t here to meet. I don’t see him anywhere, so I go out to the curb and text Mr. Blake to ask him to come and get me. I only have to wait five minutes and he’s there, stepping out and opening the door for me. I wish my day hadn’t turned so completely gray before I got into this car, because being with Mister Stiff Neck certainly isn’t going to change things.
“Hello there, Mr. Blake.”
“Hello, Ms. Fields.” He makes sure I’m in the car with the door shut and then gets into the driver’s seat, shifting the car into drive and waiting for his moment to pull into traffic.
I hand him a piece of paper with the address for the first salon on it. “How is your family doing?”
“They are well, thank you.” I see him glance down at the passenger side of the front seat before he goes back to checking his side mirror.
As the car pulls away from the curb, I pull myself forward and look around the headrest. There’s a drawing on the seat next to Mr. Blake made with crayon—a few rough scribbles in red and green. There’s a pattern to the patches of color . . . green on top in slightly triangular shapes, red squares under, and something jagged above the green triangles. It looks like the work of a two-year-old, but my suspicions tell me the artist is a bit older than that.
“I like your artwork,” I say, sitting back and studying the side of his face, trying to read his expression.
He doesn’t say anything and his face is so stern, it reminds me of one of those carved African tribal masks.
“Did Lolly draw that pretty picture?”
“She did.” Life returns to his countenance as his jaw bounces out several times.
“Ah. Getting ready for Christmas early, I see.”
His face twists with the emotions he’s trying not to expose. “Yes.”
I look out my window to my left. “My sister is doing the same thing right now, guaranteed. She gets ready really early. Always has. We start seeing red and green even before Halloween.”
“It’s Lolly’s favorite holiday.” He whispers something that sounds like holly-day under his breath as his hands squeeze the steering wheel over and over rhythmically.
I think about that for a few seconds. Lolly. Holly. “Is Lolly short for lollipop or holiday?”
Mr. Blake pulls up to a red light and looks at me in the mirror. “How could you possibly know that?”
I shrug. “I didn’t. I just guessed.”
A few minutes of silence pass before Mr. Blake speaks again. He says one word: “Gerald.”
I sit there blinking for a few seconds before the meaning sinks in. Then my heart feels like it’s expanding to twice its size inside my chest. “Nice to meet you, Gerald. Feel free to call me Amber.”
“I prefer to keep things more formal,” he says gruffly. In that moment, he reminds me a little bit of Ty . . . the beautiful man who confessed to me that he’s not comfortable with feeling emotion but managed to do it with me anyway. It creates a feeling of kinship with my driver that I sure as heck never expected to experience. New York City is just chock-full of surprises, and damn, I think I actually like it. I like never knowing what crazy thing is going to happen next.
I can’t help but beam with happiness. I’m breaking down barriers all over the place, kicking ass and taking names. “That’s cool, Mr. Blake. I can hang with formal.”
I catch his smile in the rearview mirror and notice that he doesn’t bother to wipe it away.
And just like that, my gray skies turn blue.