Redheaded Redemption (Redheads Book 2) Page 2

  The time that happened, yet…didn’t.

  I wiped at my eyes. I didn’t want to cry about it. I’d said something terrible, and if I was reading the situation correctly, Max lost his first restaurant afterward. I scanned through comments on the article. People made fun of him. They called his restaurant trash, despite the likely high ratings prior to my visit, which spurred me to eat there in the first place.

  Who had I even been there with?

  I wiped at my eyes again.

  I’d done a bad thing. It took him five years to open shop someplace else, and I understood why he’d thrown me out. I was lucky he hadn’t done worse, like publicly call out my bad behavior. He likely assumed I returned to eat his food, bash it, and ruin his life again.

  I got off the chair and paced the room. This wasn’t okay. I’d ruined this man’s life. He’d obviously recovered it since then, but his ability to spring back after a disaster didn’t negate what had happened to him…because of me. I couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to have worked so hard to open a restaurant, have it succeed spectacularly, and then have someone like me come along and destroy years of his effort.

  I had to make it right, somehow. I had to…figure it out.

  I just didn’t know how.

  I sent a text to Bridget. It would be early for her in Hong Kong, just after eight in the morning, but I needed her.

  I fucked up.

  She was fast to answer me. What did you do, love?

  I wasn’t ready to tell her the whole story just yet. Hell, I didn’t know if I’d ever be ready to tell anyone. That was a thing. I could get stronger, I could get help, but—short of confessing the whole nightmare to a few doctors and a psychologist—I’d never told another living soul what happened to me.

  I wasn’t sure I ever would.

  Why? Because I couldn’t stand the thought of what people would think after they knew what I did. For years, everyone claimed Layla was the most like our mom—the one likely to fall apart, to go to dark places. I never understood why. Layla was strong, even if she didn’t see it. Things had gone askew, but she’d run—literally—toward the life she wanted. I was the one most like Mom, silently breaking while pretending I wasn’t.

  No, that had been who I was before, not who I am now.

  I’d done something—I’d sought help privately, while she never did. I survived, so no one ever had to know.

  I texted my sister back, decided. How about if we don’t say what I fucked up? How about if I just ask you what to do if I’ve done something wrong? If I ask you, what do I do about it?

  I knew the answer; I just wanted to see her say it. I regularly checked in with my sisters because they kept me balanced. Sometimes sane, even if they didn’t know to what extent they helped me.

  Her answer came back pretty quickly. You know what to do. You make it right if you can. If you can’t, you say you’re sorry, you mean it, and you don’t forget what you did so you don’t do it again.

  I nodded. All of that was exactly what I thought. No shortcuts when it came to making amends. I was going to do the work until I somehow made this up to a complete stranger, one who hated me because I’d destroyed his life.

  I hit the button and played the video again. And again. I’d made him into a joke, and he didn’t seem like the kind of man who would ever want to be a joke. Those intense gray eyes, the way he held himself. Max took himself very seriously, and he’d absolutely enjoyed throwing me out of Hyperion today.

  I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  I tried to work through the morning. There was a lot to do. Muffy—yes, that was her real name—expected to hear from me with at least a partial proposal for the Save the Slomestikan Children fundraiser we planned to host next month. She was anxious to get it done. Well, she was anxious to get her face out there on all the PR we were about to release. I was excited for the actual fundraiser.

  I loved that I could raise money to help others and get paid for it.

  It might not have been my personal cause, but I became invested in every cause I helped to raise money for and took it to heart like it were my own.

  Still, I couldn’t help looking at the clock every two minutes. I called my friend Danny and asked him what time Max usually arrived to open his restaurant. Danny was the person who knew everything that was happening in Manhattan all of the time. So, as my walking source of information, he’d told me Max arrived at noon. I intended to arrive at one o’clock so I didn’t pounce on Max the second he opened his restaurant. It was noon. I had another hour to get through before I descended on Hyperion and got Max to talk to me.

  Even if he ousted me from the building at the same time.

  I gave up trying to work around twelve-ten. At some point, it was fruitless, so I went to check myself in the mirror. I worked from home most of the time. Technically, I had an office, but it really was just a space for a business card. I was never there.

  Love you, I sent to Layla. She might or might not answer. The baby had her up a lot. When she wasn’t helping Zeke get their vineyard set up or nursing the baby, she was frequently asleep. I couldn’t blame her. How did she function with so little rest? I wasn’t sure I ever could.

  I dressed simply and for the purpose of apology. I didn’t need to look fancy. In fact, that would be super inappropriate. I wanted to look simple, so my jeans worked. I put on a purple V-neck T-shirt and a denim jacket. Sneakers completed my look, along with a dab of lip gloss, then I left the house.

  “Where are we off to?” Theo asked as he caught up to me. Most of the time, he sat in a car outside of my apartment.

  “Back to Hyperion.”

  He side-eyed me. “Really?”

  Theo was fifty-five years old, fit like a twenty-year-old, and I was pretty sure had a military background no one asked about. Aside from his two daughters, aged twenty and twenty-one, he sometimes also parented me. Since I had my own father to deal with, when he was around to be dealt with, I really didn’t need it or appreciate the pseudo-parenting, considering how much freedom I already surrendered by doing what Zeke and Michael wanted from me.

  “I have something to do.”

  He nodded and opened the door. I got inside. I didn’t think he was technically required to do that, but he did every time. It was nice of him, which made my mean thoughts seem even more petty. He jumped up front with Luke, and away we went. With no traffic, the drive passed much faster, and I was at Hyperion before I knew it. I blinked. Funny, when I wanted to go somewhere, it took forever. When I dreaded arrival, time zoomed by.

  I got out of the car and steeled my shoulders.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I go around back and knock on the door to the kitchen or try to go through the front? It was probably locked. They weren’t open for lunch.

  Decision made, I walked to the side of the building, where I saw a door that had to lead to the kitchen. I mustered all my courage and knocked. After a few seconds, a man opened the door. He was tall, all in white, which looked like a uniform, and he absolutely wasn’t Max. The stranger was maybe twenty years old, with a piercing in his nose.

  “Yeah?” he said.

  I swallowed. “Hello. I’m hoping that I can see Mr. Broadley. Please.” I added on the last word as a final thought. Politeness would get me where I needed to be faster than being rude. Sometimes, as a woman, I had to be outright rude to get anyone to follow directions. It went beyond being a squeaky wheel. If I wasn’t just mean all the time, I got nowhere.

  That said, this wasn’t that case. Flies and honey. I needed to apologize. The trick would be even getting far enough to see Max, past his gatekeepers.

  “Hey, Anna, there’s a woman here to see the boss. Can you deal with it?”

  I smiled. “It would be a lot easier if you let me speak to Max directly.”

  “Yeah…that’s not how this works.”

  Of course not.

  Chapter 2

  Anna turned out to be a stunning black woman with dr
eads that fell past her shoulders. Her deep red lipstick seemed striking against her identical all white outfit.

  She looked me up and down. “It’s you.”

  I didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. “It’s me. Can I please speak to Max?”

  She leaned on the door. “No, you can’t. Haven’t you done enough to Chef? You aren’t getting anywhere near him.”

  I swallowed. “Well, he can’t stay inside all day and all night. I’ll stand here. Right here. Or better yet, I will put myself in the corner over there so that I can watch both the front door and this one. I will live on that corner. Eat there. Sleep there. Go to the bathroom there. Until I can speak to him.”

  She lifted her eyebrows with a slight smile. “That’s quite a statement.”

  “Well, I’m really quite a person. See if I won’t. Test me.” In that moment, I meant it. I completely and one hundred percent committed to live on the street corner until I got to see Max and make my apology.

  “What the fuck is going on here? We have meals to prep for and…” Max’s voice trailed off to a sudden stop as he recognized me and must have realized the problem. He glared at me, and I might have been halved into two separate pieces from the forceful slice of his gaze. That was okay. I’d been hated before. This was the first time I’d earned it, so my guilt made it feel much worse.

  Guilt ate at me, it took over my insides, infested my brain. Others might be able to forgive themselves, see their actions as some sort of lesson learned, but that wasn’t me.

  “Chef,” the young man who answered the door interrupted. “I can’t find any peaches. The guy I talked to said sorry, he loved the whisky you sent, but they’re held up in customs and we ain’t going to get any peaches today.”

  “Fuck me sideways. So much for the cobbler. Fine. We’ll change to something else. Ask Dante to come up with an alternative for the third dessert.”

  Well, if they wanted to make cobbler, there were other options. “Aren’t there other kinds of cobblers? I’ve eaten apple. Blueberry…” I immediately stopped talking. It wasn’t the time or place for me to make suggestions.

  Max stepped outside, shooing Anna and the unnamed guy back inside before he closed the door. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here? I thought I made myself very clear. You aren’t welcome.”

  I nodded. “Well, I’m not inside.” Okay, I had to stop. I should launch into my apology. “Mr. Broadley, um, Max. Last night I… That is to say that… I am so very sorry about what happened with your restaurant Hayley, and I’d like to apologize and see if there is anything I can do to make it up to you.”

  He laughed, which surprised me, but then abruptly stopped. “Oh, you’re not kidding. Are you out of your fucking mind? You can’t make this up to me. Not ever. You destroyed the life of a stranger because you could. Because you’re some kind of sick, bored rich girl with nothing better to do. Let me be very clear—you’re not welcome here. The whole world might be in love with you, but I see you as the nothing you are. Stay away from me now and always. In case you’re wondering, this whole space, I don’t want to see you in it. Ever.”

  Max’s gesture barred me from the whole street. I shook my head. “I’m not trying to stalk you. I just needed to come and say I was sorry. I don’t know how to make you believe me, but I truly am sorry.” I stepped back. “I’ll leave you alone now. Good luck.”

  I turned my back and walked away, but I felt his eyes bore into me the whole way back to my car.

  Theo raised a fatherly eyebrow from where he stood at the end of the street, but he didn’t interfere. “Get what you needed?”

  No, but that was an impossibility in this case. Max Broadley was the first man to stir an awakening inside of me in five years. Those gray eyes… How could anyone have such an intense gaze? He hated me, and I couldn’t blame him.

  But that was such a Hope thing to do—want what I couldn’t have.

  Inside the car, I pulled up the privacy divider between Theo, Luke, and myself. Calling in favors from family in the State Department was best done alone. If, on some nebulous future date, anyone ever testified about my actions, they could say they didn’t know.

  Although if they wanted to make a federal case out of what I was going to ask for, then it was a slow day in American justice. Not to mention, Darrel, whom I was about to call, could always say no.

  I dialed his number. Years ago, when I’d needed him, he failed me, despite being a cousin of my mother and some of the only members of her family we had left. If he didn’t come through now, I would write him off, and so help me, he’d better not try to come to any more parties that I threw, ever.

  It rang twice before he answered. “Hope?” His voice was growly, rough, like he’d smoked a million cigarettes over the years. I’d heard him give speeches that commanded the attention of the world and also seen him disappear into the shadows like he wasn’t there.

  “Hello, cousin.” I crossed my legs, trying to get more comfortable. “How are you?”

  “I’m well, but I doubt this is a social call. I never hear from you anymore, and I can’t say I blame you. So what can I do for you today, cousin?”

  I swallowed. “Peaches.”

  “What?” He cleared his throat. “Peaches?”

  “I realize this might not be what you specifically do, but I want to get a shipment of peaches to a friend of mine who owns a restaurant. He needs them today, and apparently, there is an import problem.”

  He was silent, and I thought for a moment he would deny me. “Text me the address. I’ll get it delivered.”

  “Thank you.” I meant it. “That’s a big help.”

  “Getting food through customs? That’s easy. Listen, Hope…”

  I knew what he was about to say, and I didn’t want to hear it. “Thanks.” I hung up. Quickly, I texted him the address. I’d never be able to fix things with Max, a near stranger, who was out there thinking I was a ruiner of lives. I sat back and closed my eyes. I counted to ten. And then I did it again. As many times as it took.

  When I got home, I locked my door four times. That wasn’t too bad. Four, I could manage. If it got to six, I was in trouble, but four was still reasonable. I had my own thresholds for how far out of control I could get. Four still worked. It did.

  The sun came up, as it always did, after another bad night. I made plans to go out for tapas with my group of friends that night. I used to love going with Layla once a week before she moved to Washington state. Tapas with other people just wasn’t the same as with her.

  Love you too.

  I smiled at Layla’s text. Okay, she was averaging twenty-four hours to return a text. That wasn’t too bad. I shook my head. I had to live vicariously through her. The chances I would ever have kids were small. I was too fucked up to maintain a relationship, let alone a baby. Who would want to go through life on the crazy train with me?

  I dressed up in a pair of black pants, since I intended to stop by my office to pick up my mail. Snail mail drove me crazy. Couldn’t we just do everything online by now? Did I really need a catalog of stuff I was never going to order?

  Well, actually, I might order something. If it was really cool.

  I grabbed my keys, locked up behind me, and headed to Midtown. Usually, I met with new clients at my office, but most of my existing clients were happy to talk to me on the phone. Muffy preferred to meet there still, and I didn’t mind. She was a character, and there were fewer and fewer of them in my life.

  My father’s notoriety could have sunk me. It did the opposite. Sure, I was a bit of a spectacle when people first met me, but they quickly discovered I knew the right people and I was good at raising money for their charity of choice.

  I stepped into the car, smiling at my security. They were such nice people, but sometimes I didn’t feel like talking to them, and it was like I hated the idea of being rude. It was hard to see people every day, particularly if you hadn’t hired them. They would risk their lives for me because Michael p
aid them and Zeke paid him to see to my protection.

  Did other people really live their lives without being under constant surveillance?

  We made it to my office, and I headed inside. The air conditioning was cold, and I wished that I’d remembered my sweater. I never did. That was okay. I was there to get my mail and leave, it wasn’t like I had to sit and work in the chill air.

  I bent to pick the mail up from where it fell all over the floor of my office when they’d pushed it through the mail slot. I gave it a cursory look as I picked it up. Bills and magazines, as predicted. I yawned. Some things could be counted on, and bills were certainly one of those things.

  A masculine voice said, “Sir, you’re going to have to stop right there while I ask Ms. Radford if she wants to see you.”

  “Oh,” a deep, angry voice answered him. “She’ll talk to me. Now.”

  I peeked my head around the door to confirm my instant suspicion and discovered Max. What was he doing at my office? I leaned against the doorframe into the hallway where both Theo and Luke stopped him from approaching me. The men eyed each other like they were making silent assessments I wasn’t privy to. Their body language tipped me off. I was really good at telling when someone was about to get violent. Or was thinking about it. None of them were there yet, but they were close.

  My survival skills were pretty darn honed these days.

  “He can come in.” I motioned toward my office. “Come on, Max. You’re welcome.”

  I stepped out of the way, proud because I managed to keep my cool.

  Theo stepped out of the way, and Max stormed into my office. When he would have closed the door, I shook my head. “Stays open. Thanks.”

  I didn’t like to be closed in with people I didn’t know. If he fought me about it, well, I had two security people in the hallway who would ensure the door remained open. Fortunately, he didn’t. He just spun around to look at my office itself.

  “You don’t have any furniture.”

  Not true. I had a desk. “I’m almost never here. When I am, this is all I need. How can I help you, Max? I don’t believe you can bar me from being everywhere in Manhattan. I have every right to be in my own office.”