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I’d worked for the company since I was a kid, but when it all went down and Dad had been arrested, I’d been left in charge. My head had spun from the press, the lawyers, and yes, death threats.
But Dalt had stood by me and even loaned me some cash when I was nearly broke; all the hotel’s assets had been seized, and I was trying to pay all the bills out of my own savings.
Later, when the dust had settled and our accounts were unfrozen, I was able to pay him back and then some. I’d invested in him, and now, he was a well-known and successful artist.
Best thing I’d ever done.
At last the limo pulled up in front of the restaurant. I hadn’t been to Stella Bella before but its Yelp reviews were decent. It didn’t really matter, though.
It would be a quick in and out.
I was a few minutes early, so I went inside to start on a nice scotch on the rocks. Alcohol would help the forty-five minute date pass. Then Trudy would rescue me and I’d be on my way.
I sent the driver off to kill the better part of an hour, and smoothing out the wrinkles in my suit, headed for the door.
Bella Stella—what a corny name—was a typical New York City eatery, with an outside awning over the doorway and a couple sidewalk tables.
I entered the cozy space with exposed brick walls, heavy chandeliers, and a lit votive candle on every table. I settled in at the bar and watched the wait staff hustle through their last-minute dinner preparations.
At five minutes to the hour there was no sign of the redhead, but there was still time for her to be early, like me.
