Chapter Twelve
Teddy
I stirred the deep, red drink and admired the flecks of horseradish floating in the mix. Darren knew the best places to find a Bloody Mary, even if he always ordered them extra spicy. I took a sip and felt more awake than I had in days. The fiery sip helped burn off the daze I had been in since Kiara disappeared from my estate.
"So your father's yanked the leash, huh? Made you come into Manhattan?" Darren asked.
The traffic outside the trendy, hidden bar crescendoed into a cacophony of honking horns. I liked the distraction; it made me stop thinking in circles. It made me concentrate on where I was instead of wondering where Kiara had gone.
"At least it's a lunch date," I said.
Darren snorted. "I've never seen your father sit down, much less eat. Is this the end of the world?"
I shook my head. "The old man probably just wants to talk about my finances. Somewhere along the line, he got the idea that offering to pay for a meal means I can't complain about how he allocates my inheritance."
"Maybe he just wants to congratulate you on your engagement," Darren said.
He shifted farther along the bar before I could punch his shoulder. Instead, I curled my hand around my glass and took another burning sip.
"Don't be stupid. I'm not engaged, no matter what Whitney Barnes wants people to think."
"I don't get it," he sighed. "Whitney is gorgeous, rich beyond belief, and, as a couple, you would basically own most of Manhattan."
"And the majority of Long Island," I muttered.
"Oh, so that's it." He sidled back down the bar and elbowed me. "Your mind is still on Long Island. I thought your girl wasn't there anymore."
"What girl?" I growled.
Darren laughed. "Can't stop thinking about Kiara. Not very virtuous for a newly engaged man."
This time I punched his shoulder before he could move. "Stop spewing bullshit."
"What's bullshit? That everyone thinks you are engaged to Whitney, or that you can't stop thinking about Kiara?" He rubbed his shoulder. "Either way, I'm sure your father has heard about it. So, do you think you're going to get congratulated on your engagement or reamed out for messing around with the Davies girl?"
"I wasn't messing around with her," I snarled.
He held up both hands. "All I'm saying is that there are two major rumors going around about you right now, and they both have to do with women. You lucky boy."
I scratched my chin, realizing the stubble there would get me a disapproving look from my father, and then finished my Bloody Mary in a few gulps. "I better get going."
"Oh, come on, Teddy. If I don't make fun of you, who will? And, on the flip side, if you don't tell me what's going on in that head of yours, it’s probably going to explode."
"Nice try, Darren. I know you're just looking for gossip."
My friend slapped a hand to his chest and gasped for air. "You slay me, sir! Though I suppose that just means you haven't made up your mind. Want to make a pros and cons list?"
"For what?"
"Whitney versus Kiara." Darren narrowed his eyes and studied my face. "Or is there no contest?"
"There's no conversation," I said and stood up. I flipped some bills onto the bar and headed for the door.
Darren called to my back, "Fine, you don't have to admit anything to me. I know, anyway."
I scowled for at least two blocks as I thought about what Darren said. It didn't matter if there was no contest between Kiara and Whitney. Other people were taking sides and making decisions for me. If I didn't find Kiara soon, I would have no chance to clear up what was really going on between us.
Just the two of us, I thought as I walked into the restaurant. I just needed a chance to be with Kiara alone, to see what there really was between us, without other people messing it up.
Then I saw Whitney. She waved and gave me a dazzling smile. She was so bright and perfect, beautiful and aware that she drew the gazes from half the restaurant. My father was nowhere to be seen.
"We've been set up," I said as I joined her at the coveted window table.
Whitney paused, expecting me to embrace her and then push in her chair. I went through the motions without a kiss, and her smile lost some of its brightness. "Your father picked a very romantic restaurant," she murmured.
The hairs on the back of my neck bristled. Whitney was picturesque in a powder-blue dress. Her favorite flowers dominated the table's centerpiece. The music floating over the admiring crowd might have been handpicked from her own collection. All eyes were on us, and Whitney had arranged the scene to her liking.
I sat down and ground my teeth. "You did all of this. My father had nothing to do with it."
"Isn't this a wonderful place?" she asked, ignoring me. "Bright, beautiful—just like us and our lives."
"Are you trying to set up your own proposal?"
Whitney pursed her lips for a second before her smooth smile reappeared. "I may be a modern woman, Teddy, but I still want you to propose to me."
And she wanted me to do it right that instant. I glanced around and realized there was even a photographer lounging near the brunch buffet. He thought my look was a signal, and he hurried to put down his plate and take the lens cap off his camera.
"Whitney, I can't keep doing this," I said. "You're wonderful, and you know it, but I just don't feel that way about you. We're not in love. We're not getting married."
She laughed and fluffed out her hair. "Oh, Teddy, you're such a romantic. Love can come later, or we can make other arrangements. Face it. We're perfect for each other, our families want this, and that's more important than your poetic notions."
"I will not ask you to marry me just to satisfy some business deal between our families. Find someone else."
"Someone with your family connections? Someone with your prospects?" she scoffed. "It's sweet how you downplay yourself, Teddy, but be realistic. There's no one else to match me. And I'm perfect for you."
My phone rang, and I ripped it out of my pocket. "Speaking of my prospects, I really need to take this phone call. You understand?"
Whitney pouted, but nodded her head. "I understand the importance of business. A good trait in a wife, don't you think?"
"Then you'll forgive me for cutting our lunch date short?" I asked. I answered the call and told the contractor to hold for a moment. "I really should go and take care of this," I told Whitney.
Her eyes flashed with anger, but her face was serene. "Oh, Teddy. You can make it up to me later. Good luck, darling."
She made a big show of kissing me on the cheek and sending me away with her blessing. I wasn't even to the door before her friends descended to save her from sitting alone. They had been waiting to celebrate her engagement and shot me dirty looks as I pushed my way out the doors and onto the noisy street.
The conversation with the contractor lasted forty seconds, but I held the phone to my ear all the way to the end of the block. I was still pretending when I turned the corner and ran right into Roger.
"Teddy. Good to see you," he said.
I made a show of hanging up my unused phone and shoved it in my pocket. "Roger," I said with a short nod.
"I've been meaning to call you," he said with a smile. "I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement. Whitney is the catch of the century, they say."
"She says," I muttered.
"Pardon me?"
I gritted my teeth. "I'm not engaged. You shouldn't believe all the gossip you hear."
"Oh, well," he shrugged. "It seems inevitable, so I guess my congratulations are just a little early."
"No," I said slowly as if talking to a stubborn child, "not inevitable. Not happening. I'm not going to marry Whitney Barnes."
Roger grinned and kept pace with me along the sidewalk. "Good luck with that," he said.
"Weren't you going the other direction?" I asked.
"Funny you should ask. I have a few hours, and I was just thinking about where I wanted to go. Want to grab a bite to eat?"
I frowned. Roger was inescapably nice and seemed to understand my status and all the attached predicaments better than I did. Still, I didn't like his handsome smile or the way he looked at Kiara.
"Nah, I've got to get going," I said.
"To Brooklyn?"
I stopped on the sidewalk. "Why would you ask that?"
He smiled. "You keep looking up at the Brooklyn Bridge. Just seems like something over there is on your mind."
"Can we just cut the bullshit?"
He laughed. "Gladly. So, the rumor had it that you were proposing to Whitney at that fancy restaurant a few blocks back, but here you are heading towards Brooklyn. Still looking for Kiara?"
I hated him. Hated that of all people, Roger Dallas was the one I could talk to about her. I knew it wasn't friendly concern for me, but more his interest in Kiara that kept him walking next to me. Still, he was a far cry from Darren's acceptance of expectations and Whitney's mercenary view of our lives. He was just as trapped by his status as me, yet he was open to making unpopular decisions.
I slowed down. "I have to find her."
Roger nodded, but asked, "Why?"
"She thinks I'm the kind of man that flirts with one woman while being engaged to another. I have to tell her, and the rest of the world, that I'm not getting married anytime soon."
"Why does Kiara have to hear that from you?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "What are you, a therapist?"
"I'm just trying to figure out where the line is."
I stopped again on the busy sidewalk. "Because you want permission to pursue her? You want me to tell you that Kiara's fair game?"
"Seems like you might benefit from knowing where the line is yourself." He started walking again.
I caught up to him and grabbed his arm. "I just want to apologize to her. Kiara is too stubborn, and I want to make sure she's not letting that get in the way of her new career."
"You've got no other stake in trying to find her? No other reason for seeing her again?"
"None that's any of your business," I said.
Roger drew to the side of a gallery window and stopped walking. All I could see was the reflection of the Brooklyn Bridge in the shiny window, but I forced myself to concentrate on not punching the smug smile off his face.
"You just want to make sure Kiara will use you as a reference to get another cooking gig?" Roger asked.
"She thinks she has to go it alone, but she could use my help," I said, balling my fingers into fists.
"Selfless act or still trying to atone for burning down her house?"
I stepped forward, nose to nose with Roger. "What does that matter to you?"
He glanced down at my clenched hands and chuckled. "You know, I ran into her in Brooklyn the other day. She was at a very trendy restaurant. Maybe she's doing all right on her own?"
I gripped his arm. "What restaurant? Where?"
He had that knowing smile on his face again when he told me, but I ignored it and hailed a cab instead.
"You're welcome," Roger called as the cab pulled away from the curb, heading to Brooklyn.
#
I was disappointed as soon as I walked through the front doors of the restaurant. It was silly to think that Kiara would be standing there, waiting for me, but I had imagined her seeing me. The shy smile spreading across her face buoyed me up on the long cab ride, and it was hard to feel everything sink down again.
"Mr. Brickman! It is so nice to see you again."
I glanced at the maître d' as he hurried around his podium and came to shake my hand. So much for being able to discreetly wait for clues as to where Kiara was hiding.
"We met last year. I was a waiter at Simon's," the ingratiating man said.
"Nice place you've got here," I murmured.
Kiara was not in the fashionable late-lunch crowd, nor was she wearing the black uniform of the servers. I looked over the maître d's head as the kitchen door swung open, but she was not one of the sweating team in white chef's jackets.
"We have a table available right away, sir," the maître d' cleared a path through the waiting crowd.
"I didn't make a reservation," I said. "I'm sure someone else has been waiting for that table."
A man waiting with his pinched-lip wife looked relieved. The maître d' had been about to seat them when he recognized me.
"In fact, I'm just looking for a friend of mine. She'll be here any minute," I said.
Ten minutes later, the maître d' was sweating through his fancy suit. The crowd in the lobby had thinned out and he cleared his throat as he approached me. "Sir? We have a table by the window available."
I had watched him discreetly move a young couple from that very table just minutes ago, but I shrugged and let him seat me. The table had a good view of the street and the passing Brooklyn crowd. It was ridiculous to think I could sit back and expect Kiara to walk by, but I had no other plan.
"Champagne?" The maître d' did not wait before he popped the cork and poured me a crystal flute of their best.
Minutes later, the chef himself appeared with a specially prepared cheese plate. He wanted to discuss my tastes and moods so he could prepare something just for me, but I wasn't hungry. Instead, I asked him if he knew anyone fitting Kiara's description.
He shook his head before declaring that steak tartare would be the best thing for me.
I sipped the champagne and tried not to grit my teeth. The whole restaurant was holding its breath, wondering if I was about to mark them the trendiest place for the jet-set. All I could think about was how Kiara would wrinkle her nose at me. I could pay for the champagne thousands of times over, but it was free to me. All the special treatment was just to gain my arbitrary approval and the right to say my name.
I watched the people flowing by outside and wished I was like them. They, like all New Yorkers, knew exactly where they were going and weren't letting anyone get in their way. Inside the restaurant was another world, and as the minutes ticked on, I knew for certain that it was not Kiara's world. I wasn't going to catch her there, and I had no idea where else to look for her.
When the sun set, I noticed the maître d’ sweating again. They had rearranged for the dinner service all around me, but now he was anxious because I was still staring out the window. They needed the table for the jammed-packed reservations. I heard the phone start to ring off the hook as word spread that I enjoyed the restaurant.
I thanked the chef personally, shook the maître d's hand a half dozen times, and did my best to leave without causing a scene.
It was a relief to get out onto the darkened sidewalk and shouldered roughly by the moving crowd. I went with it and wandered around, hoping somehow the universe would send me towards Kiara.
After an hour, the thought of going back to Long Island alone was dismal, but there was nowhere else I wanted to be.
The longer I walked, the more I noticed that even the crowd treated me differently. It must have been the shine of my shoes, the cut of my custom suit, or the flash of my astronomically expensive watch. I'd been wandering around for hours, and all I found out was that I didn't fit in.
Kiara was more likely to find me, standing out like I was. I shifted to the mouth of a dark alley and pulled out my phone. My finger was on Roger's number, ready to drill him for more information—beg if I had to—when I felt the gun barrel press hard against my ribs.
"Don't say anything or move too quickly. Just give me your watch, your wallet. Everything." The man's musty breath was hot in my ear.
I slipped the watch off my wrist, handed over the diamond-studded money clip, and then tossed him my phone. "Don't spend it all in one place," I said.
"Car keys," the man snarled.
"Do I look like I drive?"
The gun rammed against my ribs. "House keys. You look like you've got a nice place."
I sighed. "Do I look like I carry keys? Christ, some days I don't even get to open doors for myself."
"Fucking rich people," the man muttered and pawed his way through my pockets himself.
He found nothing more and gave a disgusted sigh. Then, the bruising pressure of the gun barrel, the man, and all my belongings disappeared before I could turn around.
I crossed the street to get away from the dim alley and did my best to shake off the mugging. It wasn't my first time, but it still took a while for my heart to stop kicking so hard. When it finally did, I found a corner bodega. All I had to do was go in, promise a reward for the use of the phone, and a car would be there in minutes. Vincent Jeffry never left the Brickman Estate, but he had friends all over.
Including Kiara.
The thought of her made me straighten my shoulders and keep walking past the corner shop. She had watched her family home burn to the ground and then slept outside in a tent. The least I could do was find my way back to any number of my luxurious properties without asking for help.
It even started to rain, just to give me the authentic feeling of what Kiara went through. I flipped my collar up and kept walking, having no idea where I was going, but it wasn't working. Paying random penance was not making her appear.
I stepped inside a cozy little bar and shook the rain off my suit. The jean-wearing, hip, late-night happy hour crowd scowled at my tailored ensemble. I knew they overpaid for their carefully low-key looks, but I was the asshole. I literally wore my class on my sleeve.
"This bar's for paying customers only," the bartender said.
I reached for my money-clip but it was gone. "I'm just waiting out the rain for a minute," I said.
"Buy a drink or get out, rich boy," one of the regular customers called.
"How's that fight against exclusivity going?" I asked.
The bartender groaned. "You gonna buy a drink or what?"
"What would you say if I told you I just got mugged?"
The regular snorted. "And they didn't take your fancy suit? Lazy."
I eyed him. "You're right. He should have at least taken my tie. It worth's more than most people make in a week. Except for you. Let me guess, by the cleanliness of your plaid shirt, you must be in computer coding or gaming. Right?"
"At least I work for a living," the man countered. "You look like you live off daddy's money."
"We can't all be cool," I said.
"Look, if you got mugged, we can still make a deal," the bartender said. "You got some skills you can barter?"
"Like what?"
"The sound system's acting up. You could fix that. Or wash dishes."
The regular grinned. "Or maybe you could read palms. That's how the homeless lady down the block gets to use the phone."
"Who says I want to use your phone?"
"You said you just got mugged. Aren't you calling daddy to bail you out?"
"I don't need to look at palms to know you're the one with daddy issues, not me," I said.
The punch to the jaw was expected, but it hurt more than I was prepared for. Boxing was the top of the list for acceptable pastimes in my set, but I refused to hit the guy back. It was more than I deserved for shooting my mouth off. I took my aching jaw and went back out into the rain.
I had no money, no diplomatic skills, and no idea what I was going to do.
The funny thing was that if Kiara was in my situation, she would have been just fine. I had charged over to Brooklyn with the idea that I was going to save her, when it turned out I was the one that needed saving.
"Enough is enough," I muttered to myself.
Just down the block was a pizza place with steamed up windows. A teenage boy was drawing goblin faces on the inside of the streaked panes. It was busy, warm, and sure to have a phone I could use.
I paused at the door and promised myself that all I would do was ask. This time, I wouldn't make a scene—intentional or not.
The line of late-night patrons was almost to the door, but standing on the soaked front mat was better than wandering around in the pouring rain. I waited patiently in line and was glad for the chance to warm up. The pizza place was tight enough that everyone in line stood shoulder to shoulder, and no one noticed that my suit didn't fit the neighborhood.
"Hey, K, you mind filling up the ice machine?" a loud voice boomed from the busy kitchen.
"No problem," a familiar voice called.
Kiara appeared from the corner of the counter and hauled a bucket to the ice machine. I elbowed my way through the tight crowd and helped her lift it high enough to pour. Our eyes met under the rattling of the ice cubes, but she had to wait until it was done to say anything.
"Man, am I glad to see you," I said.
"Teddy? What are you doing here?" Kiara blinked and handed the bucket back over the counter.
"Would you believe I was looking for you?"
She looked at my rain-soaked suit and scuffed shoes. "I didn't think you came to Brooklyn."
I chuckled. "And I might not come again. I just got mugged."
Her eyes flew to mine. "Then why are you smiling?"
"Because I really was looking for you. Got a minute?" I was joking, but she tugged at her sleeves and looked around.
"Um, yeah, in a bit. Let me just help out a bit more. The owner's a friend of mine," she said.
I shuffled to the side and leaned against the thin counter in front of the steamed-up windows. Of course, Kiara was there helping out a friend. I watched, getting warmer, as she folded up pizza boxes, took orders, and even carried soda refills over to thankful customers.
Her eyes kept drifting over to me, and I couldn't tell if her glance was embarrassed or just annoyed. I had just shown up in her cozy world looking like a mess, and I was the last one she wanted to help.
Finally, at the end of what could have been a very long shift, Kiara came over and offered me a slice of pepperoni pizza. It was far past midnight, and I happily took a bite as she leaned against the counter next to me.
"Wow, this is really good. I mean, really good." I savored another bite of the surprising pizza.
"What's your plan, Teddy? Is someone coming to pick you up?" Kiara asked.
I shook my head. "I'm not waking up anyone in the middle of the night to bail me out."
"So you're just going to wander around Brooklyn all night in the rain?"
I shrugged. "Not much else I can do."
She let out an impatient sigh. "Then, come on."
"Where are we going?" I asked, wiping my mouth on a thin napkin.
"My place," she said.
She shoved open the pizza place door, and a bell clattered above us. I followed her, my mind shouting louder than the reverberating bell.
A second chance! Don't screw it up this time.