Gift Wrapped (20 page)

“Because of work? I thought the mall closed at six on Saturdays.”

“It does…but I have plans afterward. The manager next door and I arranged to grab dinner and a drink in the mall restaurant. Commiserating about post-holiday returns and unrealistic corporate sales budgets, exciting stuff like that. I wouldn’t feel right canceling last minute.”

“Of course, I get it. How about after that? We can catch a movie, hang out and relax, whatever you want to do.” Silence stretched between them. If not for the faint sound of her breathing, he might’ve thought the call had dropped.

“I’m sorry, I can’t do that either.”

The blood that’d diverted to his cock minutes earlier chilled instantly. “It’s not dinner, a drink and shop talk, is it? You’ve got a date.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no
maybe
. It’s a date or it’s not. If you’re trying to spare my feelings—don’t.”

“I believe that in your world, Davis, there’s no
maybe
about dating. When
you
ask a woman out, it’s a given there’ll be intimate physical contact. Not friendship, not relationship building, just crazy-hot sex. Well, that’s not how it works for everybody. Some people want more than a limited-time-only romp, and they’re willing to take things slow to get there, including testing their compatibility without getting naked.”

“You really think that’s how I saw us, Brinn?”

“I wanted us to keep seeing each other after I moved. You didn’t.”

Forget chilled, now his blood was boiling. “I asked you not to leave. You did.”

“I explained why I had to.” A muffled sob came through the line. “I don’t want our last conversation ever to end in a pointless argument. I wish we could back to the part about the song, and leave it at that.”

Their last conversation—ever. Fuck.
Fuck.
“We can do that.” He squeezed his eyes closed. Took a breath. “I was on my way home and that country song you like was on the radio. I just wanted you to know I was thinking about you. About every minute we spent together. Best month of my life, Brinn.”

“Davis…” she whispered, making no attempt to contain the accompanying sniffles.

“Don’t cry, babe. Be happy, like you deserve to be. Fall in love with a good guy who knows how fucking lucky he is, and who’s smart enough not to let you go.”

“You too—about the happy part.”

“I’m going to give it my best shot, count on it.”

“Goodbye, Davis.”

The line beeped before he could reply. Not his battery or a shitty connection, she’d hung up.

He stared at the screen, watching it until it dimmed, then faded to black. Turns out he’d called too late after all.

* * * * *

Davis hated driving in Toronto. Hated pretty much everything about the city, actually, including the office building he’d be walking into, as soon as he found a goddamn parking spot.

Fuck it, he’d pay the ridiculous twenty-dollar fee and use the underground lot. If things went well upstairs, twenty bucks would become a laughable amount, not an hour’s pay flushed down the drain.

He punched the button on the gate and collected his stub.

Please retain ticket.
No exit will be granted without this ticket.

Funny that he’d spent so many years under his family’s thumb, wishing he had a ticket to exit their bullshit. Now here he was, about to enter their prized lair—and hoping to hell he wouldn’t lose his exit ticket in the process.

He turned his mid-range Honda down the row of spaces closest to the elevator. On the left side, under a bank of bright lights, four gleaming high-end vehicles filled the spaces marked for the partners. Davis Rourke, Senior, Esq. Davis Rourke, Junior, Esq. Sheila Rourke, Esq. Jason Rourke, Esq. Then, an empty space that simply read,
Reserved
.

Since the space would’ve been his if he hadn’t flown the coop six years ago, Davis pulled into the spot. The firm had continued to grow and thrive since his decision to abandon the family business. They didn’t need him here. Yet they’d held the spot.

If a member of Brinn’s family did something like that, it’d tip the warm-and-fuzzy scales. But this was his family, not the McIntyres. Rourkes didn’t do warm and fuzzy. They did cold and calculating. They did control.

He stepped out of the car and shoved the parking stub deep inside his pocket. No way was he losing this ticket.

His dress shoes echoed off the concrete as he headed for the elevator. It arrived quickly, the accompanying
dinging
as its door slid open bouncing off the cavernous walls. At least he had the elevator to himself. Well, aside from his reflection, currently scowling back at him.

The card he was about to play sort of resembled selling out. A thing he never thought he’d do. Especially in regard to his family, and potentially, his career. But it was his last resort at making his idea come to life. The potential outcome outweighed the risks.

The elevator didn’t stop until it reached his destination—the fifteenth floor. The mirrored doors slid open and he stepped into the lobby of
Rourke, Rourke & Rourke
. Inwardly, he chuckled. Although both he and his brother had been offered partner status before Davis quit, a fourth
Rourke
hadn’t been added to the company name. Jason being the self-centered son-of-a-bitch that he was, the omission had to sting. Maybe fate—that intangible thing Brinn believed in—would give Davis the opportunity to rub the missing
Rourke
in Jason’s face. A guy could hope.

He crossed the marble floor to the reception area. Two attractive young women—neither of them familiar—manned an expansive desk. One was engaged on the phone. The second made eye contact as he approached. Dark hair in a tight bun, perfect skin, feminine-yet-professional clothes, practiced smile. Not just somebody who answered phones and fetched coffee, she had “gatekeeper” written all over her.

“Good morning,” she said. “How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Davis Rourke, Senior.”

The brunette nodded. “Do you have an appointment?”

“No. But I’m sure he’ll see me anyway.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but a scheduled appointment is required to see the senior partner. I’m happy to book one for you—I just need your name and the general nature of your business.”

“Of course,” he said, readying the bomb. “My name is Davis Rourke. The third, to be specific. I’d like to see my grandfather about a personal and professional matter.”

The woman’s mouth transformed from its measured smile to an
O
shape. The shocked expression disappeared quickly, replaced by her previous, all-business face. “Excuse me while I see if he’s available,” she said, rising from her post.

Davis nodded. The elegant woman walked down the hall, then knocked on the double doors of his grandfather’s corner office. He wasn’t surprised that she’d chosen to deliver his message in person. This way, she’d be able to provide a detailed description of the man claiming to be Davis Senior’s prodigal grandson.

Though that might be unnecessary. The firm had made plenty of enemies in its time. Undoubtedly more since defending a notorious serial killer a few years back. The entire floor was probably rigged with hidden surveillance cameras. The old man could be checking Davis out this very moment.

The brunette exited the office, closing the doors behind her. “He’ll see you now,” she said while resuming her perfectly polished guard-dog position behind the reception desk.

“Thanks.” Davis had walked these halls more times than he could count. The last time he’d stepped into his grandfather’s office had ended with Davis’s “fuck this” to a golden opportunity—and his family. Today’s meeting ought to be interesting.

He knocked while turning the handle. Directly opposite the door, his grandfather sat behind a massive dark-wood desk. Davis Senior’s silver hair contrasted against the back of the black leather chair. He hadn’t changed much in six years. At eighty-two, he still looked like the same unshakeable hard-ass with balls of steel Davis had always known. Fucking admirable.

“I see your hair hasn’t grown back yet.”

Davis laughed and extended his arm across the desk. “It’s good to see you too, Gramps.”

Davis Senior rose while gripping his grandson’s hand for a firm shake. “You’re too old to call me that.”

“And you’re old enough to relax and enjoy it.”

“You may be right,” his grandfather said as they both settled into chairs. “But I doubt you came all this way to lecture an old man about his workaholic ways. We both know I’m not going to hang up my robes so I can waste the remainder of my life feeding the ducks and playing cards with a bunch of deaf, toothless ninnies.”

“Think of the women, Gramps. You’d have your pick of ladies at the Bridge table.”

The old man cracked a smile at that. “They couldn’t keep up.”

No doubt. Age had never factored into his grandfather’s activity level. Or his intimate relationships.

“Do your parents know you’re here?” The same question he’d asked the day Davis quit the firm.

“No.” The same answer too. “My business is with you.”

“Then let’s hear it.”

“I’d like an advance on my inheritance.”

“Assuming you still have one coming. A ‘heartless bastard who only cares about money, power and his reputation’ would’ve cut you out of the will,” his grandfather said, quoting Davis’s last visit to this office.

“I disagree. A man like that would want his reputation to remain intact after his death. As much as he wants the world to fear him, he also wants its respect. Cutting his namesake grandson out of the family fortune could be construed as vindictive. Not a quality a powerful, respected man wants marring his legacy.”

“A logical deduction.”

“Also, you’re not that man. I was angry, frustrated and determined to get the hell away from here. I said what was necessary to make that happen.”

The founding partner and family patriarch tapped his fingers on the arms of his desk chair. A renowned attorney, he had the ability to wipe all emotion from his expression. The fact that he hadn’t done so since Davis walked in the room spoke volumes. He hadn’t reached out since Davis walked away that day, but he obviously hadn’t written him off, either.

“I have a good job at a nice restaurant. I own a house. I was coasting along, reasonably content with my life, until I met somebody who changed the game. Being with Brinn made me want things I hadn’t allowed myself to consider as options. One of those is my own business. I’m an excellent chef. My food is as good or better than the best you’ve ever eaten—anywhere. I want the freedom to fully explore that, and share it.”

“You’d use the advance on your inheritance to open a restaurant.”

“Yes. And I’m willing to bet my career it’ll be a success.”

His grandfather’s thick silver eyebrows rose. “An intriguing twist.”

“Three years. If the place isn’t operating at a healthy profit by the end of three years in business, I’ll give it up and come back to the firm. Indefinitely.”

A long, low whistle passed through Davis Senior’s lips. “Hell of a wager.”

“One I’m confident making.”

His grandfather’s wise eyes stayed focused on Davis’s face for a long moment. He pulled a legal pad from the side of his desk, jotted a few lines, signed it with a flourish, then slid it across the desk. “Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”

Davis hadn’t expected this to be easy. He turned the pad around and lowered his gaze to the black ink.

An amount equivalent to half your current inheritance will be deposited in your account upon agreement of the following three, non-negotiable conditions, which constitute the sole terms of this contract.

Complimentary dinner once a month, ad infinitum. Invite your parents and brother to the aforementioned dinners. Keep inviting them until they accept.

Gramps

“If your legal skills are rusty and you’d like to have an attorney look that over before you sign,” his grandfather said with lawyerly seriousness, “I can have somebody sent down.”

“No, I’m good.” Davis retrieved a pen from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and added his signature—first name only—to the yellow paper. He met his grandfather’s gaze while returning the pad. “You didn’t include my offer in the terms of the deal.”

“I didn’t care for your terms. Since it’s my money, I get to dictate the rules.”

“Good to know you’re still the dictator around here. For a minute, I thought you’d gotten soft.”

Gramps barked out a single, gruff laugh. “From the time you were a boy, your parents and I decided that directing you to follow in our footsteps was the right thing. As you matured, you proved us right with your intelligence and quick wit. Traits that’d make you an excellent lawyer. I believed keeping you here, even when it became evident that you hated it, was for the best. A career with the firm would have ensured your success, professionally and financially. But I’d rather have a happy grandson in my life one day a month than a resentful lawyer down the hall every day.”

Davis opened his mouth to speak—but was halted by his grandfather’s raised hand.

“That’s not to say I think you’d have lost your wager. The law may not be in your blood, but it’s still Rourke blood. Your restaurant will be a success, Davis. I’m glad I get to be a part of that.”

“So am I.”

A few formalities, some catching-up conversation, and a warm handshake later, Davis was on his way down in the elevator. The visit had gone nothing like he’d anticipated. He’d come on the defensive, ready to grovel and barter for money. Sell his soul if necessary. He’d had to do none of those things.

Not only was he leaving with enough cash to implement the business side of his plan, he had a chance to get to know his family from a different angle. Not a bad day. Fate, one might even say. Especially if “one” was a pretty store manager with a dirty mind and an adorable giggle.

Seated in his car, he pulled the phone from his pocket and brought up her contact info. Damn, he was tempted to call. Right now, from the parking garage. Tell her where he was, what he’d just done, and why. That, if not for her, he never would’ve taken this step. That he owed this rare opportunity to her.