Woke Page 6

  We ate in silence for a bit.

  I hadn’t paid much attention to the restaurant’s interior when I was escorted to the table, so I took a few moments to study my surroundings. The interior was done in muted cream and brown tones on the walls, the furniture all subdued colors as well. Our booth had high backs so you couldn’t see or hear the people in the one abutting you. I liked that kind of privacy. It made conversing so much easier since you didn’t have to shout over any noise to be heard.

  When I’d awoken the first things my slew of doctors did was subject me to a battery of invasive and exhausting tests. My sight was examined, as were my hearing, taste, touch, and sense of smell to see if there were any deficits. There hadn’t been. In fact the sleep had enhanced my sight and hearing. Noises seemed louder now. Before, the sounds of the city, the blaring of taxi horns, the metallic clangs and pings of construction, had all been white noise. Since awaking, every single decibel was amplified, something that, at the beginning, had been painful and disruptive

  I’d spend three months with an audiology team of experts in the field, learning effective ways to internally block and/or lower sounds around me that proved distracting. I’d gotten pretty good at it, too, and the first time I’d dined out in public after learning how to cope had been a memory stamp for me.

  The restaurant now was crowded, but the noise level was actually low.

  The plush leather of the seat cushions was comfortable against my body and when I’d slid across the seat it didn’t burb or gargle like some other commercial seats I’ve had the misfortune to sit on.

  Cade broke my perusal of the place when he cleared his throat. He had a cute little embarrassed puppy dog expression on his face now, like he’d been caught doing something naughty.

  “So, you were telling me about the women’s center funding.”

  And you were picturing me naked.

  “It survives solely on donations from the private sector.”

  “No corporations or businesses involved?”

  “Not as monetary donors. But we have a few lawyers who volunteer their time to help with any legal issues or questions. There are two nurse practitioners who take turns volunteering one night a week each, to give health lectures or to do basic exams. If they find any physical problems they do referrals to free clinics. Most, if not all, of the women don’t have health care when they first come to us. Once they have jobs, many of them get benefits. Some of the women haven’t seen a doctor in years. Haven’t gotten routine exams or mammograms, or any kind of dental work. All that costs money.”

  “Money the women don’t have.”

  “Yes. The center gives them, in the most clichéd sense, a leg up, not a hand out.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once they’re on their feet, holding down jobs, getting educated, many of them come back and volunteer on their own. Since they know what it’s like, firsthand, to be without funds, resources, health care, whatever,” I flicked my hand, “their insights help the newbies cope.”

  “If I can make it you can, too?”

  “Yeah. That pretty much sums it up.”

  He shook his head. “Again, it’s an admirable organization.”

  “I think so. I don’t know last night’s total, but even if the only thing auctioned was the Ainsworth, that’s a great deal of money that will be put to good use. There’s rent to pay on the building. Even though we’re a non-profit, we still have bills. Electricity, food, housing. It adds up.”

  He nodded, his gaze drifting past my shoulder. I snuck a side eye in the direction he was looking, but didn’t see anything.

  “What are you thinking about?” I asked. “And don’t tell me it’s strip Monopoly or naked Twister or something equally as ridiculous.”

  His expression went blank, his eyes popping wide, then a heart beat in time later he burst out laughing again.

  “There’s no way I’m going to be able to get that visual out of my head for the rest of the day,” he told me. “Maybe not even my lifetime.”

  “You’ll be fine. But seriously, what were you so lost in thought about a second ago.”

  “I was just thinking about money.”

  I nodded. “Make sense since you’re a financial analyst. I would assume you think about money twenty-four/seven.”

  “Not as much as that.” His gaze took another slow stroll over my face. “I do think about other things. Personal things.” It was his turn to lower his voice. “Private things.”

  I could just imagine what those were.

  “What I meant,” he continued, “was how the clients you work with might not know much about money. Investing, banking. Budgeting. If this if the first time they’ve had stable jobs, they may not understand how to stretch a dollar, or even the benefits of investing over saving.”

  A strange sensation began drifting along my insides when I thought I realized where he was going with this

  “You didn’t mention having any volunteers to help with money management or teaching about personal finances and how to deal with them.”

  “Because we haven’t had any. It’s been a goal, a dream really, but it’s hard to get people to commit. Especially people like bankers, brokers.”

  “Or professional financial managers.”

  I nodded. “There’s nothing tangible in it for them and when we’ve asked, we’ve always been turned down.”

  Cade leaned in closer and took my free hand again.

  “You haven’t asked the right people. Or person, really. I’d like to offer my help. Maybe give some talks about how to effectively manage money, or discuss opportunities for potential future growth.”

  I wasn’t stunned by the offer, but it did surprise me.

  “That’s gracious of you. More than gracious, actually, but I have to ask myself why. Why do you want to help?”

  That darling corner of his lip curled again.

  “I could be insulted with that question, but I’m not because I understand your suspicion.”

  “Not suspicion.” I shook my head. “Just…natural nosiness, I guess. You’re a successful businessman who has no connection to the center. It makes me wonder why you’d give up valuable time to volunteer your expertise. You won’t be paid, you know.”

  “Which is the definition of volunteering, I believe.” He studied me a moment. “I don’t usually tell people this, but your…nosiness, deserves a truthful answer.”

  “I didn’t take you for someone who wouldn’t answer truthfully.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  I waited while he collected his thoughts.

  “My aunt was someone who could have benefited from a place like your women’s center. My uncle was…” he shook his head, his gaze dropping to his now empty plate.

  I was the one who reached out to him now, and slid my hand into his fisted one.

  “Not a great husband?” I offered.

  He huffed out a breath mixed with humor and sadness.

  “Not even close. He cheated, habitually, and ran the house like a fiefdom with my aunt as his personal slave. He ran everything. Made the money, paid the bills. My aunt never even knew how to write a check after he left her for one of his decades younger girlfriends. I wish there had been a place like your women’s center available for her. She had a high school education, no marketable skills, and didn’t know where to turn.”

  I squeezed his hand. “What did she do? How did she manage?”

  “Worked at night cleaning offices, during the day as a waitress in a small café. It was back breaking work, both jobs, and she aged before our eyes.”

  “Where is she now?”

  The light in his eyes blanked. “She died. Seven years ago. Cancer.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded and pulled his hand back from my grip.

  “She worked harder than any one I’ve ever known.”

  A sense of profound sadness emanated from him and washed over me.

  “I can understand why
you’d want to volunteer, then,” I said, resting back against the booth-back. “It’s a way of honoring your aunt’s memory by helping someone else who was in the same boat she was. By giving aid to someone in order to make their life better. Something she was denied. That’s a beautiful way to remember her Cade, and I have to tell you, I’m impressed and maybe even a little in awe.”

  His brows pulled together. “At the risk of sounded conceited, I have to ask why a little in awe?”

  “I don’t know any successful men who’d be willing to do something so selfless for a group of people they don’t know. That’s pretty awesome in my book.”

  His entire body relaxed. Shoulders lowered. Brow smoothed. Even his breathing seemed to calm.

  “And just so you know, I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure you keep your word.” I’ll admit I said this with a little more Flirty Rory in my voice than A.J. would have. “Your kind of expertise will be like gold to our clients.”

  He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at me. “I always keep my word.”

  The resolute expression in his eyes and on his face told me that was the God’s truth, and I said so.

  Cade nodded. “In business your word is your bond, your reputation, and your livelihood, all rolled into one.”

  “I’m sure that’s why you’re so successful.”

  He shrugged.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask,” he said after our server came, asked if we’d like coffee and dessert, then left us again after refilling our cups. “Why were you at the rehab center yesterday? Have you been injured?”

  Another one of those probing questions I didn’t want to answer because doing so would require an in depth explanation of why I needed rehab. I opted for a half-truth.

  “I’m running the New York Marathon and one of the physical therapists is my trainer.”

  “Wow. Talk about being in awe. That’s not the easiest race in the world.”

  “Which is why I’m seeing a professional. He’s teaching me the best, most effective way to complete the race. Upright, I’ll add.”

  He mimicked my grin.

  “I could ask you the same question,” I said, raking my gaze down his torso. “Been injured lately?”

  “Believe it or not I was meeting a client.”

  “In a gym?”

  The gentle eye roll he tossed me, coupled with the mild shake of his head was adorable.

  A whole lot more than adorable, to be honest.

  “He was in a car crash last year and is still in therapy three times a week. We had a scheduled monthly meeting to go over his portfolio, but it conflicted with his therapy session so he asked if I could meet him while he worked out.”

  “That was nice of you.”

  “Hey, I’m a nice guy.” His voice lowered and his gaze zeroed in on mine. “Something, I hope, you’re realizing.”

  I was, and it was a little unsettling.

  “So, since we’re playing twenty questions, what does A.J. stand for?”

  Another question I shied away from answering when it was posed by people who weren’t familiar with my past.

  Flirty Rory once again jumped to my rescue. I leaned in closer, rested my elbow on the table, my arm held at a ninety-degree angle, and plopped my chin to my hand. I gave myself points for not batting my eyes at him. “Take a guess.”

  “Amanda June? Ariel Jane?”

  “Nope and nope.”

  “Atlantia January?”

  “Okay, that’s a weird one, but nope again. Three strikes and you’re out, I’m afraid.”

  “Give me a hint, at least.”

  I shook my head and consulted my watch. “Where would the fun be in that?” I let the sentence dangle and pulled my phone from my bag. After a quick text to Murphy I said, “This was fun, but I have to go. Really. I’ve got to be somewhere in an hour and with the way traffic was coming here,” I let the sentence dangle.

  I started to slide out of the other side of the booth so he wouldn’t have to move, when his fingers went around my wrist.

  “Wait,” he said.

  Again, why it didn’t bother me he’d touched me first was something I was going to give considerable thought to later on.

  With my head titled a bit and my gaze focused on him, I did as requested. His eyes went a little wide and if I had to guess, he was uncertain of what to say or do next.

  Flirty Rory was still in the house, so she said, “I’m waiting,” in a playful voice.

  “I want to see you again,” he said. “Have dinner with me.”

  “Getting a weird sense of déjà vu here.”

  The area above his tie reddened, my words hitting home.

  “Besides, we just had lunch.”

  The corners of his lips lifted. “I’m starting to think you’re not a big dinner lover.”

  I just shrugged because it wasn’t a question.

  “How about this, then,” he said. “I’ve got two tickets to the ballet at Lincoln Center this Friday night, courtesy of a client. Go with me.”

  “The ballet’s a pretty big deal for a first date.”

  His grin returned. “A first date implies there will be more.”

  “Not necessarily. You’ve got two tickets?”

  He nodded.

  “And you haven’t asked anyone yet? That’s leaving it a little late in the day, don’t you think?”

  “I wasn’t going to go. But I would if you’d come with me.”

  I’d been dragged to both the ballet and the opera enough times by my parents when I was younger to want to say no to his request. I would have, too, if he hadn’t added, “Please,” to his invitation. He had that naughty puppy look again. Why the heck was it so damn sexy on him?

  I bit the inside of my cheek as if considering. A total Flirty Rory move.

  “What ballet is it?”

  “Sleeping Beauty.”

  A fairy tale that mirrored my life – in a weirdly twisted way. I wasn’t a princess waiting for love’s first kiss and Cade wasn’t a prince. Serendipity rears its head again, though. But in this case, maybe the universe was trying to tell me something. What, I haven’t a clue, but how could I possibly say no now?

  “Text me the particulars,” I said after a few moments of reflection. “But I’ve really got to get going now. My driver is waiting for me.”

  “You’ll go with me?”

  I nodded.

  “I’ll walk you out.” He let go of my arm and started to shift toward the end of the booth.

  “No. Stay and finish your coffee.” I stood and leaned over the table toward him. I made the first move, this time, to buss his cheek. “Thanks for making me eat something. I’ll be in touch when I get your text.”

  I didn’t look back once as I exited the restaurant, but I was sure he tracked me the entire way.

  Murphy was double-parked out front, waiting.

  “Did you have a good lunch, Miss?” he asked as he edged into traffic.

  “I had something,” I muttered. When I caught site of Murphy’s furrowed brow under his uniform hat in the rear view mirror, I said, “Yes, I did, thank you. No problems with parking?”

  “None. Any stops before I take you to the doc’s office now, for your appointment?”

  “None.”

  While Murphy ambled through cross-town traffic I sat back and rested my head against the seatback, my thoughts filled with a pair of deep green eyes and a laugh that made my insides quiver.

  Chapter Five

  “I think the deep green looks better with your eyes,” my mother said as she sipped her champagne.

  I ran my hand down the length of the velvet gown from my waist to my thighs as I considered myself in the tri-mirror.

  “That’s a lovely color on you, Miss,” the saleswoman said, her gaze drifting over my reflection. “It does your fair coloring justice.”

  I thanked her and then nodded. “It’s unanimous. This one it is, then.”

  “Hallelujah,” my mother said, d
owning her drink. “I was beginning to think you were never going to pick one.”

  My gaze traveled over her shoulder to the myriad of discarded dresses I’d tried on. None of them had been particularly right for me, although my mother disagreed, telling me they all looked good.

  I went back into the changing room and shrugged out of the gown, then handed it out through the door.

  “I’ll put this in a garment bag and meet you out front when you’re ready,” the saleswoman said. Her wide smile told me the commission she’d be receiving on the sale had made her day.

  I hadn’t intended on buying a new dress for my ballet date with Cade, but once I’d mentioned to my mother and Maeve I was going, they’d both insisted I needed something new and in season. I hadn’t been shopping in ages because most of my days now were spent in either exercise clothes when I went to rehab, or else clothes that didn’t stand out and scream expensive when I worked at the women’s center.

  Early on I’d realized most of the clients had only the clothes on their backs when they came in. Meeting with women while wearing a designer label that cost more than they’d made in their lifetimes was the height of entitlement to me. I much preferred the comfortable slacks and cotton blouses Maeve had found for me to wear.

  “I’m meeting Mimsey for lunch,” my mother said once we exited the upper West Side dress salon. “You can join us or Murphy can drop me off then run you home.”

  “Thanks for the invite, but I’ll pass. It’s such a beautiful day I think I’d like to walk back,” I told her.

  The worry line she’d never had before I’d slipped away popped up between her eyes and I knew what was coming.

  My father, when he’d been alive, had frequently said the best way to defuse a situation was to meet it before it got out of hand. I channeled his wisdom to deal with my mother’s concern.

  “I’ll be okay, Mom. It’s just a walk, barely a mile to home. I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re sure? You’re not tired? You’ve been doing so much lately between the rehab and your volunteer work. Not to mention you’re now training for the race, which I want to say again, just for the record, I feel may be too much for your poor body.”

  I pulled her hands into mine and gave them a gentle squeeze.