Fool's Gold (Contemporary Romance) (2 page)

T
HE three guys at table twenty were definitely not locals. They had east coast accents and the nicest suits in the restaurant. And Mario’s wasn’t a cheap place, not in a city known for its steakhouses. Victoria watched them from the servers’ alcove, taking a break from her normal circuit of patting shoulders and refilling drinks.

The one on the left, the youngest one at maybe thirty, had kept an exquisite grey eye on Victoria all night. And she wasn’t so sure she minded. She was always willing to flirt a little with the customers, but he was more handsome and more refined than the normal customer. Heavy stubble covered his jaw and square chin; he looked like he could have stepped straight out of the pages of GQ.

That Mr. Grey Eyes was watching her wasn’t entirely surprising. That he always touched her hand when she brushed his shoulder wasn’t entirely surprising. It was the way he smiled. He had a smile fit for Mt. Rushmore.

“Hey Vicks, where’s the band?” Charlotte asked. Charlotte Sommerby was the hostess for the night, but Victoria had known her since they went to Head Start together. The fact that Victoria was able to work with her best friend was about the only good part of her job.

“How should I know?” Victoria asked.

“Granderson is getting antsy. Customers have been asking where the entertainment is.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?”

“It’s not what I want. It’s what Granderson wants.” Charlotte lowered her voice. “I think he’s going to ask you to go sing earlier.”

Victoria raised an eyebrow. Granderson had her scheduled to sing for the last hour before close. But it was only eight.

“Just letting you know, babe. If you see him stalking you, that’s probably what he wants.”

“Thanks.” If Granderson wanted her to sing, then she needed to close out as many tables as she could before she had to hand them off to someone else. Tips went to whoever had the table when the check was paid.

The older guy at table twenty caught her eye, so she went there, first. That Mr. Grey Eyes was there didn’t hurt. “Miss?” He tapped the leather folio with the table’s check inside. A black credit card poked out of one end.

“I’ll be right back with this,” Victoria said. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

The older man shook his head and turned back to his conversation. Grey Eyes watched her, the barest of hint of a smile turning his lips up at the corners.

Victoria returned a minute later with the check and reached into her apron for a pen. It wasn’t there. A bolt of panic made her hands tremble. “One second and I’ll get a pen.”

Grey Eyes smirked, but he did it in a way that sent a shiver through her. “It’s alright. I have one.” He withdrew a fat fountain pen from the inside pocket of his suit and passed it across the table.

His boss, she assumed the older one had to be the boss if he was paying, scrawled a signature on the receipt, closed the folio and held it up for her.

Victoria was halfway to the server station when she realized where her pen was: tucked behind her ear.

***

“Victoria, I need a favor.” Granderson leaned against the server station, his too-shiny suit gleaming in the fluorescent lights.

“You want me to go on early?”

He didn’t seem surprised that she already knew. “I just heard from the string quartet. Their van broke down and even if they could get here, they wouldn’t have their instruments.”

Victoria closed her eyes and thought about it. What was the worst that could happen? Her voice got tired and she had to end the night a little early? The late crowd probably wouldn’t mind.

“Alright.”

Granderson beamed his hustler’s smile. “Wonderful. I’ll go announce that you’ll be out in ten minutes.”

Victoria gulped. “Make it twenty. I need to warm up first.”

“Fifteen and not a second over. People expect entertainment.”

She nodded and rushed into the kitchen. The restaurant had a small changing room in the back, and her things were waiting for her in there. Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough to time go change clothes, fix her hair, do her makeup and warm-up her voice. Clothes were a must. Hair was a must. Warming-up her voice was absolutely mandatory. That left only one thing that could give. Makeup.

Maybe Granderson would let her sing in the dark.

***

Mr. Grey Eyes was sitting in the middle chair of the half-dozen or so arranged before the little stage where the band was supposed to be. His jacket was open, and he had an arm slung over the back of the chair beside him. He looked like he owned the place. Victoria nodded to him as she adjusted her microphone. She tried to look calm and composed, but the sight of him sent her heart racing. Usually the audience wasn’t so damn handsome.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Victoria Strauss.” She slid one leg forward, exposing a little skin. A black cocktail dress wasn’t the most original outfit in the world, but it fit her perfectly and gave her the confidence she needed to stand on the stage alone. “I hope you like jazz.”

Diana Krall was a familiar starting point for most folks, and the patrons at Mario’s weren’t the most discerning. Sucking them in with something familiar helped to butter them up before she branched into things that were more interesting.

“Popsicle Toes” led into “East of the Sun (West of the Moon).” The music slid through the air, languorous and easy.

After “East of the Sun,” Victoria paused for a sip of water. Mr. Grey Eyes clapped politely, along with a few other patrons scattered around the restaurant. Most of the building kept eating or talking or playing footsie under the table.

She tried to start “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of Chance with You,” but no sound came from the speaker, and her voice fell dully amid the clink of silverware in the dining room. She tapped the mic, but nothing echoed from the speaker.

Granderson wandered over to see what why she’d stopped.

Victoria gestured at the speaker. “It just stopped working.”

Granderson frowned. He didn’t know anything about electronics, but he crouched in front of the speaker and fiddled the knobs, anyway. “Huh, I guess it’s on the fritz. Just sing without it.”

“Without it?”

“The restaurant isn’t that big. You’ll be fine.” He wandered off toward a table before Victoria could respond.

“I guess we’re doing this a cappella tonight, folks.” Victoria flashed a smile at the restaurant. Other than Grey Eyes, only a handful of other people seemed to be paying attention.

“You’ll do fine,” Grey Eyes said. “You have a lovely voice.”

The butterflies in Victoria’s stomach took a detour through her heart. She didn’t dare respond, for fear her voice would shake. Instead, she launched back into “I Don’t Stand a Ghost of Chance with You.” Just as she swung into the last stanza, a familiar face appeared by Charlotte at the hostess stand.

Beta.

Victoria finished the song without any overt hesitations, but her heart sank as Beta sat two chairs over from Grey Eyes. She hadn’t wanted to lead him on, so she’d “forgotten” to let him know when she was performing.

“I Get Along Without You Very Well” may have been a little too on-the-nose for Beta, but then he didn’t seem to realize she was directing it him. When she finished and reached for her water, he clapped a little too loudly and too enthusiastically. Grey Eyes gave him a quirked eyebrow that said worlds about what he thought.

She was contemplating some Keiko Matsui when a middle-aged guy in a cowboy hat waved to her. His gut was big enough that it needed its own cowboy hat. “Hey honey, if you’re going to sing for us, how about you sing us some real music. Like country.”

She wanted to snap back that he wouldn’t know real music if punched him in his fat gut, but Granderson caught her eye from two tables down.
Do it
, he mouthed.

Victoria’s eyes narrowed. “Alright, sir. This one’s for you.”

“Before He Cheats” wasn’t even a song she liked, but it had the right vibe. At the one minute mark he realized what she was singing and his face started to go red. At the two minute mark he was actually spluttering. By three minutes Granderson was stalking toward her and Beta and Grey Eyes were both laughing. Victoria finished off the last verse and turned to Granderson.

Around her, tables that hadn’t even been paying attention began to applaud. Granderson’s face was just as red as the fat cowboy’s, but the applause set him back.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Granderson hissed.

“I’m sure we will.” Victoria turned her back on him. “Anyone else have any requests?”

***

It was still an hour before Victoria normally stopped, but her throat was starting to ache. “Alright folks, you’ve been great.” She bowed to each side of the stage, and then once directly to Mr. Grey Eyes.

Beta, of course, thought it was for him. He was out of his seat before she could wait for the usual entreaty for an encore. “Hey, you were great.”

“Thanks, Beta.” Her eyes wandered past Beta and his Star Trek t-shirt to where Grey Eyes still sat, one leg crossed over the other.

“Uh, are you doing anything after you get off tonight?”

“I don’t know, Beta, I’m pretty tired.”

“We could just get a drink or something.”

Victoria met his eyes. “Not tonight.”

“Oh.” His face fell. “I’ll call you, okay?”

He had the saddest puppy-dog eyes. Big and brown and devoid of any common sense. “Thanks, Beta. I need to go talk to some folks. It’s part of the gig.”

At least he didn’t follow her to the other tables. She kibbutzed for a few minutes, taking compliments (and a few extra tips), then started for the stage.

Grey Eyes was gone. Beta had cost her a chance to finally meet this guy, whoever he was. Victoria sighed.

“You did a fine show.” It was a man’s voice and it was just behind her.

Victoria jerked away, surprised at the sound. She processed it a moment, then turned slowly, not daring to hope. That Cheshire cat grin flashed across his face. He stuck out a hand. “I’m Trent.”

“I’m Victoria. You aren’t from around here, are you?” It wasn’t much of a conversational gambit, but it was all that sprang to mind.

Trent laughed. “No. The Yankee accent give me away?”

Victoria realized she still had his hand. “Yeah, something like that. Are you from New York?”

His eyes sparkled. “I am. Can I buy you drink?”

“Absolutely.” Victoria pulled him toward the bar at the back of the restaurant. It was empty, and Rachel, the weekend bartender, was polishing glasses. She quickly delivered a pair of gin and tonics.

“So what brings you to Omaha, Trent?” Victoria took a sip of her drink.

“Business. I work for an investment company and we’re talking to some folks out here.”

“Berkshire Hathaway or...”

He laughed. “No, unfortunately I don’t have a direct line to Warren Buffet. It’s actually a company doing some work with green energy. Wind turbines.”

“You come here much?”

“It’s the first time. I’ve flown over a few times, though. I think.” He laughed again. “Kansas, Nebraska, it’s all the same from forty-thousand feet.”

“It’s all the same from the ground, too,” Victoria said. “So are you going to be here long or are you heading back to the real world soon?”

“Another week here, then back to Manhattan. Probably be back for a few days at the end of the month.”

“Ah.” Whatever hope she had of seeing him again was drying up as fast her drink.

“Are you singing again anytime soon? Or do all the waitresses get a turn at the mic?”

Victoria shook her head. “I usually sing for the last two hours on Saturdays, but we had an emergency.”

“Well, if you do, maybe--“

“Maybe I could give you a call?” She felt foolish for being so forward, but what was the harm? He was from New York. Not like she had anything to lose.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” He took a business card and a pen from the inside pocket of his suit. “The numbers on the front are my office, but...” he scrawled a number on the back. “That’s my cell.”

He slid the card toward her, then brushed her hand as she claimed it. “Have a good night, Victoria. It was a pleasure to hear you.”

A shiver went through her. “The pleasure was all mine.”

Trent rose and slipped away, striding toward the front of the restaurant. He moved confidence and grace, and she couldn’t take her eyes away until he was out of sight.

B
EING 
in his parents’ house always put Beta’s nerves on edge. It wasn’t the framed picture of Jesus that watched over the dining room or the refrigerator covered in Bible quote magnets. It was the way his mother always looked at him like he was one revival from heaven.

“Benjamin, I talked to Sister Spooner this morning after services and she said she saw you at Appleburys last week.” Beta’s mom perched on the edge of her chair, a bone white cup of coffee steaming between her equally pale hands.

“I have to eat somewhere.” Beta speared a piece of asparagus with his fork.

“Well, Sister Spooner said you were with a girl, and the way she described her, it made me think you were seeing that Strauss girl again.”

Beta took a deep breath and held it, forcing himself not to smart off to his mother. “I had a very lovely evening with Victoria, yes. Did your nosy friend follow us to get ice cream afterward, too?”

“Benjamin, don’t speak to your mother like that.” Beta’s dad was gruff, paternal and had a voice unspoiled by the taint of nicotine or alcohol.

“Like what? It’s not like I’m in high school. I don’t even live here anymore. If I want to have dinner with someone, why should your church judge me? Why should you judge me?”

“We’re not judging you, dear.” His mother put her mug on the table and stared at him intently. “Only the Good Lord judges. We’re just concerned about you. Why, I was talking to Sister Francis and she was telling me about her daughter, Jenny. Do you remember Jenny Francis?”

Beta shook his head. Not only did he not remember, he didn’t really want to hear about this girl, either. They were all the same. Every six months his mom found him a girl that would be “just perfect” and she tried to set him up with a date. Every one of them had a stick up their butts and wouldn’t know a good time if it came with a burning bush and a billboard.