Page 6 of Heart of Stone

Walter Roberts cleared his throat annoyingly, as if he were trying to remind me of the business at hand. It was no matter. I knew a smart investment when I saw it. There was no need to dawdle in the store any longer. After all, time was money. And while I had plenty of the latter, I was now pressed for time. If I stayed much longer, I wouldn’t be able to catch up with Krystina Cole.

“I’ll have my lawyers draw up a proposal, one that I think you will find satisfactory. We can discuss things further at a later date,” I shrugged off.

“Well, er...,” Roberts faltered. “Mr. Stone, don’t you want to see the rest of the store? Or perhaps some of our other locations?”

“No, I believe I’ve seen enough here to make a decision. I’ll be in touch,” I dismissed.

I left Walter Roberts gaping after me, as I made my way to the front entrance. Pulling my cell out of my jacket pocket, I hit the number one on speed dial.

“Hale, did you see which way that brunette went?” I asked into the phone.

“Which brunette, sir? There must have been a hundred that walked by in the past thirty minutes,” my security detail told me.

I pushed through the turnstile front doors of the grocery store, and glanced back and forth down the street. There was no sign of her.

Damn it!

“Ah, forget it, Hale. I’m finished here. Bring the car around.”

I’ll catch up with you eventually, Miss Cole.

CHAPTER 2

By the time I got back to my apartment, it was after four o’clock. I mourned for the lost day of relaxing in the sunshine as I tossed my keys, purse, and cracked cell phone onto the corner table by the front door. I was bone-tired and now it was too late in the day for reading in Central Park.

I contemplated taking my latest mystery novel to the nearby Washington Square, but ended up deciding against it. At this time of the day, I knew that the park would be filled with music from street performers. The chance of relaxing in quiet solitude would be slim to none. In fact, just the thought of going back out was exhausting. Curling up on the couch would have to do.

I kicked off my sneakers and looked around the apartment. After more than four years of residing in Greenwich Village, I still wasn’t completely comfortable with the fifteen hundred square foot flat that I lived in, even though the three bedrooms unit was more than spacious enough for Allyson and me.

We each had our own rooms and master baths, complete with custom vanities and heated marble floors. We had turned the third bedroom into an office, and added a sleeper sofa that was used for overnight guests. The arrangement worked out well whenever our friends or parents came for a weekend visit.

The place was truly beautiful, but I never felt like it was mine. Maybe if I were the one who paid the rent, I would feel differently. But then again, if my mother weren’t so neurotic about my safety in New York City, I could have flat out refused my stepfather’s extravagance and lived someplace that was within my budget. However, my mother didn’t want me living in a tiny apartment in Brooklyn, which was all I could afford, and her lectures about crime in Brooklyn were endless.

Nevertheless, I drew the line there. I allowed Frank to pay the rent, but I refused to take the monthly stipend that was offered to me. I was perfectly capable of making my own money and buying my own food. My insistence on taking out student loans to pay for my college tuition was another huge battle with my mother, probably one of our biggest fights ever, but one that I took satisfaction in winning.

My mother and I were like night and day. I was determined to make it in this world on my own. The sooner I could break free from my financial dependence on Frank, the better. My mother, on the other hand, seemed content to just be a rich man’s wife. She could never understand why I wanted to do things on my own, especially when Frank was always so willing to foot the bill.

Yet, as infuriating as she could be, I knew that my mother’s heart was in the right place. She worried about me and didn’t want me to struggle like she had to for so many years, a fact that Allyson was always good at pointing out. Allyson was the only one who was able to talk me down after a heated battle with my mother.

In fact, I wasn’t sure if I could have managed to live here without Allyson, and I was thankful to have her as a roommate. She appreciated Frank’s lavishing’s more than I did and worked to make our apartment a place to call home.

I was absently thinking about where my friend might be tonight, when the rumble in my stomach reminded me that it was almost dinnertime. I flipped on the stereo and went into the kitchen. Thirty Seconds to Mars blared through the speakers as I opened the refrigerator to peruse the contents. I spotted last nights leftovers on the shelf. The thought of a glass of wine and left over pasta had my mouth watering. I was hungry, but I was a sticky coffee mess and needed to shower first.

I closed the refrigerator and went over to our makeshift wine bar to pour a glass of Bully Hill Riesling. Sitting on the bar was a note from Allyson.

Hey you! I called your cell but it went right to VM. Clear your schedule for tomorrow night. 7 P.M. Dinner and drinks at Murphy’s. I have news for you. Enjoy your wine!

Love ya! ˜ A

I smiled to myself as I swirled the sweet vintage around in my glass. My friend knew me too well. With the hubbub at Wally’s over the potential inventors, the past week had been a rough one. Allyson was right to assume that I’d unwind with a bit of vino.

“Oh, Ally. I wish you were home tonight,” I said aloud to myself, raising my glass in silent cheers to my friend.

I really wanted to talk to her about what had happened today with the sexy Mr. Stone. I felt like a complete idiot. I knew that she would probably fall over laughing at my story, but then she’d pour us both a drink and reassure me that I wasn’t really a clumsy fool. Her laughter and assurances would have been the perfect medicine after such a mucked up day.

I headed back towards my bathroom, glass in hand, wondering what news Allyson had for me. I turned on the shower and adjusted the water temperature before stripping out of my jeans and cappuccino stained shirt. When I faced the mirror, I was shocked at what I saw.

My eye wasn’t just slightly swollen like I had originally thought it might be. It was turning a deep purple, with a small gash over my right eye. I peered closely in the mirror and tried to decide how much makeup I would need to cover up the bruise. I gingerly poked at the swollen eye for a minute before standing up to examine my reflection.

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