Marriage Claws Read online

  “I’m going out there,” I said, resolved.

  “Good idea,” Marbella said, pushing the door open for me. “Take the counter customers. Give you an excuse to hover around over there, close enough to hear.”

  I nodded.

  “Well, as James Bond as this all sounds, I’m off the clock. So . . . I’m out.” Brittney pulled the ties on her apron and waddled for the back door faster than I’d ever seen her waddle toward a customer.

  “See ya tomorrow Britt.” I sighed. “Okay. Here it goes.”

  Diego slapped the order-up bell. “Pick up. Table nine.”

  The kitchen door thwacked back and forth behind me and I snatched a damp rag from the sink behind the counter, casually wiping the bar-top as I made my way closer to the Pensione table. Color me covert.

  Frank’s father barely looked old enough to be his brother—okay, his slightly older brother. Think Alec Baldwin, young, sexy and fit and then Alec Baldwin ten years later—a little thicker, a brush of gray, but the same piercing eyes, same heart-stopping smile, same rock hard body. Dear Lord, how gorgeous must his mother be?

  I shook the question from my brain and focused on hearing their conversation without being obvious about it. Jack sat facing the door to the kitchen but it didn’t seem like he’d noticed me slip into the room. Jack was just too distracted by his father. The older man looked like he was suffering a bad case of hemorrhoids, face tight, voice curt but low.

  “This place doesn’t look like it’s about to close in a month,” Frank said.

  Jack’s shoulders shook with a quick laugh. “Yeah. I think the owner’s in denial.”

  “You didn’t shut down that lawsuit nonsense yet?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jack said. “She’s not going to win.”

  “Not the point, boy.” His father leaned back taking a loud breath through his nose like a teakettle about to blow its top. He looked away, his mouth a tense line, then back to his son. “When I tell you to do something I expect it to get done. If I can’t depend on my own son to obey me, how can I expect any more from the rest of the family?”

  “Dad, I can’t force her to drop the suit,” Jack said. “What difference does it make whether this place closes in a day, a week or a month?”

  “That’s not the point,” Pensione senior said.

  “There’s still six months of renovation to go upstairs, and turning this into a gym won’t take more than four weeks, tops.” Jack wadded his straw paper between his fingers and tossed it to the center of the table.

  “Theoretically,” Frank said. “If everything goes as planned.”

  “Okay, so if you’re worried it won’t be done in time you could always just renew the lease on the diner. Your real-estate guy said the increased value on the condos for having a gym is lost on the cost of renovating this place. Why not just leave it? The owner wants to stay.”

  “I’m sure he does—”

  “She.”

  “What?” Frank’s brows furrowed.

  “The owner is a she,” Jack said. “You said he.”

  “Listen to me, boy. The plans are already in place,” Frank said as though it didn’t matter if I was a he, she or it. “I’m the head of the family and I will not alter my plans for a . . . for anyone. Do you understand?”

  “So, basically, you’re refusing to even consider an alternative for no other reason than you don’t want to?”

  “Yes. Doesn’t matter if I have other reasons. I’m alpha. This is my pack—”

  Alpha? Really? Dial back the machismo meter, buddy.

  “Dad, not here.” Jack threw a nervous glance at the other customers.

  “This is my company,” Frank continued. “My decision is final.”

  Jack snorted and looked away, shaking his head.

  “If you don’t like it, then you take over as head of the family and make your own rules,” Frank said.

  “Get off the damn throne and I will.”

  “Find a mate and you’ve got a deal.”

  Jack sank back, throwing his elbow up to prop on the back of the seat. “Christ, don’t start that shit again.”

  “You’re running out of time, boy,” Frank said. “Any day now someone’s going to step up and challenge for the spot. I can’t hold them off forever.”

  “I’m not getting married, Dad.” Jack looked out the window, watching the passersby on the city street.

  “Well, you can’t be—” Frank clipped his words this time scanning the diner then looked back to Jack, lowering his voice. “You can’t take over the family unless you’re married.”

  “So you keep telling me.” Jack swung his gaze back to his father. “As head of the family, though, you could step down and name me as your successor before anyone else brings a challenge.”

  Frank shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way and you know it.”

  “It could if you wanted it to. You’re the law, right?” He looked out the window and added in a softer voice. “Heard that enough times growing up.”

  “Even if I wanted to—which I don’t—the family won’t follow an unmarried . . .” Frank glanced at his fellow diners again, as though stumbling on his word choice. Then finally said, “CEO.”

  “You don’t know that. There’s never been an unmarried C. E. O.,” Jack said, emphasizing the letters.

  “Because they would never follow one.”

  Jack threw up his hands. “You’re insane.”

  Frank slapped the table rattling silverware and glasses. I flinched with Jack and everyone else at the startling sound. “Watch your tone, boy.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jack said respectfully.

  Madam Opal sashayed up to the end of their table and cocked her weight to one hip. “Hello boys, I’ve got a porterhouse with a loaded baked potato, and two double bacon burgers and fries. You’re the porterhouse, right sweetie?”

  “Sure am, doll face.” Frank beamed at the waitress, leaning back and spreading his hands as Opal set his plate in front of him.

  “The burgers go to that table,” Jack said pointing to the booth behind Frank.

  “Thanks, handsome,” Madam Opal said.

  I followed her sexy swagger to the twin mountains filling the next table. They wore nearly identical black suits, snug against their bulging muscles and mile-wide shoulders. The one with his back to Jack and Frank was only slightly more intimidating than his partner thanks to his brutally short dark hair. His buddy’s menace was softened by the silky light brown waves brushing his ears. Their hands were big enough to palm my head, and their feet were roughly the size of a couple of Smart Cars.

  “There’s one for you,” Frank said drawing my attention back to the father and son drama. “She’s a sexy tall drink of water. And sturdy too.”

  “She’s a he,” Jack said.

  “What?”

  “That was a guy, Dad. A man in woman’s clothing.”

  Frank’s eyes widened and he blinked at Madame Opal’s ass rocking back and forth toward the kitchen. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Anyway, even if I was interested, I don’t need you to find me a wife,” Jack said.

  Frank grunted a laugh, unrolling his silverware from the paper napkin. “No. You don’t need my help finding women, that’s for sure. Although the ones you’ve been parading around town lately aren’t any better candidates than our lovely cross-dressing waitress.”

  “What do you mean? I’ve dated some of the most beautiful, wealthiest, famous women in the world.” He chuckled. “What could possibly be wanting in them?”

  Good question. If they weren’t good enough to cut the mustard with dear ol’ Dad, then what did that make me?

  “Relax, son. They’re all beautiful, and exceptional in one way or another.” Frank sawed into his steak cutting off a bite-size chunk. “But I think you know they were lacking a certain . . . something.”

  “What are you talking about?” Jack seemed genuinely perplexed.

  Frank swallowed his bite of steak.
“I don’t know what it is, but you know what I mean. She has to be strong, fearless . . . commanding. But still very feminine.” He shook his head and cut another nugget off his steak. “You know, like your mother.”

  “Mom?” Jack barked out a laugh. “Seriously? You’re telling me to marry someone like Mom . . . like you did.”

  Frank dropped his hands to the table, still holding his knife and fork. He exhaled, chewing, an exasperated expression sagging his face. “Jack . . .”

  “What do you know about Mom?” He asked, either not noticing or not caring that his father was already exhausted by the topic. “Unless you mean I should marry someone I won’t have a problem turning my back on, someone who’ll keep quiet when she figures out she comes in second to every other person in her family. Or should I just look for someone I can betray?”

  Faster than I could track, Frank’s fist lashed out and struck his son across the jaw. Jack reeled to the side almost tumbling out of the booth. He caught himself, rubbing his chin as he sat straight in his seat again.

  Oh, hell no. My feet had already moved me to the opening at the front end of the counter. The overbearing Papa Pensione could be the alpha dog all he wanted at home, but this was my restaurant and nobody has to take that kind of abuse under my roof. I was heading to the table to give the knuckle-dragging senior business mogul a piece of my mind when Jack’s eyes swung my way. He waved me off with a subtle shake of his head then turned his attention back to his father.

  Frank was already working another bite off his steak with his knife and fork as though nothing had happened. “We done with that topic?”

  Jack gave a shallow nod. “Yeah. Yes . . . sir.”

  “Good. Now. Where’s the owner? You say it’s a woman?” Frank scrapped the juicy hunk of steak off his fork with his teeth.

  “Why?”

  Frank’s piercing green eyes met his son’s, brows a tight crease along his forehead. He chewed quickly and swallowed. “What’s gotten into you, boy? You’ve always been headstrong but lately . . . since I gave you the reins on this project, you’re disobeying direct orders, questioning my reasons, defying me to my face.”

  “What’s gotten into me?” Jack shifted in his seat and gave a bitter laugh, he rubbed the sore spot on his jaw. “Nothing. I’m not defying you Dad, I’m making my own decisions. I’m getting things done . . . my way. What are you even doing here? Really. This is my project, my chance to show the family, show you, that I’m . . . CEO material—wife or not. The company wants the building renovated. It’s happening. Under my lead. It’ll get done. But I decide how.”

  Frank nodded, swallowing. “Sure, sure. You’re in charge. Absolutely. Your baby all the way. But I still think I should talk with the little lady, see if I can help push things along for you. Now, where is she?” He took a long drink of his iced tea, watching Jack over the rim.

  “She’s out.” Jack glanced at me. I’d started wiping clean tables trying not to look like a creeper listening in on their conversation. He turned back to his father. “I heard she’s meeting with her lawyer.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “I rule in favor of the defendant.” Judge Shane Lang slammed his gavel with a loud crack that echoed off the tall ceilings of the courtroom.

  “What? Why? They didn’t even bother to show up themselves.” I was whining and I didn’t care. “I should get extra points for at least showing up.”

  The Pensione lawyer snickered from the table next to ours.

  “Kate . . ,” Uncle Max, my crappy excuse for a lawyer, said.

  Okay, that’s not fair. Uncle Max is usually a great lawyer. He wasn’t really my uncle. He was my mom’s uncle. And he wasn’t charging me anything, which technically makes him an awesome lawyer. But he’d told me going in we couldn’t win. Crap.

  “I did give you extra points, young lady,” the judge said. “And I’m still ruling in favor of the defendant. I agree, it is unfortunate that the termination of your lease will likely cause a catastrophic loss to your business. But you signed the contract, Miss Affetto. You knew this was a possible outcome. They are within their rights to offer you terms to purchase the space, or decline to renew the lease at the end of the contract date. I’m sorry.”

  “Terms? That’s a joke,” I said digging my wallet out of my purse on the table, checking my cash and bank ledger. “Where am I going to get three million dollars? I have . . . thirty-five dollars in my bank account. And . . . Three dollars and . . . eighty four cents in my wallet. Will they take that, huh?” I waved my wallet at the judge and then turned to the Pensione lawyer. “Will they sell me my space for thirty-nine dollars?”

  The lawyer raised a dark brow and made a dismissive sound before looking away.

  I didn’t bother to tell them the reason I only had thirty-five dollars in my bank account was because I’d loaned Lucas, my cook, four thousand to put down on an apartment for him and his brother. They’d gotten evicted from Lucas’ last place when the landlord found out his brother had moved in. I let them both stay in the back room of the restaurant for a week and a half, but the board of health was giving me hell about it. Luckily Phil, the board of health guy, is a friend so he looked the other way for as long as he could to give the guys time to work something out.

  “Let’s be reasonable, Miss Affetto,” the judge said.

  “Reasonable? But that’s what I’m saying. Three million dollars isn’t reasonable. Not for a small business owner like me.”

  “Perhaps you could get a business loan.” I could tell by his tone the judge was beginning to regret not getting off his bench the second his gavel hit.

  I snorted at his suggestion. “I’ve only had The Sweet Spot for five years. This is the first year I expect to make a real profit. The restaurant isn’t worth three million. It’s not worth one million.”

  In truth, I wasn’t sure what the place was worth. I wasn’t sure it was worth anything except to me and brother . . . and the employees who’d become like family.

  “Then I am sorry. But there’s nothing I can do for you.” He slammed his gavel again and sprang up from his big leather judge chair—gettin’ while the gettin’ was good. Couldn’t blame him.

  “I’m sorry too, honey,” Uncle Max said. “We knew it was a long shot going in.”

  An outsider would never guess Uncle Max and I were related—even distantly. He didn’t look much like me. He didn’t look much like my mom. We each had the rusty brown hair I’d inherited, but that’s where the similarities stopped. My mom was beautiful. She had blue eyes that sparkled like sunlight on a cool lake when she smiled. She was petite with a smile that made most men stop in their tracks . . . or so I’d been told. I don’t really remember much. I have a few pictures.

  George and I had both inherited mom’s eyes and I’d gotten her hair. George’s lighter blonde had come from our father. I thanked God every day that I’d received absolutely nothing from that man.

  Uncle Max was kind of short for a man, even for a man in his mid-seventies who’d lost an inch or two to shrinkage over the years. He had brown eyes, and a perpetual five o’clock shadow on a jaw line that sagged past the bones and tugged down his whole face. Actually, he kind of reminded me of a basset hound.

  I’d take a basset hound for an uncle over the alternative, which was zero family besides George. Our parents were gone. Uncle Max was all there was. I didn’t see him enough. I had to remember to fix that.

  “Thanks for trying, Uncle Max,” I said, wrapping my arms around him for a hug.

  He hugged me back. “No problem, honey. You call any time you need me.”

  “I will.” I leaned back, my arms still on his shoulders. “Hey, you want to come over for dinner tonight? I’ll make rigatoni and fresh garlic bread.”

  “Not tonight. I have a date,” he said, droopy eyes suddenly bright.

  “Ooo . . . is it serious?”

  Aunt Lizzy, Uncle Max’s late wife, had passed away years ago. It was good that he was putting himself o
ut there again.

  He shrugged. “She’s no Lizzy, but she laughs at my jokes and lets me put my feet up on her coffee table. Who knows?”

  “I’d still love to meet her,” I said.

  “We’ll see how it works out.” He gave me a wink and grabbed his old leather briefcase. “Give Georgie-boy my love.”

  “You bet.” I had to collect my paperwork, the contract I’d signed, notes from loyal customers, rental sheets on other spaces in the area. I’d brought everything I could think of. The judge refused to look at any of it.

  By the time I had everything wrangled up and back in the big paper envelope I carried it all in, Uncle Max was gone and people were filing in for the next case.

  I zigzagged around them and pushed through the heavy wooden doors at the back.

  “Miss Affetto, may I speak with you?” The Pensione lawyer stood across the hallway from the courtroom, holding up the wall, his legs crossed, one hand in the pocket of his slacks, the other holding his sleek briefcase at his side.

  He made the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I’m not sure why, but there was something about him, something that tripped my instincts. He was attractive enough in his early forties, with neatly trimmed hazelnut hair, a well-fitted suit and a thin line of fur that traced his jaw to his chin then made a landing strip to his bottom lip. A similarly trimmed patch of hair lined over his top lip. I’m not a fan of facial hair. Just sayin’.

  “Actually, I’m kind of in a hurry. I have to get back to the restaurant. I seriously cannot trust my brother to check in the produce. He’ll take it whether it’s full of rotten—”

  “It’ll only take a moment,” the lawyer insisted.

  I glanced toward the heavy lead glass doors with their brass push bars and people passing in and out to the street and sighed. “Fine. What can I do for you, Mr. . . .”

  “Galli,” he said pushing off the wall to meet me halfway. “Mr. Pensione authorized me to present you with an . . . unusual opportunity that may solve the problems you’re experiencing with your restaurant.”