Buch lesen: «The Redemption of Rico D'Angelo»

CHAPTER ONE

RICO STARED AT the application in front of him—again—before blowing out a breath and slumping in his chair. He’d had such high hopes for this project—hopes of finding someone as fantastically enthusiastic about it as he was.

His lips twisted. Hopes of finding someone not only fantastically enthusiastic but with first-rate qualifications and solid experience to bring to the table as well. A day and a half into the interviews, however, and he’d found he could kiss that notion goodbye.

He straightened. Punching a button on his intercom, he barked, ‘Is Janeen Cuthbert here yet, Lisle?’

‘Not yet, but there’s still ten minutes until her appointment.’

‘Thanks.’

Wasn’t it an unspoken rule to arrive ten minutes early for a job interview? He scowled at the wall opposite. Restaurant managers, it seemed, worked to their own schedules. Not that Hobart’s restaurant managers were beating a path to his door for the opportunity to run a charity café.

He slammed Janeen Cuthbert’s file shut.

Pressing thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose, he tried to breathe through the pounding at his temples, tried to push it back and concentrate. He’d thought he’d be able to find one community-inspired restaurant manager with a few street smarts in this rotten city.

He wasn’t greedy. He only wanted the one. How hard could that be?

He’d had community-inspired people, all right. He’d had sunny, bright and earnest applicants without a scrap of experience between them. Nice people. But he could see the likely outcome all too vividly. The boys would walk all over them, would dishearten and disillusion them. There’d be tears and tantrums. And then they’d be gone, leaving him in the lurch. This project was too important to risk that.

He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to two. If Janeen Cuthbert wasn’t here at two on the dot then she could just turn around again and march straight back home. She might at least have worked in a café, but he needed someone who would take this job seriously. He needed someone fully committed to making this café work.

For the next five minutes he drummed his fingers against his desk. He didn’t turn to look out of his window at the busy Hobart thoroughfare below. His wasn’t one of the offices that afforded a glimpse of the harbour. As he was rarely in his office, however, he didn’t much care. As a project manager, he didn’t even have his own secretary. He had to share Lisle with two other governmental project officers. He didn’t much care about that either. He’d long since come to the conclusion that if you wanted a job done, you did it yourself.

He glanced at his watch. Two p.m.

He went to push the button on the intercom, but Lisle beat him to it. ‘Janeen Cuthbert is here for her two o’clock appointment, Rico.’

He gritted his teeth and swallowed. ‘Send her in.’

He counted to three. A soft knock sounded on his door. He swore under his breath. That knock was too soft. It was the kind of knock that lacked backbone. His hands fisted. Darn it! He’d had enough of sweet and nice and inefficient to last him a lifetime.

He tried to uncurl his lip. ‘Come in.’

When he clapped eyes on his penultimate interviewee, however, he immediately reassessed his prior judgement. Ms Cuthbert didn’t look as if she lacked a backbone. In fact, she looked boiling mad, as if she were about to explode. She hid it well, but he’d spent too many hours working with troubled youths not to recognise the signs—the glitter in her eyes, the colour high on her cheekbones and the flared nostrils. Even if it was all tucked away beneath a polite smile.

He stared at her and his shoulders unhitched a fraction. She might be a lot of things, but he was suddenly certain the one thing she wasn’t was meek and mild.

‘Mr D’Angelo?’

He kicked himself forward from behind his desk. ‘Yes.’

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Neen Cuthbert.’

She strode across to him, hand extended. It was bright red, as if it had recently been scrubbed to within an inch of its life. He briefly clasped it and then stepped back. She wasn’t wearing pantyhose and her knees were bright red too.

It wasn’t her hands or her knees that held his attention, though. Her dove-grey suit sported four equidistant pawprints—two on her thighs and two just above her breasts. No amount of scrubbing could hide those. For the first time in two days he found himself biting back a smile.

When his gaze returned to her face, her chin went up a notch, as if daring him to say one word about those pawprints.

‘I’m pleased to meet you, Neen.’ He kept his voice even and some of the glitter eased from her eyes. He pursed his lips and then shook his head. ‘I suspect your afternoon has been as stressful as mine.’

A flash of humour lit up her face. ‘It’s that obvious, huh?’ She glanced down at the pawprints, her lips twisting. ‘It has been something of a trial,’ she allowed.

‘Please, take a seat.’ He motioned to a chair. Moving back around his desk, he stabbed a finger to his intercom. ‘I know it’s going above and beyond, Lisle, but could we possibly have coffee in here?’

‘Coming right up,’ she shot back cheerfully.

To his mind, the other two project managers took thorough advantage of their shared secretary. Rico didn’t see coffee making as part of Lisle’s duties. In this instance, though, he was prepared to make an exception.

‘That was kind of you.’ Neen’s glance was direct. ‘Truly, though, you didn’t have to do that on my account.’

He waved that away. ‘You may not thank me once you’ve tasted it.’ It wouldn’t be café standard by any means. ‘But, to be perfectly frank, I could do with a hit of caffeine.’

‘I take it your interviews aren’t going well?’

He stiffened at her question, realising how unprofessional he must appear. He shifted on his chair, fighting a frown. He’d let his guard down. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

He shook his head. He needed a holiday.

He shook it again. He didn’t have time for a holiday.

‘It’s hardly surprising, though, is it?’ she said, obviously misinterpreting the shaking of his head. ‘You want a highly qualified and experienced restaurant manager, but the wage you’re offering is hardly attractive.’

‘And yet you applied.’

She pointed to her file on his desk. ‘As you’ll have no doubt ascertained from my résumé, I’m not what you’d call highly experienced.’

‘And yet you still applied?’

‘And you decided to interview me.’

Okay, she definitely had backbone. She might not be cheerful and earnest, but she definitely had backbone, and that trumped cheerful and earnest any day. At least for this particular job.

Lisle came in with two steaming coffees. After she’d left he asked, ‘What happened?’ He gestured to the pawprints.

He made it a vague gesture, because he didn’t want her to think he was checking out her chest. He hadn’t been going to ask, but her criticism of the wage he was offering made him dispense with the niceties. Besides, he held those pawprints entirely responsible for his momentary lapse. If he found the answer to their mystery, he could then concentrate on getting this interview, and himself, firmly back on track.

She’d started to lift her mug, but at his words she set it back down with a thump. She didn’t spill a single drop, though. ‘Nothing today is going as planned. I came in here prepared with a pretty speech about why I’m the best applicant for your job. Instead I make snarky comments about the remuneration package and...’

Just for a moment her shoulders sagged. In the next instant, however, she straightened them again. Her eyes suddenly danced and she seized her coffee and sipped it.

‘I mean to enjoy this,’ she raised her mug in his direction, ‘because I’m guessing it doesn’t much matter what I say from here on. And after the day I’ve had I’m not going to beat myself up about it.’

She was mistaken if she thought she was out of the running. Not that he had any intention of telling her so. Yet. ‘Well?’ He raised an eyebrow.

She cradled her mug in her hands and crossed her legs. One of those red knees peeped out at him. ‘My flaky neighbour has landed me with her dog—gifted him to me, would you believe?—while she jets off to Italy for some indefinite amount of time on multiple modelling contracts.’

He gestured. Again, vaguely. ‘So the dog...?’

‘Montgomery.’

‘Did that?’

‘He did a whole lot more than that. You should see the state of my navy suit and my pantyhose.’

She lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip. He watched, fascinated, as she closed her eyes in what he guessed was bliss. He reached for his own mug and took a sip too. It was good. He let out a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. The tightness in his shoulders eased a fraction more.

‘It’s hardly Monty’s fault, though. Audra’s never trained him, and at fourteen months he’s not much more than a puppy still.’

He stared at those pawprints. ‘What kind of puppy?’

‘A Great Dane.’ She shook her head in disgust. ‘No pretty little Chihuahua or toy poodle for Audra. Oh, no. She thought that a cliché. She wanted to be the model with the Great Dane. She thought the photo opportunities would be fabulous.’

‘But?’

She suddenly grinned. It changed her entire bearing. Backbone: tick. Sense of humour: tick. Whoever won the position would need both of those in spades.

‘Oh, the photo opportunities were there, but unfortunately they weren’t to Audra’s advantage.’

A chuckle broke free from his throat. The images Neen’s quick sketch evoked were alive in his mind. ‘Why did you agree to take him?’

‘Ah, well, that would be because she snuck him into my apartment while I was in the shower, left a note explaining it all and then hightailed it for the airport.’

The act of someone who knew Neen couldn’t be taken advantage of. ‘What are you going to do with Monty?’

He shifted on his chair. Would she call the pound? He could hardly blame her. But...

‘I guess I’ll have to find a home for him.’ She sent him a smile of such extraordinary sweetness it momentarily stole his breath. ‘Mr D’Angelo,’ she purred. ‘You look exactly like a man in need of a dog.’

He stared. He floundered. Finally common sense reasserted itself. ‘I’m not home often enough. It wouldn’t be fair to the dog.’ Inside him, a grin built. The minx!

All of her sweetness vanished. ‘If only everyone who decided to get a dog had half as much foresight,’ she muttered, and the grin inside him grew. ‘There should be some kind of dog-ownership test that people have to pass before they’re allowed to get a dog.’

‘The same could be said for having kids.’

She stared at him for a moment. ‘Your troubled youth, huh?’

‘Disadvantaged,’ he corrected.

‘Semantics,’ she shot back.

‘I’m not saying they don’t have issues. But all they need is a chance.’ Which was where he came in. ‘The purpose of the café is to train underprivileged youths in basic waiting and kitchen-hand skills, with a view to finding them permanent employment in the hospitality industry.’

She drained her mug, set it on the desk and then leaned towards him, her eyes suddenly earnest. ‘Mr D’Angelo, I wish you every luck in your endeavour. I also thank you for the brief respite and the coffee.’

‘Neen, you’re not out of the running.’

She’d started to rise, but at his words she fell back into her chair. She gaped at him. ‘I’m not?’

‘No.’

Her eyes suddenly narrowed. ‘Why not?’

He laughed. It was sudden and sharp and took him completely by surprise. But...a healthy dose of suspicion wouldn’t go astray in the job either, and Neen was ticking all his boxes. ‘Not all the applicants have been a total waste of time,’ he assured her. ‘There’s a couple who have potential.’

‘But?’

‘I’m questioning their commitment.’

She sat back and folded her arms. ‘Why aren’t you questioning mine?’

He didn’t even need to think about it. ‘You’re honest, and I need that in an employee. You also have grit and a sense of humour, and I suspect both of those traits will be necessary in this particular job.’

She unfolded her arms. ‘So you’re not going to sugarcoat the position and tell me it’s the job of a lifetime?’

‘It’ll be a challenge, but a rewarding one.’

‘Hmm.’ She didn’t look convinced on that last point.

‘And you’re a dog-lover.’ That made a difference. Dog-lovers generally got on well with kids, and—

‘No, I’m not.’

He blinked.

‘I loathe dogs. I can’t stand them. They’re noisy, smelly, stupid creatures. I’d much rather have a cat.’

It was his turn to gape. ‘But you’re still trying to find Monty a home. You haven’t given him up to the pound.’

‘It’s not the dumb dog’s fault his owner has abandoned him.’

He leaned towards her. ‘That means, then, Neen Cuthbert, that you’re a person of integrity. And that definitely ticks my boxes.’ The day suddenly seemed much much brighter.

‘What about my lack of experience?’

Her lack of experience was an issue, but... He pulled her résumé towards him. ‘You’ve been working in the hospitality industry in one shape or another since you finished high school eight years ago.’

She nodded. ‘I’ve been a waitress, a short-order cook, and I’ve worked for two big-name catering firms.’

None of her positions, however, had carried the title of restaurant manager. ‘I see you recently completed a small business course?’

‘My long-term goal is to open my own café.’

‘That’s ambitious.’

‘I think one should dream big, don’t you?’

He did.

‘What do you think you can bring to the advertised role, Neen?’

Her eyes danced again. ‘Besides honesty, grit, a sense of humour and integrity, you mean?’

She was right. He opened his mouth. With a superhuman effort he snapped it shut again. He still had one more applicant to interview. And he wasn’t given to impulsive gestures or decisions.

She sobered. ‘I’ll work hard, Mr D’Angelo. That’s what I have to offer you.’

The way she said it made it sound like the most valuable thing in the world. And it occurred to him that perhaps it was.

‘I’ve been acting manager on numerous occasions at most of the establishments I’ve worked for, but it has never been part of my job description. I want the experience your job will provide me. In return for that I will work hard. And I won’t let you down.’

He believed her. There was just one final question. No, two. ‘Why are you currently unemployed?’

She hesitated. ‘There are personal reasons.’

He leaned back and waited to see if she would tell him.

She stared at him as if assessing him, as if weighing whether he needed to know the truth and if she could trust him with it. Eventually she lifted one shoulder. ‘Earlier in the year I was left an inheritance. I planned to put the dream of my own café into action at once.’ She smoothed her hair back behind her ears. ‘The will, however, is being contested.’

She didn’t need to tell him what a blow that had been. He could see that all too clearly. ‘I’m sorry.’

She lifted her chin. Her cool blue eyes were veiled. ‘These things happen. Until it’s sorted out it seemed wise to find another job.’

She obviously wasn’t the kind to sit back and wring her hands. He had the distinct impression that, like him, in times of stress she liked to keep busy.

He picked up his pen and tapped it against her file. ‘One final question. Would you be prepared to sign a two-year contract?’

‘No.’ She spoke without hesitation.

The weight slammed back to his shoulders. The day went dank and grey.

‘I would be prepared to sign a twelve-month contract.’

It was something, he supposed. But it wasn’t enough. It was a shame, because on every other point Neen Cuthbert had been perfect.

* * *

The next morning Rico sifted through his shortlist of three applicants. He rang the nominated referees for his first two choices.

He discounted the most experienced after speaking to the man’s former employer. ‘Talented pastry chef with five years’ worth of managerial experience’ did not make up for ‘hot-headed and temperamental’. Hot-headed and temperamental were the last things this project needed. He needed a manager who would create a nurturing environment.

Nurturing and no-nonsense. Which immediately brought Neen Cuthbert to mind.

He thrust her out again and checked the references for his other shortlisted candidate. They were impeccable.

On impulse he seized Neen’s file and rang her referees too. Their testimonials were glowing. If he didn’t give her the job they’d take her back in an instant. ‘I want the experience.’

Rico chewed the end of his pen. He paced the length of his office. This job was too important for him not to get it right. He strode back to his desk and set Neen and the other applicant’s résumés side by side. Neen’s rival had a fraction more experience, but...

Why on earth was he dithering? Helen Clarkson was prepared to sign a two-year contract. Commitment!

He swept the applications up and shoved them back into his folder, then strode out into the outer office. ‘Lisle, can you phone Helen Clarkson and offer her the position? If she accepts she’ll—’

‘I just got off the phone to Helen. She’s accepted a position in Launceston.’

She’d what? What about all her talk of commitment?

Lies. All lies!

Neen hadn’t lied.

‘Fine!’ he snapped. ‘Offer the position to Neen Cuthbert. Tell her she’ll need to come in and sign the contract one day this week.’

‘Roger, Rico.’

He slammed back into his office. He had a mountain of paperwork to get through and grant acquittals to write. Not to mention grant applications. Securing funding for his projects was an ongoing challenge and not something with which he could afford to fall behind.

An hour later he threw down his pen. Too much of this bureaucratic red tape always set his teeth on edge. He strode to the door and flung it open. ‘Did you get onto Neen Cuthbert?’ he barked at Lisle.

‘She was delighted to accept.’

‘Excellent.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘She lives in Bellerive, doesn’t she?’

Lisle flicked through her files. He could have told her not to bother—he’d practically memorised Neen’s file down to the last detail.

Lisle held up the file. ‘Yes, she does.’

He took it. ‘I have a lunch appointment with the manager of Eastlands Shopping Centre.’ He was trying to convince the man—so far unsuccessfully—to sponsor a programme to provide traineeships for unemployed youth in the area. ‘While I’m on that side of the harbour I’ll drop the contract off to Ms Cuthbert.’

Lisle handed him a copy of the contract without a word. She’d grown accustomed to his bull-in-a-china-shop approach long ago. ‘You know Harley’s job is going to be advertised next week, don’t you? You should think about applying, Rico.’

‘I’m more use on the ground, Lisle.’

‘You’re wasting your talents.’

‘I’m happy where I am.’

He was making a difference. A real difference. And happiness didn’t come into it.

* * *

‘Oh, for pity’s sake, Monty, give it a rest,’ Neen muttered under her breath. She reached over and ramped up the volume on the radio in the hope of drowning out the dog’s great booming bark.

She’d get complaints from the neighbours if this kept up, but...

Her hand tightened around the red pepper she’d started to dice. She just needed half an hour to get the worst of tonight’s dinner prepared and then she’d let him back inside. Without her full attention he’d wreck her apartment. Knowing she was inside, however, he was obviously intent on barking...and barking...and barking until she did.

She knew he was lonely. She knew he missed Audra. She knew he simply craved some company. Poor dumb dog. If he could be trusted just to sit at her feet and chew a bone...

She glanced around at her chewed-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life furniture and shook her head. She opened the kitchen window instead. It looked out over the courtyard. ‘Hey, Monty!’

He came charging up. Barking, barking, barking.

‘If you keep up with that kind of nonsense,’ she chided, ‘how will you ever hear what I have to say?’

He quietened for a moment. The radio blared. She dragged in a breath. For good or ill, she had a way with dogs. ‘What we need to work out is the kind of home that would be best for you. Do you have any thoughts on the subject? I’m thinking no small children, as you’ll only knock them down, and—’

He started barking his head off again. She continued to slice the onions, cabbage and red peppers for this evening’s stir-fry.

‘What I was thinking was a lovely big property where you could run about to your heart’s content, and...’

He didn’t stop barking. He no longer looked at her, just barked and barked. Her chopping slowed. She glanced at him again. In fact, he seemed to be barking at a point behind her and—

Her nape prickled. In the reflection of the window, something moved.

Whirling around, she held the knife out in front of her, every muscle tensed and readied.

A broad male figure loomed in the kitchen doorway. Adrenaline flooded her. Her heart clawed up into her throat. She gripped the knife harder.

The figure raised his hands very slowly in a gesture of non-aggression and then he backed all the way down the hallway and out of her house until he stood on the other side of her screen door. Only then did her pounding brain recognise who it was that stood on the other side. Rico D’Angelo. Her new boss.

Her heart didn’t stop hammering. Her hands didn’t unclench.

Rico raised a hand and knocked. She didn’t hear it. Undoing her fist enough to reach out, she turned off the radio. ‘Quiet, Monty!’

Amazingly, the animal obeyed her.

‘Neen, I’m sorry I frightened you.’

She suddenly realised she was still holding the knife. With burning eyes she threw it into the sink. She gripped her hands together at her waist and tried to stop their shaking, tried to swallow the lump lodged in her throat. The lump dislodged itself to settle in her chest.

‘Mr D’Angelo.’ The shaking wouldn’t stop. ‘I...uh...come in.’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea. I just wanted to drop this off.’ He held up a sheaf of papers.

Monty promptly started barking again and her head throbbed in time with each booming sound. God, how to explain? She pressed her shaking fingers to her temples.

‘How about a walk? I take it that’s Monty, there? It sounds as if he could do with one.’

Gradually, little by little, her heart rate started to slow. ‘I’m sure you’re busy.’

‘I dropped by so we could discuss a few things and to get your signature on the contract.’

The normality of their conversation after her over-the-top reaction finally returned her pulse to normal.

‘I know I should’ve rung first, but I had an appointment in the area so I thought I’d drop by on the off-chance you’d be home.’

She needed to get out of the house. She needed to find a sense of equilibrium again. ‘If you’re sure you have the time?’

‘I have the time.’

‘I’ll just get Monty’s leash.’

She clipped the lead to Monty’s collar, led him through the house and locked her front door. She averted her gaze from the carport opposite and her car, with its four slashed tyres. She hoped her enigmatic employer hadn’t noticed them. She bit back an oath, her hand tightening on Monty’s lead. Mr D’Angelo must think he’d employed an utter fruitcake!

‘I’m pleased you accepted the position of café manager, Neen. I have great hopes for the café and I know you’re the perfect person to head this up.’

His smile was too kind, too compassionate...too knowing. His tone too well modulated. She bit back a sigh. ‘You saw the tyres, didn’t you?’

Monty chose that moment to try and yank her arm out of its socket. Without a word, Rico reached across and took the lead from her. He smelled of cold air and peppermint.

‘It happened today?’

She folded her arms and nodded. ‘Which begs the question, why was I so careless as to leave the front door unlocked, doesn’t it?’

‘Monty?’

She bit back a sigh. ‘It was all I could do to stay on my feet when I returned from the supermarket. Monty is always so...so delighted to see me.’ She could have sworn that she’d locked the screen door, but she mustn’t have. So foolish.

She closed her eyes and hauled in a breath. Ever since she’d received the news that Grandad’s will was being contested, her head had been in turmoil. Not to mention her heart. Her concentration was shot to pieces. It had to stop! She had to start paying attention again. She had to.

‘Have you reported the incident to the police?’

‘Yes.’ She swallowed and risked glancing up at him. ‘Mr D’Angelo, I’m very sorry for...um...’ Her stomach churned. What if she had stabbed him? ‘I’m a bit jumpy at the moment.’

She made him stop when they reached the end of the block.

‘Monty, sit.’ The dog stared up at her with his big dopey eyes. She made a hand signal. ‘Sit.’ He continued to stare at her. She folded her arms and looked away. Eventually he sat. ‘Good boy.’

She fondled his ears and then nodded to Rico. They set off across the road and then turned right towards the park and Bellerive beach.

‘He’s improving,’ she murmured, more for something to say than anything else.

‘Look, Neen, I’m the one who should apologise. I shouldn’t have come in like I did and I’m sorry I startled you.’

His eyes were dark, almost black. She didn’t doubt his sincerity for a moment.

‘I knocked and knocked, and I could see you at the end of the hallway. I called out...’

‘But between Monty and the radio—’ and her own too-busy thoughts ‘—I couldn’t hear you. It’s not your fault, Mr D’Angelo. You don’t need to apologise.’

‘Rico,’ he ordered.

The name suited him in one respect, with his dark Italian good looks, but Rico sounded breezy and carefree. She wasn’t sure she’d ever meet anyone less carefree in her life. He was a man on a mission—an important mission. And, like most do-gooding types with a quest to save the world, he carried that world around on his shoulders.

They might be broad shoulders, but nobody could carry around that kind of weight forever.

He suddenly stopped and swung to her. Monty strained on the lead. It could pull her completely off balance, but it barely seemed to register with Rico.

‘Look, I couldn’t help noticing that yours were the only tyres slashed. Is something up, Neen? Is there something I ought to know?’

A weight pressed down on her chest when she realised she’d have to tell him—in the interests of his staff’s safety. It grew heavier when it occurred to her that in their interests he might in fact retract his job offer.

For a moment she could hardly speak. The sun that glinted off the expanse of water in front of them dimmed. Finally she gestured to the remaining distance between them and the beach. ‘Let’s go down there and let Monty tire himself out.’