Inconvenient Attraction
Autore
Zuri Day
Letto da
16,0K
Capitoli
24
One
Technology wizard and financial phenom Cayden Barker’s already bad day just got worse. He never saw it coming. “It” being the car that had just sideswiped his nearly new supersporty Porsche and sent it on a 360-spin into the intersection and a forceful awkward meeting with a light pole. Cayden was tossed, turned and jostled, but too immediately angry to feel any pain. Without a thought to his health or safety he jumped out of his car to survey the damage. The innovative aluminum all along the car’s right side—a material used to decrease the weight and increase the speed—now resembled the crinkled foil his mother used to cover Sunday leftovers. He felt light-headed and placed his hand on the car’s hood to prevent a fall.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”
Cayden whirled around. Bad move since his head kept spinning after his body stopped. He steadied himself once again before waving his arm toward the damaged frame. A woman’s face with wide pretty brown eyes etched with concern swam into view.
“Do I look okay?” He jabbed a finger at the passenger side’s crushed hood, door and fender. “Does this look okay?”
“Police and ambulance are on their way. Perhaps you should sit down.”
“Perhaps you should learn how to look where you’re going!”
“Please calm down, Cayden. You’re bleeding.”
It didn’t at all register that she’d used his name. His hand went to his head in a reflexive move. He looked and saw blood, along with another shade of red. Anger.
“What in the hell is wrong with you!”
“The sun’s angle. I couldn’t see the light—”
“If you can’t see, you shouldn’t be driving!”
“I tried to stop.”
Cayden walked around his customized baby, its unique paint now streaked by dented gray metal. It had taken the dealership three months to create the exact shade of blue he’d requested, navy with a subtle gold sheen, and another week to repaint the exterior. Everything from the mirrors to the stainless-steel steering wheel to the kid-leather seat coverings were customized, had been special-ordered from all over the globe. He’d driven the car less than a month. Now here it sat—shattered, crushed—much like his ego after the earlier executive meeting. The light at the end of that dark and unexpected tunnel was the lunch he was having with a longtime mentor. The lunch for which he was now late. His anger, already at ten, soared off the charts. He felt like a thundercloud and was ready to storm all over the hapless motorist who’d ruined an already very bad day.
Except something stopped him.
Her eyes.
The look in them—fearful, apologetic. The tears that shimmered, giving those deep brown orbs a coppery tone. Only now he imagined how six feet and three inches worth of seriously pissed-off must have looked to a woman almost a foot shorter in height. He took a deep breath to calm himself and stepped out of her personal space.
“I’m truly sorry,” she said again, looking from his crumpled dream of an auto that had set him back six figures to her boatlike clunker that other than a busted light and bent fender showed not a scratch. “Whatever my insurance doesn’t cover...”
Cayden waved off the rest of the sentence, glad he’d taken his best friend Jake Eddington’s advice and purchased the company’s top-notch auto insurance package that covered the car from tip to tail no matter what happened or who was at fault. The movement brought his watch into view and reminded him that a businessman with no time to waste was waiting for him at a nearby restaurant. From the wording on the text messages that led to the meeting, it was one he dared not miss. Just as sirens were heard in the distance, he reached into his suitcoat pocket and pulled out a card.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, holding it out to her. “Do you have a card with your contact information?”
“Yes, but...” She looked around. “Aren’t you going to wait for the ambulance and police? That cut should be tended to and we need to make a report.”
“You know what happened. As long as you tell them the truth, there shouldn’t be any problems.”
The woman hesitated only a moment before walking to her car. She reached inside for her purse, sifting through the contents as she returned to where he was standing. Instead of the business card he was expecting, she pulled out a pen and began writing on a fast-food receipt.
“What’s that you’re driving? It barely shows signs of the accident while my car needs to be towed.”
“My grandmother’s Buick, at least twenty years old.”
Buick or battering ram? Cayden was sure the body was made from steel and could have subbed for a WWII tanker.
“I would have traded it except it belonged to her and Granddad.”
Or because it could survive the apocalypse.
“I’ve just started a new job so no business cards yet. But here’s my name, number and—” she reached inside her wallet and pulled out a card “—my insurance information.”
Cayden took the slip of paper. “Avery Gray.”
“Yes, that’s...me.”
He looked up again, took in her face. There was something remotely familiar about her, but considering the tons of people he met at social and professional events, and given that he’d spent much of his life in the upscale atmosphere of Point du Sable, a conclave of less than ten thousand citizens just north of Chicago, he could have seen her or someone closely resembling her anytime, anywhere. Plus, Cayden never forgot a pretty face and even with its distraught expression, Avery’s features were pleasant, soothing even. It had distracted him from being livid, stopped him from dishing out a verbal lashing and had him standing in the street next to his wreck when he should have called an Uber or hailed a taxi five minutes ago.
Flashing lights brought Cayden out of inaction. He watched EMTs exit an ambulance and saw the tow truck operator engage his hazard lights before jumping from the cab.
“My insurance company will handle this. Slow down and watch where you’re going. Okay?”
“Definitely.”
The female EMT walked directly to him, her eyes glued to his forehead. “That’s a nasty gash you’ve got there. Are there other injuries?”
“I’m fine,” Cayden said, backing away from her and looking at the tow guy. “Make sure she’s okay.”
Cayden continued to his car without waiting for a response. He talked briefly to the tow truck driver, while calling for a ride. When the Uber driver pulled up a short time later, the police still hadn’t arrived to take the report. Cayden couldn’t worry about that. With the unexpected pushback he’d just battled at the office and whatever news his mentor was going to share when they met, a busted forehead and smashed-up car, even one as expensive and fly as his custom Porsche, was the least of his worries.
Once inside the car and on the way to the restaurant, Cayden texted details of the accident to his agent and requested a rental. Then he looked in the mirror. The driver who’d hit him, Avery, had been right. So had the EMT. The cut was bad, deeper than he’d thought and nastier looking than it felt. He used sanitizer and Kleenex the driver provided to clean the blood from his face, and covered that on his shirtsleeve with the soft charcoal wool of his tailored suit jacket, but he still felt far from the GQ persona he usually presented. A short time later, the greeting from his mentor confirmed what he felt.
“You look like you were in a dogfight...and the dog won.”
“Pretty much, Mr. Masters,” Cayden replied, a slight smile causing a few hearts to skitter as he shook the older man’s hand. “Except it was a car fight. My Porsche versus a car made before the turn of the century.”
Bob Masters, a gentleman of distinction whose toned, upright carriage, smooth skin and thick wavy hair belied his seventy years, chuckled.
“Chevy?”
“Buick.”
Bob shook his head. “Then condolences for your ride are probably in order.” He returned to his seat and directed Cayden to the other side of the booth. “I doubt it can be brought back from the dead.”
“Unfortunately, you might be right.” Cayden winced as he sat, the pain he’d felt on the car ride over shooting up again.
“Are you okay?”
“I will be.”
“You sure you don’t want to go to Emergency, get that gash and other possible injuries checked out? When it comes to automobile accidents, you don’t feel the pain until the shock wears off. That cut above your eye looks pretty nasty.”
“You said this meeting was important.”
“It is, son, but not more important than your health. As you get older you’ll come to realize that nothing is more important than that.”
“I’ll stop by Mom’s on the way home. Have her look me over.”
“How is Tami?”
“Still saving the world.”
“She still at IMCOC?”
The Illinois Medical Center of Chicago is where Cayden’s mom, Tami, had worked for twenty years, and where she and Bob had met.
“She’s at PDS Medical now. Getting a job there is the only reason she finally agreed to move.”
“She’s living here now?”
Cayden nodded. “A two-bed, two-bath condo in Harold Washington Heights.”
Bob’s brow raised. “A Kincaid property?”
“I tried to talk her out of it but she loved the layout and the location being so close to her work.” The briefest of frowns marred Cayden’s good looks before he shrugged. “Before moving in, she burned sage.”
The server arrived. Mild laughter at Cayden’s remark was followed by casual chitchat as drinks were delivered and orders were placed. Cayden endured the curious stares and a few polite interruptions as elite members of the community paid due respect to one of the town pillars. He was anxious to get on with the meeting and learn why he sat calmly hiding a now-splitting headache and increasingly sore ribs, nursing a ginger ale, when he probably should have been in an emergency room with someone attending to him. The salad finally arrived and with it a slight shift in Bob’s posture and change of expression that signaled the talk was about to get serious.
“You’re familiar with the Society.”
Cayden leaned forward. “Of course.”
Everybody who was anybody knew about the ultraexclusive business fraternity, the Society of Ma’at, whose roster of members read like a who’s who of the world.
“At a recent meeting, your name came up.”
As he thought of the possibilities behind being mentioned, Cayden’s brow creased.
“Relax, my boy. It’s good news.”
Cayden released the breath that only now he became aware of holding.
“New membership is open.”
“That only happens every five years.”
Bob nodded. “Normally that’s true. Unfortunately, we are no longer living in normal times. In the past year we’ve lost several key members. The organization has had to adjust, along with the rest of the world, and voted unanimously at our annual meeting to hold a special vote for new members. I felt the time was right to nominate you for the club.”
Cayden’s back hit the booth seat with a thud. Not a good move for the rib almost surely broken. He was too shocked, too moved, to feel a thing.
“Wow, Mr. Masters, this is an incredible honor. I don’t know what else to say.”
“It is actions, not words, that qualifies you for the brotherhood. Philanthropy, community service, fundraising for worthy causes. Along with professional success, and exemplary social standing, those are the types of activities that we use to elevate our community.”
Cayden nodded but said nothing.
“On or around every major holiday, Society members across the country plan and host major fundraisers for charity. I’d like you to put one together for the Fourth of July.”
“Me, sir?”
Bob’s grin was slow and compassionate. “You can handle it.”
“I’ve attended functions like that but wouldn’t know where to begin...”
“That’s what mentors like me are for. I’ll guide you along the way, but I want it to be your work. Golf tournaments are always big hits, especially if we can host it at the Point.”
Cayden relaxed. Golf he could do, and as for Point du Sable’s exclusive country club, the Eddingtons practically owned it. He was sure that with their help he could secure those eighteen holes for his event.
“I think I can put something together.”
“Not just something,” Bob said, his fingers steepled on the table before him. “Because of its connection to the Society, it must be the biggest, baddest summer event in all of the Midwest.”
“I’ll get on it right away.”
“That’s the professional side of things. Now, regarding your personal life, the Society doesn’t like scandal. Anything that mars the name of a member mars SOMA.”
“I understand.”
“Make sure that you do. From now on, every area of your life will have to be stellar, flawless, one hundred percent above any fray.”
“I’ll go above and beyond anything asked of me, sir. You have my word.”
“I believe that. You’ll get a letter in the mail soon, and then a phone call. After that your ninety-day probation will begin, followed by the vote taken at our national conference. On top of raising millions for charity, the event on the Fourth will be your unofficial coming-out party.”
Cayden’s steak arrived, seasoned and cooked to perfection. He didn’t taste any of it. Later, when he stopped by his mom’s house, Tami confirmed that, if not broken, his rib was severely bruised. She wrapped him up, cleaned his cut and suggested it might need a stitch or two. On the way home he played the voice mail of a call that he’d missed.
“Cayden, it’s Avery. I know you said your agent would handle things but I still feel badly about what happened and just wanted to check on you. I stayed until your car was towed and the police arrived. You should get a copy of the report in the mail. Hopefully, you made your meeting and got that cut looked at. No need to call back. The insurance company said they’d be in touch. Take care of yourself and don’t worry, I’ll be the most attentive driver in town from here on out.”
Cayden found himself smiling as he listened to her talk. A call from the woman who’d ruined his ride should have irked him, but instead he felt better. The strangest thing. By the time he pulled into his driveway, he’d chalked the good vibrations up to Bob’s surprising news, the chance to become a member of the world’s most elite business club. Deep down his feelings told him it was the woman who’d stayed on his mind since the accident happened. But that didn’t make sense. How could someone who’d caused something bad make him feel good?
