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“You wouldn’t have, would you?”
He took a sip of wine and tried not to grimace. “Nope.”
“So, did you do enough reconnaissance? Satisfied I won’t wreck your company’s image with a heroin problem or bipolar personality?”
“No, you’re surprisingly consistent.”
He took a big gulp of the wine, made a face because he couldn’t help himself this time, and stood. “I should be going. Here’s the contract and schedule. We’re moving fast out of the gate with the lighting of the Henry’s Christmas tree downtown on Wednesday evening. We’ll meet at the Fern and St. Charles stop to take the streetcar there. Work for you?”
“That soon?”
“My grandfather will work you like a mule.”
“He wants his money’s worth.” She gave another pretty smile. “I’ve yet to talk to Ivan the Terrible, but I’ll break the news tomorrow.”
“Ivan the Terrible?”
“My boss.” She followed him toward the door. “He reminds me of you—all business, no charm.”
He turned around, and she stopped, her nose a few inches from his chin. “No charm?”
Her eyes glimmered like a jolly elf’s. “Kidding, of course.”
“Right,” he said, almost reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ears. His compulsions around Mary Paige weresoabnormal. He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Ivan’s an accountant, right? They don’t need charm.”
She smiled and it struck him that Mary Paige had totally chosen the wrong profession. Hard-nosed business gal trying to inflate net profits was a far cry from the girl wearing the cheap clothes and nursing a blind cat…and charming him without lifting a pinky.
“Well, I’ll check that off my list of things needed to be an accountant.” She sidestepped a couple inches as if aware she stood too close to a man who had an unexplained urge to kiss her.
“See you on Wednesday,” he said, opening the door.
“Yeah,” she said with a little wave.
Brennan exited into the New Orleans evening pleased he could walk away from the strange pull that had cropped up for a woman who’d just fallen into his life. Like, literally fallen.
But he was a man who could control his passions. Exactly the kind of man MBH Industries needed as the next CEO. Never moved by the heart but always mindful of the bigger picture. The bottom line. And there was nothing wrong in that.
6
MALCOLMHENRY, JR.watched as the young man wearing the platform shoes got jiggy with it. Or at least that’s what the boy kept telling all the people around him.
“I’m getting jiggy with it,” he shouted, throwing a fist pump as he thrust his hips toward every other person dancing around him. Everyone laughed. Not at him. But with him. It was refreshingly different from the last few parties Malcolm had attended—exuberant, joyful, and actually fun.
“We’re going to have to keep our eye on David. He’s pumped and primed,” Judy Poche remarked as she scooped ice from the chest at their feet and set cups on the table.
“He’s filled with the spirit of the season,” Malcolm said over the beat of the bass from the speakers sitting beside the stage. The room swirled with strobe lights and was draped with red and green crepe paper.
“Or too many soft drinks.” Judy smiled and cast her eyes over the young adults twisting, shaking, and generally cutting a good, old-fashioned rug on the gym floor of the Catholic ministries center. Mixed in with the handicapable and mentally challenged adults from Holy Trinity were the student-council members from Ursuline Academy, who were teaching some of the group home members a new dance move. All looked to be having a grand time.
“Back in my day, we waltzed,” Malcolm said, filling a cup for a sweaty kid whose sweet grin and shy ducking of head was in direct opposition to the polka dots and plaid pants he wore.
Judy sighed. “Oh, those were the days. I can’t even understand what this music says much less attempt to dance to it.”
“You probably don’t want to know the lyrics.” Malcolm swiped a damp cloth over the plastic table. “But I love watching them have fun. Blesses me.”
“Me, too. You’ve gotten quite involved with this group. They really seem to respond well to you considering you’ve been volunteering for only a few months.”
Malcolm had started volunteering with many organizations, no longer content to merely hand over a check. He’d wanted to contribute more than dollar signs. Many of the charity directors had been surprised by his desire to interact with those on the receiving end of his donations, but he’d learned one important thing when he woke up alone in that hospital room with scarcely a soul to care whether he lived or died—he’d learned his was a life not well-lived. And he’d wanted to correct that…which was why he now poured soft drinks at the Holy Trinity Center’s annual Christmas dance. He refused to spend one more night smoking smelly cigars, reading prospectuses, and swilling scotch hundreds of feet above the dirty, teeming masses safe in his moneyed world. No. He was no longer that man. In fact, he despised the man he was. “I truly love being a volunteer, Judy. Thank you for letting me be a part of this.”
