by Vi Keeland
“No.”
After the fourth member voted no, I looked over at my brother. He didn’t look at all concerned. When it was my turn, my father shot me a look of disgust for voting my conscience.
Every member voted no, until we got to the one remaining vote, aside from my father and brother—the woman who walked in with my brother. She looked over at him before casting her vote. Fuck. Her eyes hooded and, upon closer look, her swollen lips confirmed she was the woman from the hall.
“Maribel Stewart? Your vote?”
“Yes.”
Fuck.
All they needed was one person to vote with them.
I stayed in my seat until everyone but my brother and father cleared out of the room. My brother’s face was so self-righteous, I had the urge to rearrange it for him.
“I don’t know how you sleep at night,” I said.
“I have a ten-thousand-dollar bed fit for a king.” Elliot grinned.
I stood. “I’d rather sleep on the floor and have a clear conscience.”
He fixed his tie and looked up at me. “Fitting, the floor is where you belong.”
All worked up after the encounter with my dysfunctional family, I texted Gia to see where she was at.
Rush: Where are you?
She responded a few seconds later.
Gia: At Ellen’s Stardust Diner on Broadway. Having some lunch. They have the best French toast.
Rush: I’m heading over there.
Since I’d parked my car in a garage for the day, I hopped a cab to the restaurant. The meeting with my father and Elliot was still running through my mind, and I needed to calm the fuck down.
I needed to see Gia.
I knew she’d make me feel better, even though it was frustrating to admit that to myself. Having to curb the urge to smoke in the cab, I rolled down the window and let the cool air hit my face.
I thought about Gia’s conning me into telling her my name. That little witch knew my weakness. She knew my jealousy knew no bounds, and she knew exactly how to manipulate that. That was a dangerous talent.
But damn, it worked.
I couldn’t help but laugh to myself.
She got me.
Well played, Gia. Well played.
The cabbie was looking at me through the rearview mirror. “Something funny?” he asked in a Jamaican accent.
Busted.
“Nah. Just thinking about a woman who makes me a little crazy.”
Nodded in understanding, he said, “Yeah, mon. Don’t they all.”
He dropped me off, and I entered the diner, which was retro-themed with vinyl red booths and neon lights. One of the servers, dressed in a poodle skirt from the fifties, was standing on top of one of the booths singing. She was probably a wannabe Broadway actress.
It didn’t surprise me one bit that Gia had chosen this place. It was eccentric, just like her. What did surprise me was to find her sitting in a booth across from an NYPD officer. Before I could draw the conclusion that she was getting herself in trouble for doing something stupid, I noticed she seemed to be smiling and laughing.
A cop? What the hell?
My fists tightened. A rush of adrenaline hit me until I got closer and realized who it was from the resemblance alone. She had said she was planning to meet her father.
Shit.
Her father.
I felt like a dumbass now. With everything that happened back at Vanderhaus, I became distracted and had totally forgotten she was meeting him. I definitely wouldn’t have come here if I’d remembered she was with her dad.
It was too late to turn back. She spotted me. So did he.
You could have told me, Gia!
She was smiling from ear to ear and waved me over to their booth. Gia seemed completely comfortable with this situation, which was the opposite of how I was feeling right now.
“Hey!” she said.
Placing my hands in the pockets of my jeans, I nodded once. “Hi.”
“This must be Rush,” her father said.
She’d told him about me?
“Yes, Dad. This is Rush.” She turned to me. “Rush, this is my dad, Tony Mirabelli.”
Her father looked like he was in good shape for someone I’d put in his early fifties. They both had the same blue eyes that contrasted their dark hair and olive skin.
I took one hand out of my pocket and extended it. “Nice to meet you, sir.”
His handshake was firm while his eyes fell to the tattoos on my arm. He nudged his head toward the table. “Sit. Join us.”
I looked over at Gia. “I’m thinking maybe I should come back when you’re done with your dad. I don’t want to interrupt. I have a few errands I could run.”
Tony answered for her, “Nonsense. Take a seat.” His tone was not exactly casual. It was more demanding, like sit the fuck down, motherfucker.
I no longer felt that I could get out of this situation, so I conceded and planted myself next to Gia. There was a huge plate of half-eaten French toast in front of her. Her father’s plate was clean.
A waitress came by and placed a menu in front of me. “Can I get you anything?”
I hadn’t eaten all day but didn’t feel like making myself too comfortable here, so I said, “Just coffee. Black.”
My eyes landed on his. Tony was staring at me intently. For some reason, the theme to The Sopranos started playing in my head. Probably the name Tony triggered it. The opening sequence where Tony Soprano is driving over the bridge to Jersey flashed through my mind. That was exactly where I wanted to be—driving over a bridge to Jersey and not staring this man in the face right now.
There weren’t many things that made me nervous. But sitting across from a man who’s looking at you like he knows you want to spread his daughter’s legs apart and eat her out, is definitely one of them. Especially, when the dude is packing a pistol.
He folded his hands together and tilted his head to the side. His expression suddenly turned serious. In fact, he looked pissed. “My daughter tells me you punched her in the eye.”
My heart started to pound faster. A long moment of silence passed as I just sat there speechless.
She what?
What in the ever-living fuck?
Then…Gia snorted. Tony looked at her, and they both busted out into laughter.
Am I being punked?
“I’m just kidding, son.” He wiped his eyes. “It was a joke.”
They were both assholes. My pulse finally calmed down.
Can’t believe I fell for that.
“He knows the truth about what happened,” she said.
I looked him dead in the face. “If I had been there to monitor things, she wouldn’t have gotten that black eye. I’m sorry she got hurt.”
He simply nodded.
“We were just talking about you before you walked in,” Gia said.
“Must have been why my ears were ringing.”
Tony turned to me. “I hear you gave Gia a job and that you make sure she’s safe in getting home at night. I never really loved the idea of her moving out there all alone and so far away from me when I have no choice but to be here for work. But you know Gia. She has a mind of her own, couldn’t be stopped. So, I really appreciate any help I can get in looking out for her.”
I felt like a fraud. My thoughts when it came to Gia were far from “safe.”
Nevertheless, I took credit. “No problem. It’s my pleasure.”
He brushed a piece of food off his navy uniform. “I raised my daughter to be smart and independent. But there’s only so much she can do to protect herself. I worry about her, particularly because she can be hotheaded like her dad. She can be minding her own business one minute and breaking up a bar fight the next.”
“Well, I can definitely agree with you on that one.” I chuckled. “Gia is definitely…spirited.”
Gia winked at me. She seemed to be enjoying this interaction, whereas I was watching the clock, rearing to leave.
The w
aitress set a glass of water and a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. I took a sip of the hot liquid.
Tony was just watching me and then caught me off guard when he said, “So…that being said…in all seriousness, what exactly are your intentions when it comes to my daughter?”
I nearly spit out my coffee.
A long moment of silence passed before they once again turned to each other and burst into laughter. These two were in cahoots—a couple of pranksters.
Tony cackled and pointed. “I loved the look on your face.”
“Don’t worry,” Gia said as she placed her hand on my forearm. “He knows you’re not interested in me and that you’re harmless, despite how dangerous you might look.” Leaning her shoulder against mine, she said, “Right, Rush? He has nothing to worry about?” She batted her eyelashes at me.
I swallowed. “That’s right.”
The better to eat you with, my dear,
Said the big bad wolf.
She addressed her father, “Rush says because he’s my boss, we can’t date.”
He took a sip of water then said, “Well, that’s smart, I suppose. Never hurts to keep things professional.”
I glared at Gia. “I completely agree.”
“Although, you’re probably kidding yourself,” Tony said. “I see the way you look at my daughter, and I’m not sure I like it, to be honest.”
My eyes narrowed.
Shit.
He must have sensed the worry on my face when he said, “Man, you’re gullible.”
He was fucking with me again. Gia and her dad were once again laughing at me. Two peas in a pod.
“You want to know the truth, son?”
I let out a long breath. “Sure…”
“I did my best to lead by example as far as my daughter is concerned, show her what a good, decent, hardworking man is like. I trust her judgment. So, if Gia feels that someone is worthy of her time and trust, then that’s enough for me, whether it’s a friend or more. Who she associates with…well, it’s not my decision to make anymore.”
I nodded once. “Alright…”
“Plus, I ran a full background check on you a little while ago as soon as she told me about you. Came up clear.” He grinned. “Heathcliff Rushmore. Interesting name.”
Thanks a fucking lot, Gia.
Gritting my teeth, I said, “It’s a family name.”
“Speaking of family...your father is Edward Vanderhaus…”
Hearing him mention that name made my skin crawl.
“I’m quite aware of that, yes. He’s my biological father, but he didn’t raise me.”
“I was on patrol once for a private event in the City that Vanderhaus booked. He’s kind of a dick. No offense.”
“None taken. And believe me, I’m quite aware of that.” I sighed. “What did he do?”
“It wasn’t so much what he did…just the way he spoke to people, you know? Just my observation.”
“Yup. I know exactly what you mean.”
“Gia was telling me everything—about your inheritance. You don’t have to go into it. Very interesting story, though, to say the least.”
I turned to her. “Did you talk about anything other than me today, Gia?”
She shrugged. “Sorry. But I tell my dad everything.”
“I can see that.” I offered a slight smile so she didn’t actually think I was mad at her. I could’ve cared less what her father knew. I had nothing to hide.
The waitress came by to refill my coffee and warmed Tony’s, too.
He gulped some of it down then said, “Sounds like you’ve done the best you can with all that you’ve been given, son—the good and the bad.”
“At heart, I’m still a blue-collar guy from Long Island. I saw how hard my mother struggled. I never expected things to be handed to me. I still work hard and don’t take anything for granted.”
“Well, this poor boy from Queens finds that admirable.”
Gia interrupted, “He’s fixing my car for me, too, Dad.”
“You know your way around cars?”
“Yeah. I used to work in an auto repair shop.”
Tony seemed impressed. “No kidding…”
“He also used to be a tattoo artist,” Gia said. “I asked him if he could ink me, but he refuses.”
“Sounds like he knows you can be a little impulsive. Good call, Rush.”
I almost wished Gia’s dad were more of a dick. It would give me another good reason to stay away from her. He’d raised her all on his own and seemed to have done a hell of a job. I hated to say it, but Tony was cool as shit, the kind of man I wished I had for a father.
He looked down at his watch. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay with you, sweetheart, work beckons. I’ve got to get back to the precinct.”
Gia pouted. “Alright, Daddy. I’m glad we got to see each other.” She stood up and gave him a hug.
He held out his hand. “Rush…it was a pleasure. Stay out of trouble.” He gave me a look and for some reason that one seemed serious.
Stay out of trouble.
Translation: Stay out of Gia.
Rush had asked if I was in a hurry to return to the Hamptons. Since it was my night off, I told him there was no reason I had to get back by a certain time.
After we left Ellen’s, he said he wanted to get something to eat, which was odd because we’d just spent the last hour at a diner.
Apparently, it wasn’t that he hadn’t wanted to eat at the restaurant but that he had his heart set on Gray’s Papaya hot dogs. We left Gray’s with a bag full of wieners.
Rush walked and ate at the same time. “Whenever I come to the City, I just have to have one,” he said, biting into the hotdog, which was loaded with chili and cheese.
“One? You ordered ten!”
“They’re not all for me,” Rush said with his mouth full.
“Who are they for?”
“Some friends. You’ll meet them in a bit.”
Hmm. I was going to meet his friends?
He held up his hotdog. “Wanna bite?”
“I’m full, thanks.”
The sun was coming down over the City. It was a gorgeous evening.
About fifteen minutes later, we stopped at an alleyway, and I immediately figured out who his friends were. Rush had taken the bag of hotdogs to a few homeless men who were gathered in the alley with their belongings stuffed into black trash bags.
“Hey, guys.”
One of them seemed to recognize him. “Hey, Rush, man. How’s it goin’?”
“What’s good?” Rush asked, handing the entire bag over to him.
“Nothing…you know…the usual.”
“Thought you might be hungry.”
“Starving. Thank you,” the man said. “Who’s your pretty friend?”
“This is Gia.”
I waved. “Hello.”
Rush then reached into his wallet and handed the guy a one-hundred-dollar bill. “Promise me, you won’t spend it on booze.”
“You got it. I promise.”
Rush pointed his two fingers to his eyes and then back at the man. “I’m watching you, Tommy. Take care of yourself, okay?”
As we walked away, I whispered, “That was really nice of you.”
He waited until we were no longer within earshot of the men to say, “A long time ago, I decided that a good way to wash away the negativity I feel toward my family’s greed is to counter it with something charitable. I told myself every time I come to the City for an obligatory business meeting, that I’d help someone in some way before I leave. Makes me feel good.”
“That’s really commendable.”
“Nah. I have the means. I don’t even feel a dent. It would only be commendable if it were a sacrifice. Not like I’m giving anyone the shirt off my back.”
“I don’t agree. It’s the thought that counts, no matter how much money you have. You’re a good guy, Rush. And you would give anyone the shirt off your back if they needed it
. I’ve only known you for a short time, but I have no doubt about that.”
His ears seemed to turn red. I was learning that Rush wasn’t comfortable taking compliments.
He stopped for a moment. “Anywhere you want to go before we head back?”
Starting to feel tired, I said, “I think I’d just like to go home. I have to write tonight.”
We started walking again when he asked, “How’s it coming anyway? The book?”
I sighed. “It’s not really…coming.”
His mouth twitched and he looked tense.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“You said coming. I lost my train of thought for a second.”
“Forgot I have to be careful with my words around you.” I winked.
“Seriously, though,” he said. “Why do you think you’re having so much trouble focusing?”
“I just can’t stop the self-doubt. I second-guess every word and erase what I wrote half of the time. It’s awful.”
Rush scratched his chin. “Why don’t you try to write as if no one is going to read it? Just say fuck it…and stop overthinking it. I bet if you go back and read what you wrote afterward, you’ll find it’s not even that bad. Having something down on paper is better than nothing at all.”
I pondered his advice. “So, pretend that no one will ever see it…”
“Yeah. If you find yourself stopping to think too much…just keep going…push through it. Worry about it later. Write the first thing that comes to mind and trust your instinct. You’re probably a way worse judge of yourself than anyone.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Anyway, who cares what people think? Write what you like…I bet it will turn out that’s what other people will like, too.”
Nodding, I considered his advice. “I’ll try to adopt that approach.” His words repeated it my mind and prompted me to say, “But that’s pretty ironic coming from you, don’t you think?”
“What part is ironic?”
“‘Who cares what people think?’ This from the guy who refuses to date an employee for fear of what everyone will think?”
He slowed his pace, looking a bit pissed at me for bringing this up. “It’s not about what people think, so much as the principle of the matter. As a business owner, you don’t date someone you employ. It’s unethical. It’s also ripe pickings for a lawsuit and that’s a headache I sure as hell don’t need.”