Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Alexander
“When’s Monte due back in New York?”
My sister, Phoebe Costa, rolls her eyes. “Why do you insist on asking that question every time I invite you over for dinner?”
I push the empty plate in front of me to the side. “Why do you insist on avoiding the question?”
She’s twenty-eight-years-old, a mom, and a third-grade teacher, but my sister still knows exactly how to annoy the hell out of me. Her tried-and-true approach of answering a question with a question irritates me, which is why she’s become an expert at it.
“I don’t want Alvin to overhear this conversation.” She glances over her shoulder at her son’s closed bedroom door. “Imagine you’re an almost ten-year-old kid and your father can only carve out two days a month for you.”
I can’t imagine it. I don’t want Alvin to live it, but his dad is a truck driver. He’s on the road constantly to help put food on the kitchen table in this two-bedroom house in Queens.
Phoebe was pregnant before she graduated from high school. Monte never wavered in his commitment to her and their baby.
They got married at city hall, Phoebe pushed back her college start date by a semester and with the help of Monte’s family, they flourished.
I wasn’t around.
I was in Europe studying piano and cello. That morphed into a passion for conducting which took me on a whirlwind tour of the globe.
I offered my support in the form of birthday and Christmas gifts sent from wherever I was.
Getting to know my nephew is my priority now that I’m renting an apartment in Manhattan.
“Monte isn’t sure he’ll make it back in time for Alvin’s birthday next week.” She twirls a strand of her blonde hair around her finger. “I convinced Alvin to invite a few of his friends from school over for pizza and birthday cake, but he’s going to be heartbroken if his dad doesn’t show.”
I don’t blame the kid.
“It’s a week from tomorrow. You’ll be here, right?” Her blue eyes latch onto mine. “You’re Alvin’s hero, Alex. He’s named after you.”
I laugh. “Monte told me you named him after me and his oldest brother, Vincent.”
“Since when do you listen to my husband?” She scoffs. “Alvin looks up to you. You’re the reason he loves playing piano.”
“He hates playing piano.”
“He hates it this week,” she clarifies with a smile. “How can piano compete with baseball when his favorite team is headed to the World Series?”
I scrub my hands over my face. I don’t need the reminder that my nephew loves the game and the pitcher who won the series last year.
An autographed Trey Hale jersey was up for auction last week at a charity event I attended. I outbid every other person in the room. Even if the money hadn’t been going to a worthwhile cause, I would have paid whatever it took to get my hands on it.
Alvin worships Hale and the jersey was supposed to be the first gift I’ve ever given my nephew face-to-face.
That plan was screwed up by my need to fuck a random woman last night.
Phoebe and I both turn at the sound of Alvin’s bedroom door opening. “Mom, I’m done my homework. I’ll load the dishwasher and then can I play a video game?”
“I still can’t believe you sent him to do his homework after dinner. He had all weekend to get it done.” I stand and grab my empty plate. “You’re a hard-ass.”
Alvin picks up Phoebe’s plate and his. He looks up at me. “You have no idea, Alex.”
Alex. I’ve always been Alex to this kid. The uncle designation is reserved for Monte’s brothers. They’ve been in his life from day one.
“You’ll fill me in sometime.” I nod toward the kitchen. “Let’s get the dishes done so you’ll have more time before bed to battle whatever demon is in your game.”
“It’s not a demon.” He moves to walk in front of me. “I’m more into strategy games. I like things that challenge me.”
So do I.
That’s why I’ve been thinking about the woman from the lingerie store.
Olivia Hull is beautiful and gutsy. The no-nonsense approach she took with me was as much of a turn-on as an annoyance.
I’ll take her advice and head back to the club where I met the woman I fucked last night. I hope to hell I’ll have the Hale jersey back in my hand before this day is over.
“This was your idea, Alexander.” Jack Pearce looks down at the watch on his wrist. “You’re late.”
Tossing my friend a smile, I pat him on the back. “I was in Queens having dinner with my sister and her son.”
He hands me a bottle of imported beer as I take a seat next to him. “I took the liberty of ordering for you.”
I’m grateful.
After I hopped on the subway and made it back to Manhattan, I hit up my place for a shower and change of clothes.
I traded the black dress pants and white button-down shirt for a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater.
Jack’s dressed in a two-piece gray suit and white dress shirt. It’s his standard attire on any given weekday.
He’s sporting a light growth of beard and his black hair is in need of a cut. His green eyes are zeroed in on my face.
He looks like he could use a visit to a barber and some sleep.
The man manages other people’s fortunes and as long as I’ve known him, his job is his life.
He’s on call twenty-four seven for all of his clients. I count myself among them.
We started as friends back in college and when I tasted success, it was Jack I turned to for guidance. He keeps my finances healthy so I can focus on building my career.
“I read your text.” He shakes his head as he surveys the packed dance floor. “Let me get the facts straight.”
I take a swig of the beer, knowing that he’s going to offer advice I haven’t asked for.
“You met a woman at this club last night. You took her home and fucked her. When you dozed off she left without her panties, but not before she helped herself to a baseball jersey you left in plain sight.”
I tip my bottle of beer in the air. “That sums it up.”
His gaze darts from the dance floor back to me. We’re in a private VIP area that Jack has access to. Last night I was on my own. I knew what I wanted so my time spent in the club was limited to just shy of thirty minutes.
That’s all it took for me to find a willing, unattached blonde.
“I take it the police aren’t working hard on the case?”
“I see no reason to involve them.” I wave away the idea with a brush of my hand in the air.
He lets out a laugh. “It’s their job.”
“I’m not saying that something like this would draw the interest of the press, Jack.” I take a drink. “It’s a stolen baseball jersey, not a Rolex, but I don’t want any unnecessary publicity before…”
“Before you take the stage next month?” He arches a dark brow. “I get it. You’re trying to keep a low profile.”
I pause. “Chances are the jersey will show up on an online auction site or at a pawn shop. I don’t have time to hunt it down. I’m here tonight to see if the woman I took home last night shows. If she does, I’ll persuade her to give it back if she still has it.”
“Or she’ll persuade you to buy it back for the right price.” He looks over at the dance floor again. “Give me a description of her.”
“She’s in her early thirties, maybe five-foot-four or five, blonde hair halfway down her back, brown eyes.” I close my eyes in an attempt to stir my memory. “She has a tattoo on her left wrist. I think it’s an arrow.”
“I can work with that.” He pushes up from the bar stool and buttons his suit jacket. “Let’s divide and conquer. If your little thief is here, we’ll find her.”