Chapter 13
Craig walked around the perimeter of the building and away from the tremendous sounds of power saws, drills, and hammers that created a cacophony of coordinated chaos. Music to his ears.
It smacked of progress. And that was what he loved to hear.
The project was well underway. The contractors had given him a timeline.
By December, he would have his building. He already had the paperwork, the staff in mind.
He would pull from the local neighborhood. An old friend of his, Matthew LeBlanc, tall, black, and sturdy as an oak tree, and former military, would serve as administrator for what was going to be the boys' home.
As a former runaway juvenile himself, who had spent most of his young days as a ward of the state, he understood what was needed.
It wasn't going to be just a home; Craig had decided on that much when the idea formed. It was going to be more of a safe place for abused boys, a shelter from the metaphorical storm, a club where they would heal and study and play.
There was going to be a basketball court, a soccer field, and of course, baseball. Later on there would be a swimming pool and a place where they could learn to ride horses, all in suitable time.
But right now, he was raring to get started.
He was dividing his time at the corporate office. Christ, he was CEO of Muldoon Enterprises, a corporate figure, and he was trying his best not to freak out about it.
Fortunately for him, the management team and his assistant kicked ass.
He had avoided the company for obvious reasons, to piss the old man off after the way he'd treated his parents, and was now back, taking over.
And he liked it, he had to admit grudgingly. Not that he was ever going to mention it to the man.
He attended his first board meeting of the week, this morning, sat there and listened, made his contribution, signed off on some contracts, and okayed a few new ones.
Now he was here. The only thing he refused to do was wear a suit and a bloody tie.
That was commented on at the breakfast table. Another first, one that Regina had implemented.
"I don't eat breakfast," he had growled at her when she suggested it.
"You ate breakfast when we were at the cabin," she pointed out as she selected her clothing for the day. It thrilled him that they shared a bedroom and bathroom, and that he got to see her carry out her ritual for the morning.
He had made love to her this morning, waking her up with his hands and mouth, and sending them both into a spin of passion that had overflowed.
"That was not the norm."
She had sent him a cool look over her shoulder that had him frowning. "He's lonely."
"He drives people away."
"We eat breakfast with him. Stop being such a baby about it."
To his annoyance, he had hunched his shoulders. "He has a crush on you."
She had laughed that sultry, sexy laugh of hers and made him feel like an idiot.
"I'm flattered." Then she had disarmed and charmed him by winding her arms around his neck and kissing him until he was hot all over.
Christ! And the old man's face when he saw them both at the dining table in the smaller dining room had been priceless.
Shaking his head, he took a sip of coffee from his go cup and watched as men swarmed the roof.
"Looking good, my man," Matthew drawled in his Southern accent. Craig turned to look at him with a grin, taking in the burly figure and the shiny dome of his head.
The red plaid shirt he had on stretched across his broad shoulders and highlighted his bulging forearms.
"I didn't know you were coming by."
"I had someone take over for me at the restaurant." He shielded his eyes with one hand and squinted.
"I had to come and see for myself. You hired an army."
"The only way to get it done quickly. We're looking at a December opening, remember?"
"Yeah." Lowering his hand, Matthew took out a crushed packet of Marlboros, shook one out, his brow arching in inquiry.
When Craig shook his head, he clamped the cigarette between very white teeth and used the lighter. "I cannot wait."
"What're you going to do about the restaurant?"
"Maxine is dying to get rid of me." He grinned around his cigarette as he spoke of his wife of eight years.
"She has plans to introduce some Jamaican food, jerk chicken, oxtail, and all that. She's an enterprising woman, my Max."
"Sounds good."
"You should swing by with that supermodel wife of yours. I wouldn't mind getting another eyeful of her."
"Watch your tongue," Craig growled.
Matthew turned fully around to eye the man. He had met Craig Muldoon when he came into his restaurant one sultry afternoon right after losing his parents.
Matthew had seen the glazed look of grief in the younger man's eyes and brought him his famous red pea soup and a beer. He had kept an eye on him throughout the evening and eventually slid into the booth to join him.
The conversation had been casual on his part, but it had gotten Craig to open up and spew out his grief.
They had become fast friends after that.
"You're all the way gone, aren't you?" Matthew cackled.
"The love 'em and leave 'em Craig Muldoon is over the moon over a woman."
"Not just any woman," he muttered darkly. "Regina's special."
"She's out of your league, my friend."
"Don't I know it. Now shut up about it and let's go take a closer look."
"Right there with you. Did I mention her legs?"
He grinned at the murderous look he received. "Guess I won't then."
"Not if you value your life," Craig said.
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Regina did a jig around the recently polished and buffed floor. She was alone at the moment, the workmen having cut out for the day, so she could dance and kick up her heels.
It was coming together. The reception area was finished, the sleek red and blue signature colors shining in the recessed overhead lighting.
She wanted it elegant and bold and understated at the same time.
There were chairs, grouped together on either side. Eventually the double oak doors would be removed to be replaced by one-sided glass.
Windows gleamed and looked out towards a lush garden with trees and flowers blooming. She was going to hire a landscaper as well when the work on the building was completed.
It was two stories high. The second floor had offices, bathrooms, powder rooms, and two bedrooms for the models to relax and chill.
Her office was on the ground floor; she preferred to be in the mix of things.
She was already making a list of businesses she would target. Romano's for one.
She knew Monique and the woman was always open to innovative ideas. She already had Leesa and Kelly on board, which was a major deal.
It would be like a family, not some harried business run by someone who was just interested in the bottom line. No, she shook her head decisively.
This was going to be a caring agency where her models' mental health and emotional state came first.
She was going to get in touch with several magazines and get them interested in models who were real people: the harried housewife who took care of her family and made it a full-time job, the busy executive, the ordinary assistant buried under her work.
She was going to highlight the everyday woman in her natural habitat, with clothes to fit their needs.
She would offer makeovers for those busy women, one each month. A night on the town, or a weekend getaway, all expenses paid.
It was going to take some time, but she would get businesses on board. Craig said he would help.
Speaking of Craig, she sank down on the chair by the window and stared out at the blooming tulips. She had no idea what to do about him.
She loved being with him. Waking up in his bed was becoming as natural to her as breathing.
She was getting comfortable there.
He said he loved her, but how long would that last? She wondered as she fussed with the string of her blouse.
Until he got bored and moved on to the next target? No, she shook her head.
He wasn't like that. He- She jolted at the ringing of the bell.
Who the hell could that be? One of the workmen?
Perhaps he had forgotten something, some tool or the other.
Sighing softly, she rose, went to get the door, and pulled it open. Shock had her staring, her heart stopping and then picking up the beat.
She hadn't seen him in years, but there was no mistaking that face, because he had passed it on to his children. She and Dylan were dead ringers for the man standing just outside the doorway, a charming smile creasing his lips.
Douglas Graham did not look a day over forty even though he was in his early sixties. He was wearing a crisp linen suit, the color of fresh mushrooms, and had a woman with russet hair and limpid green eyes clinging to his arm.
Wife number six.
"Well, aren't you going to invite your daddy in?"
"What're you doing here?" Her voice was stiff, her posture rigid.
She could not move.
"I came to see you, of course." Stepping forward, he brushed past her.
"Quite a place you got here. Darling, this is my daughter, Regina. Gina, this is your step-mama, Mimi."
"Don't!" she said sharply when the woman started to extend a hand. "What the hell are you doing here?"
She rounded on him, her eyes flashing fire. "And how did you find me?"
His mouth tightened fractionally, causing the smile to slip slightly.
"You made the papers. Hooked yourself a multi-billionaire, did you?"
Understanding came and with it, the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. "What do you want?"
"How about a hug for your old man?"
She stepped back, the rage welling up inside her and threatening to spill over.
"I haven't seen you in what? Five years. You came to my mother's funeral with your latest wife, just breezed in and out like that, and you expect me to hug you? I would like you to leave, right now."
"You think because you're married to money, you're better than me?" He advanced, and to her shame, she took a step back and froze.
"I'm your old man and I need some help." His voice turned wheedling.
"I got into some trouble in Vegas, lost some money. Not much by your standards. Fifty grand. I'm sure you can more than afford it."