Chapter Nine #2
They finished the interview, which Susan assured him would be on the evening news.
Then he signed autographs for a few minutes until his driver showed up to escort him and Elizabeth to their hotel.
Hank sighed as he settled into the limo for the drive to their hotel.
He closed his eyes for a moment, remembering the delicious cookies and the sound of Bethany’s laugh when he’d left her kitchen.
“Now that we’ve got that out of the way,” Elizabeth said, looking at her phone, “you can catch some sleep, and we can have dinner tonight.”
Hank rubbed his whiskers. “Sleep sounds good, but I’ve already made dinner plans.”
“Who with? We’re supposed to fly out tomorrow, remember?”
“Yeah, let’s cancel that. We can fly out Monday. I want to stick around for a bit.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and she tilted her head. “What’s this about?”
“This is where I was born.” He hoped Elizabeth would let it go at that, but of course, she didn’t.
“Hank, who are you taking to dinner?”
He fumbled in the center bar for a glass and the bottle of Irish whiskey. “Bethany Parker.”
She crinkled her nose as if a decomposed body was hidden underneath the leather seat. “The owner of the restaurant? You must be kidding me. Whatever for?”
He poured the golden liquid into the glass and added ice chips. “I promised her I would.”
“Let’s get this straight. You’re staying in town to take out the restaurant owner you’re putting out of business? Not the wisest idea, Hank.”
He downed the whiskey, enjoying the familiar burn. “I never said it was wise. Just that I was doing it.”
Elizabeth made her I-can’t-believe-you’d-be-so-foolish face and pulled a glass from the bar along with a bottle of Shiraz.
“You’re asking for trouble. I’m sure she’s been throwing herself at you ever since you entered her restaurant.
You’re threatening her livelihood. Stands to reason that she’ll do anything to convince you not to open Fitaholics.
Besides, you should know better than to get involved with someone who clearly needs money. ”
“She’s not after my money. She barely acknowledged me today.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes toward the roof of the limo and took a sip from her glass.
“I’ve seen that act before. Women play hard to get all the time.
It’s the surest trick in the book to get a guy interested.
You should have seen her face today when I told her you owned the building.
You would have thought she’d lost a child.
Take it from me, the woman’s manipulating you. ”
Hank pictured Bethany as she’d sat across from him in the restaurant, her eyes lighting up while she talked about her parents and grandparents.
And the flicker of sympathy he’d caught when he’d told her about his parents.
There had been nothing artificial in either expression.
“I don’t believe she’s putting on an act. But does it matter? It’s one dinner.”
Elizabeth looked like she wanted to say more, but thankfully their driver pulled up to the hotel entrance, putting an end to the conversation.
“Get some rest, Hank,” Elizabeth said as she left him to enter her hotel room. “I’ll call you later to see how your evening went.”
He passed his security card across the lock as his phone buzzed. His assistant Pamela’s face flashed on the screen.
“Hi, Hank. You asked me to call you if I heard from the realtor about the house on West 10th Street. Well, he called today. The house you want is on the market. What do you want me to do? Should I make an offer on your behalf?”
Hank stilled in the doorway of the suite.
The plushness of the room could rival the best hotels in New York, but he paid little attention to the interior or his black suitcase, which the hotel staff had brought up earlier.
Adrenaline moved through his veins, causing his heartbeat to thrum a wild rhythm.
After all this time, the house would be his.
The house where he’d spent some of the happiest days of his childhood.
The house he associated with his grandparents and comfort and love. “Give them whatever they’re asking.”
“Got it.”
“Oh, and have my financial officer call me.”
Hank ended the call, kicked off his sandals, and settled himself on the bed. He should set an alarm, but he would only close his eyes for a second . . .
Hank blinked and peered around the dark room. Something had awakened him. A buzzing vibrated against his leg—his cell phone. He fiddled with the down comforter until he found it.
“Hello.” He cleared his voice in a futile effort to dispel the sleepiness.
“Hank, sorry if I woke you. It’s Dave Atkins from Sunrise Financial. Your assistant asked me to give you a call. She said you’re interested in purchasing a house in Cleveland?”
“That’s right.” Hank propped himself against the pillows, put the phone on speaker, and rubbed his groggy head. “Though that’s not why I asked you to call me. Listen, I took your advice and purchased the deed on the Parker building.”
“That’s an excellent move, Hank. Are we to go forward with the plans for the fitness center, then?”
Hank stretched his legs out in front of him. “Not yet. I’d like to continue to rent for the moment.”
“I wouldn’t advise that. According to the inspector, the building is in need of some immediate repairs. There are safety issues. It will take a considerable investment in the building to continue renting. Otherwise, you run the risk of lawsuits.”
Hank swung his legs over the side of the bed. “What kind of repairs?”
“Some items are simple. Lights that need to be replaced, cracks in the walls that need to be patched—that sort of thing. Others, such as water leaks and a parking lot with potholes are more extensive.”
Hank stood and flexed his arms. “I have a wild idea. I’m rather handy. Why don’t I take first stab at the repairs?”
“You, Hank?” His advisor sounded surprised. And who could blame him? Hank was a celebrity, not a handyman. “Don’t you have more important things to do?”
“Not for at least a month.” Hank crossed to the window and pulled the drapes open to view the city below. His city, now that he owned a piece of it. “My show’s been canceled. I don’t have another job lined up. This would be a productive use of my time.”
“But you can probably make more money doing appearances—commercials, speaking events, that sort of thing.”
“Maybe, but I don’t have anything lined up right now. I’ll spend some time in Cleveland.”
“Well . . . if you say so.” His advisor didn’t sound at all sure. In fact, he sounded a lot like Hank had just told him he wanted to join a monastery in Tibet.
“Do me a favor. Email me a list of the repairs the inspector identified, and I’ll take a look.”
“Very good. I’m on it.”
Hank ended the call. That’s when he noticed the time.
His stomach sank like he’d swallowed one of the hand-weights he’d lifted almost every day of his life.
It was eight-thirty. He was late for his dinner date with Bethany.
He searched the Internet for Grandma Lou’s number, tapped it into his phone, listened to Travis’s recorded voice telling him they were busy in the kitchen, and left a hurried message.
Since he had no idea where she lived, he would have Louis, his driver, drop him off at the restaurant.
He just hoped she’d get his message and wait for him.