Part 43 (1/2)
”I'm counting on it.” She touched a hand to his arm. ”A lot of it's your doing, Donald. We never would have gotten off the ground like this without you, especially after the warehouse.”
”Damage control.” He brushed off her thanks with a shrug. ”In six months we'll barely remember we had damage to control. And the profits will bring a smile even to Deirdre's face.” He was counting on it.
”That would be a real coup.”
”Just drop me off at the next corner,” he told the driver. ”The restaurant's only a couple of doors down.”
”I appreciate you making time to go with me.”
”No problem. Seeing the flags.h.i.+p back in shape made my day. It wasn't pleasant visualizing the office torn up like that. That wonderful antique desk ruined. The replacement's stunning, by the way.”
”I had it s.h.i.+pped out from Colorado,” Natalie said absently, as something niggled at her brain. ”I had it in storage.”
”Well, it's perfect.” He patted her hand as the car swung to the curb.
She waved him off, then settled back, dissatisfied, when the car merged back into traffic. Then, with a shrug, she gauged the traffic, the distance to her lunch meeting, and decided she had time for one quick phone call.
Ry answered himself on the third ring. ”Arson. Piasecki.”
”Hi.” The pleasure of hearing his voice wiped out everything else.
”Your secretary's out?”
”Lunch.”
”And you're having yours at your desk.”
He glanced down at the sandwich he had yet to touch. ”Yeah.
More or less.” He s.h.i.+fted, making his chair squeak. ”Where are you?”
”Looks like Twelfth and Hyatt, heading east, toward the Menagerie.”
”Ah.” The Menagerie, he thought. High-cla.s.s. No tuna on wheat for lunch there. He could see her, ordering designer water and a salad with every leaf called a different name. ”Look, Legs, about tonight-”
”I was thinking about that. Maybe you could meet me at the Goose Neck.” She rolled her shoulders. ”I have a feeling I'm going to want to unwind.”
He rubbed a hand over his chin. ”I, ah... Come by my place instead. Okay?”
”Your place?” This was new. She'd stopped wondering why he'd never taken her there.
”Yeah. About seven, seven-thirty.”
”All right. Do you want me to pick up something for dinner?”
”No, I'll take care of it. See you.” He hung up and sat back in his chair. He was going to have to take care of a lot of things.
He picked up Chinese. It was nearly seven when Ry carried the little white cartons up the two flights to his apartment. He took a good look around while he did.
It wasn't a dump. Unless, of course, you compared it with Natalie's glossy building. There was no graffiti on the walls, but the walls were thin. As he climbed the steps, Ry could hear the muted sounds of televisions playing, children squabbling. The steps themselves were worn down in the centers from the pa.s.sage of countless feet.
As he turned onto the second floor, he heard a door slam beneath him.
”All right, all right. I'll go get the d.a.m.n beer myself.”