Sapphire Ice: Book 1 in the Jewel Series, Page 3

  Her makeup looked perfect, her lipstick crisp and even. She wore another starched white shirt, tighter and more feminine looking than the one she wore at Hank’s, and a short black skirt with dark stockings. A bow-tie hugged her neck, and she draped a trim black apron around her waist.

  Working at Benedict’s required a good memory. The wait staff was not permitted to write down orders at the table. Carmine, the general manager, felt that it took away the necessity for eye contact with the customers, and created too informal of an atmosphere. It also meant that they were required to memorize any specials, details about all of the dishes (is that made with peanuts?), and the extensive wine list.

  Thankfully, memory had never been a problem for Robin. It sometimes surprised her, considering the amount of drugs her mother had consumed on a regular basis, that the three sisters had been born with any brain cells at all. Pure necessity forced Robin to drop out of high school, but she’d always loved to learn. Unfortunately, she never had time to read anything but the daily specials and any book that came out that listed new drinks, and she imagined that’s why it was so easy for her to remember everything else.

  “You look a little piqued this morning, Robin,” Stan Humphrey observed, fiddling with his tie at the mirror in a corner of the kitchen. Clip-on ties were not permitted, and Robin finally brushed his hands away and fixed it for him.

  “Three hours of sleep will do that to you.”

  He stood tall and lanky, sporting dull brown hair speckled with gray and flat green eyes on a face Robin always thought of as uninteresting. At times she liked him, and at times he gave her the creeps. She remembered enough to know the signs of habitual drug use. “You partied last night?” he asked with a grin.

  No one knew of her other job. Moonlighting was frowned upon by the management, and they were under the guided assumption that she’d left her position at Hank’s to work exclusively for them. “Ughh, if I never see another rum and Coke again, it’ll be too soon.”

  He leaned closer to her ear and she had to restrain the urge to flinch back. “I have a little pick-me-up, if you’re interested.”

  She raised an eyebrow and kept her voice at a normal level. “You ever offer me drugs again, Stan, and I’ll probably have to break one of your fingers.”

  He slouched back, holding up both hands as if to ward her off. “Okay. Sorry. You just looked like you needed something. No offense meant.”

  “Well, it was taken.”

  “Robin. Stan. Take your posts, please.” The maitre’ de’s voice singsonged through the kitchen. “Okay, people,” Clarence continued, “we have a buffet available, but our guests may order from the menu if they prefer.” He looked at his pocket watch as ten waiters and waitresses brushed by him and headed toward the doors that lead to the dining room. “The bar is open, and Billy is ready with pitchers of bloody marys and screwdrivers. Mimosas are available with our normal champagne list.” He clapped his hands together twice. “Serve well people.”

  Robin stopped near him to grab a carafe of coffee. “How did we manage to get the early shift, Clarence?”

  He winked and whispered conspiratorially. “Tell me about it. I have my lunch patrons’ whole lives memorized, but I only know half the people out there.” He looked over her head to the head table. “Boston’s royalty is here.”

  Robin was too tired to even be intrigued by Clarence’s abnormal awe. “Maybe we can get Stanley a jester’s hat,” she whispered back, then pushed open the door to the dining room and forced a serious expression onto her face. The door swinging shut cut off his choking laughter.

  The dining room was packed with people, seated at tables of eight. The restaurant was closed for the meeting, and it surprised her to see so many people there. But then, most of the customers weren’t members and wouldn’t get many opportunities to dine at Benedict’s, especially for free.

  She was given the head table to serve, and knew some of them as regular lunch patrons. She addressed those she knew by name, and tried to discretely read the name tags of those she didn’t. Methodically, she worked her way down the long table, pausing to chat when it was required, fetching drinks as they were needed.

  “Mr. Riley, it’s good to see you again. I think it’s been several weeks,” she said, speaking to the president of the Chamber.

  “I’ve been on vacation, Robin. Have you ever been to Greece?”

  She smiled and filled his coffee cup. “Not yet, but I want to go someday.”

  “Beautiful country, dear. If you ever get the opportunity, don’t pass it up.”

  “If a trip to Greece ever falls into my lap, I’ll remember your advice.” She moved to the next person while Riley continued to speak.

  “Tony, if you’ve never had Robin here serve you, you’ve been missing out on the best that Benedict’s has to offer.”

  “Yes. I think I’ve heard something similar about her before.”

  The smooth voice seemed familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She took her attention from the cup and lifted her head, her eyes crashing into a pair of black eyes that seemed to look all the way inside of her, instantly learning all her secrets. “I didn’t expect to see you here,” he said.

  Tony felt deep shock when he’d seen Robin enter the dining room. He’d had time to recover as she worked her way to him, and had nearly gained back enough self control to not show any outward reaction as she leaned in from behind him to pour his coffee. He had already had his normal morning quota of two cups, but allowing her to serve it gave him a chance to have her stop at his shoulder. As she completed her task, he caught her scent, something exotic and spicy, entirely feminine. Then she met his eyes and he thought that his heart would beat itself out of his chest.

  When she looked away, it broke the spell, but a tremor in his hand that he neither liked nor appreciated remained. He was better prepared when she looked directly at him again, and concentrated fully on keeping his brain functioning.

  “Do I know you?” She asked, her voice soft so as not to carry.

  He kept his voice as soft as hers. “Not officially.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t … ” her eyes skimmed his name tag, “I don’t recall meeting you, Mr. Viscolli.”

  His teeth flashed white against his olive skin. “I unofficially met you last night.”

  Panic skirted up her spine and she looked around the room. Lowering her voice even farther, she leaned closer so that he could hear her. “Please, don’t say anything. I … we can’t … I mean, another job … ”

  He placed a hand on her wrist, startling her. His hand felt rough, but warm. Warm enough that it sent heat up her arm, causing her to flush. “So, what you’re saying is that your job may be in my hands.”

  The flush that covered her cheeks was no longer from heat, but from the anger he saw flash in her eyes. “Release me, sir.” She bit out.

  He didn’t think he could. “What would you do to keep your job, I wonder?”

  She could never take him on in a game of cards. Every cruel thought in her imagination seared right through her sapphire eyes and bored into his, which he struggled to keep impassive. Still, she maintained her cool façade, something he deeply admired amidst his mirth. Tony carefully bit down on the inside of his lip to keep himself from laughing at her next words. “I don’t play those games, Mr. Viscolli. Remove your hand, or else I’ll remove it.”

  He shifted his grip until his fingers encircled her wrist. They overlapped on the thin bones, and this time he did chuckle. “You think you could?”

  In a panic, knowing how long she was taking with this customer, she glanced up and spotted Clarence watching her. Baring her teeth, she leaned close to this man’s ear and whispered. “I can and I have, on men bigger than you. Are you willing to test me?”

  With a grin, he reluctantly let her go. It was that or drag her into his lap, and he didn’t think anyone in the room would appreciate that too much. “Perhaps another time I’ll take you up on your challenge.”


  Unable to stand the thought of leaving him with the last word, she leaned forward again, barely speaking above a whisper. “If the thought of seeing you again didn’t repulse me, Mr. Viscolli, I’d almost look forward to it.”

  With that she moved on down the table, ignoring his chuckle that followed her parting shot. She found it especially challenging to keep a polite smile on her face and make inane chatter with the other patrons as she continued to serve while seething inside. How dare he?

  She headed back into the kitchen to get more coffee and Clarence immediately intercepted her. “Did you have a problem with that man, Robin?”

  Out of earshot of the customers, she was able to slam things around, surprised that she didn’t break the glass coffee carafe. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she said, slamming the top back on her serving container.

  He gripped her elbow and kept her from reentering the room. “I know that sometimes customers might get a little – well – fresh with some of our girls, but I wouldn’t want to think that you might have – albeit unintentionally – insulted one of them.”

  She bared her teeth at him. “Did he look insulted?”

  “No, but you looked insulting, and I’m concerned because I’ve never seen you act that way before.”

  She slammed the coffee onto a counter and stepped closer, until she could poke his bony chest with her finger. “I didn’t like the way he looked at me, I didn’t like the way he touched me, and I didn’t like what he implied when he spoke to me.” When he flinched, she realized what she was doing and stepped away from him, drawing in a deep breath to calm down. “Now, you’ve had your little ‘chat’ with me. Do you intend to speak with him?”

  Clarence’s face fused with color. “Robin, do you have any idea who that is out there?”

  “I don’t quite have the approbation for most of our patrons as you do, because I truly don’t care.” She grabbed the pot of coffee and pushed open the door.

  He took insult at her words, as was her intent, though she regretted it the second his face fell. She paused and went back into the kitchen. As she opened her mouth to retract it, he straightened, stiff as a board, and put a regal tone in his voice. “That is Mr. Antonio Viscolli. He is one of the stockholders of this club, and is hosting this morning’s breakfast. If you would like to lodge a formal, written complaint, I will entertain reviewing it, but in the meantime, you are here to serve, so I suggest you return to your post.” He looked her up and down, his expression hinting that he didn’t much care for what he saw. “Unless, of course, you’d like me to have someone else wait the head table. I’m sure that any server out there would be happy to trade places with you.”

  Oh, what a tempting notion. She considered it, very seriously, for several breaths. Ultimately, she decided that trading tables would most certainly give Viscolli a great deal of satisfaction, a game point. No, she’d serve him, and do a heck of a good job at it. “That won’t be necessary, sir. I’m fully capable of performing all of my duties.”

  His face softened, momentarily. “I know. Now, get back to work.”

  Not wanting to leave things tense with someone she considered a friend, she paused to make one of her normal parting remarks. “Purple and green,” she said. At his confused look, she continued, “with bells. For Stan’s hat.”

  His mouth twitched as he fought the smile and waved her away.

  CHAPTER 3

  ARRY gripped the side of the golf cart to keep Tony from tossing him out as he took a sharp turn, and asked, “Have I ever told you how much I loathe this game?”

  “It’s a necessary evil. I doubt very seriously that much business could get done in a football huddle.” Tony skidded to a stop at the next tee.

  “How long have we known each other?” Barry asked superfluously as Tony leapt from the cart and snatched the number two driver out of the bag strapped to the back of the cart.

  Tony chuckled and took a practice swing. “Too long for you to ask that question.”

  “In all that time, you’ve never – I repeat – never, done business on a golf course.”

  “Sure I have. I’ve formed relationships, negotiated deals, worked out problems – ”

  Barry cut him off by laughing. “You could get as much done over a lunch or dinner in half the time. You just want the excuse to be outdoors.”

  “Maybe,” he said with a smile. Tony lifted his face to the sun and breathed deep. “But look at this sunny day! You look like you could use some fresh air anyway, buddy.”

  In a few short weeks, the skies would loom dark and overcast, sending flurries of snow that would hamper driving, keep people indoors, and dampen spirits. The thought brought memories of shivering in the doorway of an abandoned building at age seventeen, two weeks after his mother’s death. He’d survived, thrived even, but he hated winter. His home in the Florida Keys was his normal retreat during those cold months. Recently, however, and all too often, business interfered and forced him to stay weeks at a time in the chill climate of the North.

  For now, it was unseasonably warm in Bean Town. The bright blue sky and crisp air gave him extra energy, and he wanted to take advantage of it one last time. He’d met with Barry immediately after the Chamber breakfast, not even going to his office first. The way the day was shaping up, and with the air growing warmer by the minute, he had no intention of going in at all.

  He stood back as Barry teed off. The ball landed perfectly in the middle of the fairway, just off the green. “I don’t know why you hate this game so much. You’ve just about mastered it.”

  Barry threw his driver into his golf bag and watched Tony hit a near identical shot. “There’s no challenge.” He grinned and climbed back into the cart. “And very little blood.”

  “Ahh. Honesty.” He followed the cart path until they reached the green. “So, Barry, I’ve been thinking. I want Hank’s.”

  The two men climbed out of the cart and chose their clubs. “Tony, I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  Tony looked at the club in his hand. “You think the pitching wedge instead of the nine iron?”

  “Ha, ha.” Barry offered drily. “Seriously, Hank is who keeps it alive. He has that touch. Without him, I think it’s going to lose whatever it has that makes it so special and become just another restaurant.”

  “He’s going to sell it, anyway.” He watched as Barry lightly hit the ball, smiled as it rolled to about two feet past the hole.

  “Good. Let someone else take the loss.”

  A scowling face with a pair of bright, deep blue eyes hovered in front of Tony’s vision. Then he remembered her body, her grace, her grin.

  “No. Give him his asking price but give him some earnest money up front. Ten percent, maybe. That’s in addition to the asking price if he stays on as manager.”

  “His asking price? He’s cushioned that by at least twenty percent.”

  Tony’s ball landed on the green and slowly rolled toward the hole, teetered on the edge, then fell into the cup. He turned his body and looked directly at Barry, his face hard, his eyes serious. “Barry, I have accountants. I need you to be my lawyer. Think you can get the papers drawn up today?”

  Barry shrugged before he putted. “It’s your money.” His ball rattled into the hole. “What about the bar?”

  Tony retrieved his ball from the cup. “You know I don’t like it. None of my other restaurants have a bar. I’ll have to think on it and pray on it, but I’m already ninety percent sure we’ll lose the bar.”

  “With Hank wanting to keep his staff, we’ll need to make sure something that extreme is in the contract.”

  “Whatever you need to do.” Tony watched as Barry retrieved his ball and they both replaced their putters and climbed back into the cart. “See, Barry? You’re wrong again.”

  “Again? About what?”

  “I just conducted business on a golf course.”

  “True. But it would have been more satisfying if I could have tackled you to the ground w
ith my bare hands instead of whacking some stupid little ball with a stick.”

  Tony chuckled for the sake of the gentle giant’s sense of humor. He always laughed at Barry’s jokes. The men understood each other on many unspoken levels. They approached the eighteenth hole. “As soon as we’re done here, I’ll buy you lunch,” Tony offered.

  Barry sighed, understanding that lunch would likely be the special at Hank’s Place. He pulled his telephone out of his pocket and dialed his office number. “I’ll have the papers waiting on us. We’ll need to stop by my office on the way.”

  HE three men sat in Hank’s office in the back of the restaurant, sandwiches at their elbows. Hank had reading glasses perched on his nose and slowly read over the contract one more time. “What’s the deal, here? Did someone find uranium under the patio tiles? Am I sitting on top of an unknown oil well or gold mine?”

  Tony drained his glass, uncommonly relaxed. “Yeah,” he drawled, “your restaurant. This place is its own gold mine.”

  Hank looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “Don’t play games with me, Viscolli. You have a reputation that well precedes you and I’m not as dumb as I look. How come you’re giving me my asking price without even trying to negotiate?”

  Tony returned his stare. “I want to buy this place. You want to sell it.”

  “What’s this offer of earnest money above the asking price? This ties me in for five more years if I accept it.”

  Tony shrugged. “It’s pretty black and white. Why the questions?”

  “Because, suddenly, I don’t trust this deal.”

  “You contacted me, Lamore. I’ve done my due diligence and this is the only way the place remains profitable.”

  “What does a small time restaurant outside the city limits have that draws the direct attention of the infamous Antonio Viscolli?” He tossed the contract on the desk in front of him and leaned back in his chair. “I sign nothing until I figure that out.”

  Barry spoke. “You sell nothing if we get up and walk out, too.”

  Hank shrugged. “Maybe not to you, but I will to someone, and probably inside of five years.”