4. Sadie
4
SADIE
“ I t’s Sadie now,” I say to Cale. “Or you can stick to Mercedes if you prefer to be formal. No one has called me Scraps since my acne and braces era.”
Not entirely true. Hadley still calls me that every chance she gets. But she’s Hadley so there’s no reason to ever expect any better.
“Sadie,” says Cale. My name rolls off his tongue slowly, like he’s analyzing the way it tastes. His eyes are a startling shade of green and they study me carefully. I couldn’t begin to guess what’s going on behind them.
“Yup,” I say, slightly unnerved. “Sadie.”
The tortoiseshell clip that was tenuously securing my hair in a clumsy updo picks this second to spring open. Thick red curls that have been the bane of my existence since childhood tumble over my shoulders and the clip falls to the marble floor.
Cale is far quicker than me. He moves with athletic speed as he leans down, swipes the clip off the floor and deposits it in front of my plate.
“Thanks,” I grumble, both impressed and embarrassed.
There’s no point in trying to fix my hair. I tuck a few loose curls behind my ears and shove the clip into a wristlet that contains only my cell phone and a pack of Juicy Fruit gum.
Cale returns to studying me. Maybe studying is the wrong word. Appraising feels more accurate. Not in a hot way. I may not be the world’s biggest beauty queen but I’m not bad and I’ve been eyed by enough men to understand what it looks like when they’re interested in more than a handshake.
No, Cale stares at me as if I’m a chessboard he’s strategizing over. And he’s obviously a player who is used to winning.
Seconds pass. A ripple of laughter bounces off the walls and a woman’s drunk off key voice starts belting out Frosty the Snowman even though Silent Night is the song currently playing.
“How have you been, Cale?” It’s the only harmless question that comes to mind when you find yourself sitting across from a mob overlord who used to go swimming in your backyard.
“No complaints,” Cale says and rubs at his chin, which is sporting at least a day of dark stubble.
Funny how he’s the same age as Baylor but doesn’t wear the years in the same way. Baylor is groomed and plucked to within an inch of his life and there’s nothing natural about his tanning bed glow. He’s aiming for the image of responsible adult while also putting out all the stops to fend off any sign of aging. Earlier, I caught him checking out his reflection in one of the Christmas tree ornaments.
Cale, however, is unshaven, his black suit appears somewhat rumpled, and tattoos peek out where the two top buttons of his white shirt are open. Cale would never be looking at his face in a Christmas ornament because Cale wouldn’t be seeking anyone’s approval.
“Who is he?” Cale asks.
“Who is who?”
He jerks his head. “The upper crust stiff who keeps eyeballing you like you pissed in his wine.”
I stifle a snort. “I didn’t piss in his wine. I just told him cows will be flying before I say the words ‘I do’.”
“Ah, so that’s Grant Gallant.”
“Grant Gallant the Third. Wait, how did you know about him?”
Cale doesn’t answer the question. He just turns his head and takes a look over his shoulder. It’s not a long staring contest. Grant flinches, whips his head in the other direction and then tugs Francesca toward the exit.
Cale huffs out a low chuckle, turns back around and analyzes me for a few more seconds. “You’re afraid of him.”
“No. But we didn’t end on friendly terms. So I’d rather not wish him a merry Christmas.”
Cale’s eyes flash. That’s only a slight exaggeration. Something dangerous stirs in his expression. My claim that I’m not afraid of Grant hasn’t fooled him at all.
He leans back in his chair. A shard of black hair falls over his forehead. Two tables away, a pair of women nudge each other as they openly stare at him.
I can’t blame them. The raw, magnetic sex appeal just rolls off the guy in blistering waves. If Cale stood up and removed his shirt, someone might faint. That someone might be me.
What an odd thought.
Must be low blood sugar or something. I haven’t seen Cale Connelly in about a decade and I probably won’t see him again for at least another decade.
Not that I’m unhappy about this. If rumors are correct, and rumors often are, then Cale is up to his eyeballs in his uncle’s organized crime empire. I don’t know exactly what that means or what he does but I’ve seen movies. Lots of guns and cursing and sweaty men dumping bodies into dark water.
No thanks.
As for any fleeting fantasies of Cale’s bare chest, I’m just deprived. That’s all. I’ve been sleeping alone since escaping from my disaster of an ex-fiancé.
“Do you still live next door?” I ask. I see no reason to be impolite. Cale did succeed in chasing Grant out of the room so I can spare a few minutes to talk.
“Not for a long time. I’ve got a place in the city.”
“That must be nice.”
“It is when I get to see it. I’m out of town a lot.”
I’d rather not think about what he does when he’s out of town. Instead, I wrack my brain for safer topics.
“So what’s Luca been up to? Last I heard he was going to school down south.”
Cale’s brother is a year older than me but we never knew each other well. He went to the public high school and played football. He was an outgoing, good looking kid, forever popular, kept out of trouble. We just didn’t run in the same crowds.
A hint of a smile pulls at the corners of Cale’s mouth as he speaks of his brother. “Luca’s doing really well. He went to college in Georgia and now he’s at law school in Miami.”
“Good for him. A tropical beach doesn’t sound half bad right now.”
Despite the presence of all these people it’s damn cold in here. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if my father actually has the air conditioning on. He has a deep hatred of stuffy rooms. My arms prickle from the chill. As soon as I escape this conversation I think I’ll run upstairs for one of the cardigan sweaters crocheted by Peggy.
“I assumed you’d prefer the snow to the beach,” Cale says.
“You mean because I live in Colorado? Did Baylor tell you all about that too? Did you guys talk about anything else besides me?”
“Yes. We talked about his political campaign and his new wife.”
“Both of them stink. The campaign and the wife.”
Cale stares for a second and then breaks into a real smile. He sure is nice to look at. “You’re all right, Sadie. I think I can help you.”
“Okay. But who says I need help?”
He stands and shrugs out of his blazer. Then he promptly drapes it over my shoulders like a cape. I’m too surprised to do anything but silently agree as I’m enveloped in Cale’s jacket. It comes equipped with Cale’s residual body warmth and an addictive smell of spiced aftershave.
“You looked cold,” he explains once he’s sitting across the table again. His shirt is casually rolled to the elbows, exposing more ink.
He saw me rubbing my arms and shivering. I sure hope my nipples aren’t outlined. That would be mortifying. I pull the edges of the jacket together, just in case. “My dad always keeps the house arctic. It’s as if he thinks we’re all reptiles. So thanks for the jacket.”
The women at the next table, the ones who were checking Cale out a minute ago, are still keenly observing our entire interaction. One smiles. The other wears a sour frown.
“Tell me about your ranch,” Cale says.
Cale has managed to guess my favorite topic of conversation. He may regret it. Once I start talking about the ranch it’s tough to turn me off.
“Bright Hearts Ranch. The original owners called it Desperado Fields but that was the first thing to go. Our goal is to provide sanctuary for animals in the hopes of adopting them out to permanent homes and there have been a lot of hiccups along the way but we, that is me and all the volunteers, do the best we can to stretch our resources and accept as many animals as possible. Dogs and cats mainly. For a little while we had a falcon with an injured wing. Gus is like the Animal Whisperer and helped him rehabilitate. It was a huge celebratory moment when he was healed enough to fly away on his own. It’s my goal to make the necessary barn repairs so that we can start taking horses. You wouldn’t believe how many calls we get about horses that have nowhere to go. And of course there’s always a need for more space for all other creatures large and small.”
As I prattle on and on, Cale listens to every word. His eyes don’t stray once. Even if he’s merely being polite, this is a welcome change of pace. Not a single member of my family is ever remotely interested in my life’s passion. They think I’m insane. A massive embarrassment to the esteemed Wingate lineage.
When I need to pause and take a breath, Cale finally asks a question. “How do you raise funds?”
“Well, it’s a nonprofit of course. We receive donations. Occasionally we hold local adoption events and that helps with fundraising. Some money comes in from the online store where I sell merchandise with our logo but I haven’t been able to devote much time to that venture.”
“And you can’t keep your head above water.”
He says it matter-of-factly. Not a question. Baylor must have told him that too.
My pride feels a little dented, even if the statement is accurate. “Raising cash for a charitable enterprise is a struggle even in the best of times.”
He considers this and seems to find it amusing. “So you came home to beg the Bank of Wingate for a bailout.”
Talk about touching a nerve. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“No real bank would give you a loan?”
“Already drowning in loans.” With delinquency fees and excessive interest but no need to advertise the full scope of my desperation.
“Have you already asked everyone there is to ask?”
“I asked my father. I asked Baylor. I suppose I could go stand on the buffet table and scream out a general plea but I have a feeling that won’t be well received.”
“You haven’t asked me.”
Him? The idea of asking Cale Connelly for anything more significant than the time of day never crossed my mind.
He waits, eyeing me with patience. He’s not smiling and I have no reason to believe he’s joking. All the negative thoughts I’ve ever had about Cale dissolve like fog in a ray of sunshine and words begin tumbling out of my mouth.
“Cale, I would give you a complete accounting for every single penny. I swear. And I can show you exactly what kind of work we do and of course you are welcome to fly to Colorado and tour the ranch yourself. Currently we have ten cats, five rabbits and thirty-three dogs. You can even stay at the house if you want to. We have guest rooms.”
I’m practically hyperventilating at this point.
Cale hasn’t even blinked while I was running my mouth. That’s probably not true. I’m just distracted. Those inscrutable green eyes are still attached to a human and humans blink constantly.
However, it is unnerving the way he just continues to stare in silence.
More beats of silence pass and I struggle with the urge to poke him in the arm to make sure he’s not daydreaming.
Cale doesn’t appear to be in any hurry to end the silence and now I’m worried I’m failing to impress him in a crucial way. Perhaps he’s waiting for something more heartfelt than audit promises and animal lists.
“Any amount helps,” I say. “And just the fact that you’re willing to donate to the ranch truly means the world to me.”
There is a rather thorny question about where those funds might be coming from. Nobody’s ever given me a list of Amato family business ventures but it doesn’t take much imagination to conclude that much of their wealth has shady origins. I certainly can’t come right out and ask. That would be impolite.
While I cringe inwardly and grapple with my conscience, Cale rediscovers his voice.
“I’m not,” he says and finally breaks eye contact to drain the rest of his champagne glass.
I watch his throat bob. He can even make swallowing look sexy.
“You’re not what?”
Cale sets the glass down. “Not willing to donate. Or give you a loan.”
“You’re not?”
“Nope.”
All positive thoughts about Cale are revoked. Maybe this is how he has fun, by raising hopes and then dashing them to smithereens.
Not cool, not cool at all.
If there’s one thing I’ve had enough of today, it’s people who are not cool.
Plus he’s landed a blow at a particularly vulnerable moment. I’d like to hurl his spicy smelling jacket in his smug face and declare that his tattoos look stupid.
The last part isn’t really true but why does that matter?
A sexy jerk is still a jerk.
But I can’t afford to make a scene, and anyway, I have class. Plus I don’t want to end up sleeping with the fishes or whatever these gangster types do when someone annoys them.
As Cale gazes at me with an expression close to amusement, I gather the shreds of my dignity and stand up just so I can look down on him.
“You’ll have to excuse me now.”
This dude really must have supernatural reflexes. I don’t even get to take a step before my chair connects with the back of my knees and I’m plunked back down where I started.
“No,” he says.
“What did you do that for?”
“You’re not excused yet.”
Stuck in the valley between outrage and panic, I consider my options.
I could start screaming.
Something like, “Help! Help! The hot mafia neighbor is forcing me to talk to him.”
People will stare. Someone will have their phone camera ready. The moment will probably wind up in a viral social media loop. My father definitely won’t loan me any money to save the ranch. He probably won’t even let me stay for Christmas dinner.
Or I could just run. I’m not fast and Cale is probably very fast. However, given how calm and collected he is I doubt it’s his style to tackle me in front of an audience. I’ll leave that as a last resort.
Cale watches me wrestle with my thoughts. Despite the rumors of his profession, he doesn’t come off as remotely threatening. And now I’m truly curious.
“What exactly do you want, Cale?”
“I told you what I want. I want to help you.”
All right, I overreacted. No need to run or scream. “You want to help me save the ranch?”
“That’s what I just said.”
“You also said you wouldn’t donate or give me a loan.”
“True. I look at it as more of a business proposition.”
I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. “Great. I’m all ears.”
“Not here. Let’s take a drive and talk it out. My car’s parked right outside.”
“A drive? Like just the two of us?”
“Do you require a chaperone?”
“No.” I chew the inside of my cheek. It’s an old childhood habit that sometimes strikes in tense moments. Stepmother Number Two used to say it made me look like a deformed seal. “But I can’t just leave the party. My father will see it as a sign of disrespect.”
“Sadie, your father couldn’t give less of a shit if you’re here or not.”
Ouch.
Likely true but…
Ouch.
Cale stands and extends his hand. “We’re leaving.”
After hesitating for only a split second, I take the hand he’s offering. I’m feeling a bit rattled right now so the sudden charged electricity of his touch is a lot to grapple with. Then, to my surprise, Cale circles a firm arm around my waist and leads me to the door.
We pass a sea of faces and some of them raise an eyebrow. Grant’s angry glare skirts into my vision and I shudder.
Cale tightens his arm around my waist and bends closer to my ear. “Don’t look so nervous. I’m not as bad as you think I am.”
I have no idea whether or not I should believe him.
But for now I’m going to play along.