He answered with a nod, then tacked on, “It’s a requirement of anyone volunteering to work with—or around—kids.”
“And you passed the background test?”
“And I passed the background test.”
His voice, last time she’d heard it, had been shaky and almost timid. Not so anymore. Given the opportunity, he could easily find work recording voice-over commercials or substitute for a radio DJ instead of Avery Hudson’s stand-in dad. His “I’m meeting you for the first time” act was flawless, too, a talent no doubt honed at Lincoln. A slight shiver zipped up her spine: What else had he learned there?
Stan gave Ian’s shoulder a brotherly squeeze. “This place is a madhouse.” He drew Ian and Maleah closer in a three-way hug. “So here’s what you two are going to do...” The only thing separating them was Stan’s ponderous belly. That, and years of artificial indifference. Ian’s dark eyes bored into hers, exactly the way he had when they were younger—and in love.
Quiet laughter rumbled from Stan’s chest. “You’re going to leave here, right now, for someplace quiet. So you can discuss how best to put Ian to use. He’s a talented artist, and knows his way around a kitchen, too.”
He leaned forward to glance at his wristwatch, and in the process, moved Maleah closer still to Ian.
“What time does your place close on Sunday nights?”
Ian’s voice was guarded when he said, “Six.”
“Why so early?”
“Most of my employees are married, with kids. Tomorrow is a school day.”
So Ian hadn’t been a guest at the bistro on the night of Kent’s party? He owned it?
Stan winked at Maleah. “See there? Didn’t I tell you he was a good guy?”
He didn’t give her a chance to respond. Instead, Stan released her, then Ian.
“Here’s an idea... I’ll have my driver take you over there. You can take a look at his paintings, maybe even get a bite of his famous cheesecake.” He gestured, bringing their attention to the crowd. “Lord knows you can’t make plans here.”
“Plans?” Maleah echoed.
He looked at her as if she’d grown a second nose.
“Finding out which of your volunteers is best suited to do what needs doing, of course.” He chuckled. “You’re pullin’ my leg, aren’t you?” And looking at Ian, Stan added, “This gal has pulled off some of the best functions I’ve ever attended.”
He frowned as an announcement crackled through the overhead speakers.
“See what I mean? You can’t make any good decisions with all this going on. So how about it? Can I have my driver run you over there?”
“Curious as I am to see the inside of that presidential-looking SUV of yours, I rode my Harley,” Ian said. “I need to balance the checkbook. And I haven’t made up next week’s schedule yet.” Eyes on Maleah, he added, “The bistro is closed on Mondays. Maybe tomorrow, when you get off work?”
She didn’t want to be alone with him, not tomorrow, not ever. But Stan and the facility director had been college roommates. Rejecting his idea was the equivalent to an insult, to him and her boss.
“We don’t need a face-to-face meeting, Stan. That’s what telephones and email and text messages are for.”
Stan waved the idea away. “Later, maybe, once you’ve got things nailed down. But I didn’t get where I am by taking the easy way out during the planning phases of any project.” He looked from Maleah to Ian and back again. “Neither of you strikes me as the type to take shortcuts.”
His challenge hung in the air between them. From the look on Ian’s face, Maleah realized Stan’s pull extended beyond facilities like Washburne.
Another notice blared from the overhead speakers.
Ian winced. “You make a good point, Stan, but so does Ms. Turner. We can accomplish a lot through texts and emails.”
“Nonsense.”
His jovial demeanor turned coolly professional, as quick as the flip of a switch.
“Look. Kids. I don’t like to throw my weight around,” he said, “but when I funnel a six-figure donation into a project, I expect things will get done correctly. And leaving contrails through cyberspace is not my idea of efficient.”
Ian shifted his weight from the right foot to the left. Nodding slowly, he stared at the floor between his polished black biker boots. Hands pocketed, he lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “Stan, c’mon. Be reasonable. Even you have to admit this whole in-person planning idea was kinda last minute. Give us a day to shift things around on our calendars at least. Can we get back to you?”
He met Maleah’s eyes. “Don’t mean to be presumptuous. In your position as Assistant VP of...” Grinning—but only barely—he said, “Sorry, but I forget the rest of your title.”
It stunned her to learn he knew anything about what she did for a living. Stan must have filled him in...
“Point being,” Ian continued, “you have other department heads to deal with. Autistic kids’ parents. The kids themselves. And since I don’t have that problem over at the bistro, how about if you call me when you find a hole in your calendar, we’ll discuss a convenient time to get together.”
Thanks a bunch, Stan. If she said yes, Maleah had to meet with Ian. And if she said no, Stan might get the impression she wasn’t up to the job. And it galled her that, either way, it was a win for Ian.
“Might as well get it over with.”
Instantly, she regretted her choice of words.
“That didn’t come out quite the way I intended it.” A nervous giggle punctuated her sentence. “What I meant was...it seems both Mr. Sylvestry and I have time, right now. So if you’re amenable, I’ll meet you at your restaurant in—”
The switch flipped again, and Stan’s boisterous laughter all but drowned out the drone of yet another broadcast.
“What’s with all this Mr. and Ms. Stuff? You’re going to be working together. Closely. For at least the next three weeks, minimum. Read my lips and repeat after me: Mah-lee-ah. Eee-yen.” When they didn’t respond, he grabbed their jaws and repeated his instructions.
“Okay, all right,” Ian said, taking a step back from Stan. He met Maleah’s eyes. “I’ll head over to the bistro and wait for you... Maleah.”
He’d said something eerily similar on the night he presented the little silver band...
If Stan hadn’t been there, waiting and watching, she might have suddenly remembered an important appointment.
“I have a few things to finish up in my office, and then I’ll be right over.”
“See? Now was that so hard?” Stan smirked. “Do I know how to make things happen, or do I know how to make things happen!”
If only she could hold him accountable if things went sideways—and they probably would—and she ended up firing Ian?
“IT’S A LOVELY old building,” Maleah said, leaning into the deck rail. “And the view, well, it’s priceless.”
He’d half expected her to berate him for agreeing with Stan. And for every awful thing that might have happened to her since the guards carted him off that day. During the drive from the