Faces in the crowd blur as I hurriedly pass them in my mad dash to make it to dinner. I’m late. Vanessa hates that. I see her standing at the entrance of Aldotti’s, one of our favorite Italian restaurants in Midtown. She crosses her arms, and her right foot starts to tap impatiently when our eyes meet through the bustling late afternoon streets. A text message alert rings out from my purse at the same time. It can’t be her, so I take a quick peek. It’s my father, so I turn the phone to vibrate. Whatever he wants must be important to him. It’s the third time he’s tried me today, which is strange. As I’m late, I decide that I’ll call him when I get home tonight.

“Sorry for keeping you,” I tell Vanessa as I reach her. “Had to make some last-minute adjustments to a few calendar items for Joseph before I left work.”

“You’d better hope they kept our reservation,” she barks, rolling her eyes as she turns to walk inside the quaint but elegant, three-story, red brick building set back a few extra feet from the curb.

She doesn’t have much to say to me once the maître d’ greets us and leads us through the foyer, decorated in a mishmash of vaulted ceilings, arches and marble pillars. I can’t put my finger on what aspect of the décor had changed. Maybe the mortar finish on the far wall, or the exposed brick and beam in the hallway we’re passing through, or the massive brass and crystal chandeliers hanging at intervals through the space. I’ve been here countless times, but something is different this time, and it causes me to notice everywhere around. At least the warmth of the place is still intact, setting me at ease as the middle-aged longstanding employee shows up to our table.

Chalking up the change to updated lighting area or something just as subtle, I dismiss the thought altogether as we’re seated at a quiet corner of the main dining room. Besides, I’m famished, considering that my lunch consisted of that sexy, secret stairwell tryst with Jace and a few bites of a chicken fajita from the street vendor outside our office building.

“How was your day?” I ask Vanessa, hoping she’d snap out of her grumpy mood on account of my lateness.

She glares at me, shaking her head. “Don’t even try to downplay it.”

“Come on,” I tell her as I pick up the menu. “Don’t be like that. I was just a little late.”

“Little late, my ass. I was out there for almost an hour.” She snatches up her menu and distractedly flips through the well-bound bifold pages. “Anyway, it’s fine. What do you feel like eating?”

I accept her semi-cool truce, and jump on the change of subject. “Definitely the Pescatori. I’m craving seafood. You?”

“I need a steak. Going protein all the way tonight. Well, except for whatever we’re drinking.”

As if on cue, a younger male waiter comes to our table. “Good evening, ladies,” he greets us warmly. “May I go over the specials of the evening and get you some wine while you decide on your entrée?”

Vanessa nods. “Sure, thanks.”

“My pleasure. For our antipastos, we have a lovely mushroom fritti, which is a serving of well-herbed breadcrumbed king oysters with a garlic sauce on the side. We also have a delightfully tasty bruschetta with braised chicken liver pâté, served on a pancetta with parmesan and a white wine glaze. You’ll love our special entrees tonight. We have our chargrilled twenty-four-day marinated sirloin steak, a spicy Julietta pizza, or the prawn penne carbonara if you’re into seafood. And for dessert specials, we’re featuring a dark chocolate cheesecake with maraschino cherry liqueur glaze, or the pastry chef’s famous Tiramisu with passion fruit.”

Vanessa moans. “It all sounds so good. We’ll start with wine before we decide,” she tells him, giving me a quick glance to confirm I’m also game, to which I nod. “Do you still have that Biondi Merlot?”

“Yes, ma’am, we do,” he says politely. “I’ll be right back.”

My eyes absently follow his movement as he walks off, but catches sight of some men entering and boy, do they catch my attention.

“Check it out, Vanessa,” I tell her.

This show is more for her, as I’ve got Jace. He’s the man I always wanted, and he’s even better now that we’ve been together for a while. But I’m always on the lookout for prospects that Vanessa may be interested in. From casual to serious, just to get her back in the game. The woman has not been out on a date for close to eighteen months. Mainly because her last boyfriend was a dirty, cheating bastard of a jackass who did a real number on her.

She turns, and I’m not the least bit interested that they’ll know we’re checking them out, considering they’re coming through the dining room from directly behind Vanessa, which means she has to turn her whole upper body around to give a satisfactory look at the goods. These five guys are all up her alley, but the first three look like they’re made for her because of their hair color and body types. Vanessa has a thing for badass-looking men with red hair. It’s a wall of red-headed men, all at least six feet tall and then some, all built like well-sculpted professional athletes, all smoking hot, all in perfectly pressed, perfectly tailored business suits.

“Forget it,” Vanessa huffs. “I don’t date organized crime families.”

“Why would you even think that’s who they are?”

“I don’t think. I know. They’re Irish mob, honey. The O’Sullivans.”

“How the hell do you know these things?” I ask as the maître d’ leads them to the section of private dining rooms to the right of us.

“I just know,” she says stiffly, which leads me to believe there’s more to this story. “Let’s leave it at that.”

The waiter arrives with the wine and pours Vanessa the prerequisite sample to confirm it’s to her liking. We put in our orders, and once Vanessa swirls around the wine in her glass, smells the bouquet, takes a sip and gives the nod for him to leave, I press her about the sexy Irish clan.

“You dated one of them, didn’t you?” I ask, getting to the point. She doesn’t answer right away, confirming that I’m onto something. “Ahhh, so you did. Which one? And don’t try to feed me a bullshit line. We’ve known each other forever so you know I can tell when you’re lying. So…which one?”

“Jeez. All right. The one who was in the dark gray suit.”

“With the longer haircut?”

She nods. “Liam.”

“Nice. Well, they were all pretty damn nice-looking. Why’d you kick Liam to the curb?”

“I already told you. I don’t date organized crime families. Too much drama, and way too dangerous, long-term.”

”Was he at least good in bed?”

“Fuck yeah. Best I’ve had in a long time.”

“How would you rate him on a scale of one to ten?”

She smiles, raising her eyebrows high up on her forehead. “If the scale is measured in inches, then…twelve.”

“And you didn’t keep it—” I start, but stop myself because the redhead I’m sure is Liam himself is now walking toward our table. “Redhead hunk approaching at eleven o’clock,” I warn her quietly. “Possibly Liam O’Sullivan.”

“Shit,” she hisses without looking back. “Are you—”

“Good evening, ladies,” he greets us, and extends his arm to me. “Hi, I’m Liam.”

“Cherry,” I tell him as we shake hands.

Vanessa turns and cranes her neck up to him. “What are you doing here, Liam?” she asks in her most snarky, least welcoming voice.

That’s when I know for sure they did way more than just go on a date or two. She’s visibly upset, which tells me that Liam has to have done something to piss her off.”

“How have you been, Vanessa?” he asks, ignoring her question.

“Great, until you decided to come over here.”

“How about if we have a word in private?”

“I’m not doing this here, Liam,” she almost snarls, and I’m grateful for the soft music playing over the restaurant’s stereo system. It blocks out just enough of their tone to make their dialogue seem more or less courteous.

“That’s why I suggested that we speak privately.”

“Uh, Liam,” I jump in, because I know Vanessa. She has a short fuse in situations like these, and if he persists, she’ll make a scene. “I’m not trying to put my nose where it doesn’t belong, but my friend doesn’t want to speak to you now. Does Vanessa have your phone number?”

“She does.”

“Great. How about you go back to your table, and if she wants to speak to you, she’ll text you sometime. Just so that everyone here can go back to our reason for coming to Aldotti’s. To have a lovely meal.”

“I didn’t come over here to make a scene,” he tells Vanessa but looks at me.

“Then leave,” she says.

He stands there for a moment, seeming to contemplate something else to say to convince Vanessa to talk to him, but then he probably changes his mind. “Enjoy your night, ladies.”

“It was nice meeting you,” I say as he turns and leaves. When he’s at a safe distance away, I reach across the table and grasp Vanessa’s forearm. “I want the deets, girlie!”

“There aren’t any.”

“Bullshit. First of all, he seems like a nice guy. Second, well you said it. He’s damn good in bed, and packing all those inches? Damn straight there’s more to this. So…share.”

“Do I look like the type of woman that ends up in a crime family?”

“Okay, that explains the relationship thingy, but why didn’t you just keep it as a casual thing?”

“He didn’t want a friends-with-benefits thing.”

“Not even just the benefits?”

“Nope,” she admits. “Trust me, I tried.”

“Well, that guy isn’t done with you. You’d better have a conversation with him. Better yet, get a good last fuck, and then you can let him down hard. May as well get laid, right?”

She grins, but the sentiment is fleeting. “It’s not so simple.”

“I get it. You care about him too.”

Vanessa picks up her glass, gulps down the contents, and refills it almost to the brim. “Where’s our damn meal?”

“You can talk to me. If not for me, for yourself. I can see you’ve got lots on your chest when it comes to this guy.” I take her hand across the table again. “I’m your best friend.”

The waiter’s timing sucks. He arrives with our meals just when I think I’ll get the whole story, and by the time he places our dishes down, offers us the ground peppercorn for her steak, and grated Parmesan for my seafood pasta, Vanessa’s guard is back up.

“I promise we’ll talk about it…but not here,” Vanessa tells me after the waiter leaves.

She’s quiet as we begin to eat, turning every couple of minutes to look in the direction where Liam disappeared into his party’s private dining room. Halfway into our meal, she places her napkin beside her plate and pushes her chair back. “I’ll be right back.”

“You’re not going where I think you’re going, are you?” I ask, because I’m sure she’s about to go to him.

“I won’t cause drama,” she assures me, smoothing out the front of her blouse as she gets to her feet. “You know how much I like eating here.”

“Just like me. Good luck,” I tell her. With a turn, she heads over to her complicated red-headed dream guy.

She’s gone for less than five minutes when the vibration of my phone in my purse starts up again. As I’m sitting alone, waiting for her, I consider checking the call, but then reject it without focusing too closely on the name that shows up and put it on mute, sliding it back into my purse. Then it goes off again. Who would call back so quickly? As I haven’t spoken to Jace since this morning, I check the phone screen.

It’s Vernon, my father’s driver. Why would he phone me?

Swiping the call answer button this time, I take the call. “Vernon? How can I help you?”

“Good evening, Miss Buchannan. My apologies for phoning you this late in the evening. I’m afraid I have some alarming news.”

“What’s going on?”

“It’s about your father… Mr. Buchannan collapsed as I was driving him from the office to an evening meeting.”

“What? Is he all right?”

“I don’t know, Ma’am. I drove him to the emergency room at St. Grace-Mercy Hospital.”

“I’ll be right there,” I tell him, and hang up.

I’m so confused and flustered about this news that I’m barely aware of what my hands are doing automatically as I wave over the waiter for the bill, fish out my wallet from my purse, place a credit card on the table, and go searching for Vanessa. I find her and Liam in what must be a difficult conversation, but I’m not in the right headspace to hang back and wait for the mood to lighten.

“Vanessa, sorry to interrupt. I have to leave. It’s my dad.” I can’t manage to find any more words to explain myself further, but thankfully, Vanessa makes up for my brevity.

“Oh my God. I’ll go with you. My car’s outside.” She gives Liam a nod and follows me back to the table so I can sign the bill and we leave. “What happened?” she asks as we get outside.

“I don’t know. He collapsed. It doesn’t sound good. I just have a bad feeling.”

“Try not to worry. I’ll get you there as quickly as possible.” She rests her hand on mine as we get to her car and hop inside. “Try not to worry until we have the facts.”

All of a sudden, I’m curious about what he wanted to talk about. He’s been phoning and texting all day, and not once did I get in touch with him. It’s as though I’ve turned into him, and I promised myself that I’d never treat another soul the way he treated me all my life. Including him. It’s that guilt that lingers all the way to the hospital.

Please let him be all right.