Topaz Heat (Christian Romance) (The Jewel Series) (3 page)

She’d forgotten about the painters or else she would have arranged things ahead of time. On impulse, she pulled out her phone and shot her sister Robin a quick text, asking if she was free for breakfast. Sarah knew she could stay with her sister and family at their house on the coast. She knew that Robin and Tony would be more than happy to have her. For that matter, Maxine lived even closer. Maxine would welcome Sarah just as happily and lovingly. Except that, because Sarah had to be back at work this afternoon, she thought she’d just see whether she could stay in Tony’s old apartment.

Sarah thought back to the morning of her fifteenth birthday and the introduction of those two beautiful women into her life. She often wondered how deeply all the wounds of the past continued to affect her even today. Their youth had hardened the eldest sister, Robin, and made her cold as a young adult. Driven by their childhood, Robin determined to give her younger sisters the opportunities that they might not have found otherwise and sacrificed a significant part of her own life for many years to provide just that.

At nearly thirty, Sarah still encountered a big black spot of nothing whenever she tried to remember the first ten years of her life. Robin and Maxine had never elaborated on details and Sarah had never really investigated too deeply into it. In a way, she rather feared what she might remember if she started trying.

Her phone vibrated in her hand, pulling her out of her reminiscence. She read the reply from Robin, asking her to meet her at one of Tony’s restaurants. Sarah shot a quick text off, telling her what time she’d be able to make it there, then thought about what she needed to pack and what she might already have at the penthouse.

As the train left the business section of downtown and got closer to her neighborhood of brownstones, the passenger load got a little lighter. By the time she got off at her station, she barely had to shoulder her way through the crowd.

DERRICK
DiNunzio felt the car slow and glanced up from the file he had been studying during the ten-minute ride from Logan airport. He snapped it closed and slid it into his briefcase as the car pulled up to the curb and came to a stop. He finished off his orange juice in a few swallows. By the time he set his glass down and secured his briefcase, the driver had opened his door.

Mid October welcomed him to the grand city of Boston, but summer stubbornly refused to hand the reins over to autumn. Though the trees had started to turn colors and line the street in the garnet and gold magnificence of God’s beauty, the sky still insisted on painting itself a very clear bright blue, and the temperature remained warm enough that several people walking by outside wore shorts.

He buttoned the jacket of his suit, acknowledging that part of him wanted to be a passerby, dressed down and ready to do something – anything – outside. Long weeks had passed since he’d taken even a few hours off, and the summer had ended up leaving him behind. That happened easily with city dwellers, especially New York City where he had lived for the last six years. One could miss the seasons with their different nuances that provided their own recreation and relaxation. However long he ended up in Boston, he determined that he would find a way to enjoy at least part of the autumn. Perhaps he would find a way to take in some hiking, definitely do some rock climbing, maybe even some rowing – all the things he used to do in the city he called home.

First, though, he had to find out what brought him here. The e-mail from his once rescuer and now employer, Tony Viscolli, simply instructed him to arrive this morning and plan on staying awhile.

“Where shall I take your luggage, Mr. DiNunzio?”

“Pull over to Valet, Howard. Wait there and I’ll let you know as soon as I know.”

“Right away, sir.” Howard answered with a little nod. Though his face hid his reaction well, it still unnerved Derrick that nearly everyone in the Viscolli empire addressed him as “sir.”

Derrick turned and lifted his head. His eyes automatically skimmed up the building taking in the complicated masonry design; the ornate balconies carved out of living stone. All of it looked reminiscent of the feel of the old town. He loved this hotel. The New York Viscolli where he worked was bigger, grander, a different style of luxury, but the Boston Hotel would always have his heart.

He remembered the first time he really saw this hotel. His eighteenth birthday, on a bitter cold January morning, he’d stood in this very spot and stared up at the massive stone structure, gripping a business card in his hand, fighting an internal battle. To trust or to run?

Born and raised in Boston – south Boston, specifically – Derrick came from a poor family. His mother was an immigrant Italian woman who never learned to speak English and never had anymore children after his American father, who he didn’t remember, abandoned them once Derrick was born. Like nearly every other teenager in his tough neighborhood, he had taken to the streets where he stole, fought, and scraped to survive until a few weeks before his eighteenth birthday, when he had a chance encounter with Antonio “Tony” Viscolli on the street in front of a seedy bar in his neighborhood.

Tony had seen something in him – what the man had seen, God alone knew. They came from the same place, more than a decade apart, and Derrick told Tony he would get out just like the older man had. For some reason, Tony had handed Derrick a business card, a note scrawled on the back that said, “Let him see me – no appointment required.” He told Derrick to come find him after he turned eighteen.

Pulling himself back to the present, he stepped through the brass and glass revolving door etched with the intricate golden V emblematic of all the Viscolli companies and stepped into a life of opulence. His heels clicked on highly polished alabaster and deep emerald marble floors. Luxurious goat skin leather couches appointed all the sitting areas. They were set out in circular arrangements, perched atop Cardassian silk Persian rugs that warmed the rich marble floors. On one side, doors led to the shops and amenities offered by the hotel. On the other side, doors led to the restaurant. The same V crest, trimmed with brass – hand polished to a golden gleam – adorned the black marble front desk. On the wall behind the desk, gold letters formed the words, “
Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men. Colossians 3:23
” Derrick had long ago hidden those words away in his heart, repeating them to himself often.

Employees wearing distinctive uniforms moved invisibly through the throng of customers and clients, making sure they met needs and answered questions all quite quickly, professionally, and discreetly. The guests stood out of this crowd – tailored, accessorized, groomed, and coiffed to perfection.

Ten years ago, the warmth of the lobby had been his first sensation. The luxury seemed surreal. He’d felt out of place. He’d stolen the Charlie tokens to get there and his stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten in two days and hadn’t bathed in longer than that. The desk clerk had read the note on the card and directed him to the elevators with a friendly smile.

Now, ten years later, he returned the greetings of those who recognized him, both clientele and employees, as he made his way to the bank of elevators. While he waited, he spoke with a Baron and Baroness, visiting from Great Britain, who had spent a stint in the New York Viscolli the previous week. He felt at ease with the conversation, one of the talents required to interact with so many different people on a daily basis. He could switch gears in conversations, remember names and little details, and still pay attention to everything going on around him, a necessity for his job.

He left the Baron and his wife on the sixth floor and continued his journey upward, beyond the hotel proper and on into the business offices that formed the heart of Viscolli Enterprises.

The receptionist sat behind a large half-mooned desk. Scrolling brass letters on the wall behind the desk read, “
He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8
”

She smiled warmly and directed him to go through the frosted panes of the double doors. He stepped through into the outer office and found Tony’s secretary, Margaret, at her desk.

A decade before, she’d stood when he entered and greeted him by name. “Derrick, it’s nice to finally meet you. Mr. Viscolli told me to expect you.”

He hadn’t understood her cordiality and had no idea how to respond in kind. Inside the imposing office, Tony had greeted him genuinely and with warmth. Derrick didn’t understand him, either. Tony had a roast beef dinner and hot tea brought up to his office and talked to Derrick for hours, asking him questions about his family, the neighborhood, his schooling, his thoughts about God. At the end of the meal and conversation, he offered Derrick a job.

And a home.

Bringing himself out of nostalgia and back to the present, he gave her his most charming smile. “Margaret,” he said, “I have missed you.”

She laughed and stood. “Always a charmer, you,” she said, then opened one of the heavy oak doors leading into Tony’s office.

“Would you care for something to drink, Derrick?”

Finally, someone who didn’t cow-tow and call him Mister. He remembered back to his early college days when Margaret had given him a very thorough tongue-lashing for using a foul word in her office. “Ginger ale would be great,” he said as he walked past her and fully into Tony’s office.

Tony quickly ended his conversation and hung up the telephone as Derrick entered. Then he stood and walked around his desk.

Derrick could see Tony summing him up as he crossed the room. He wondered if the older man still saw the skinny, dirty kid he’d brought home out of a life on the streets ten years earlier. He had grown a little taller than Tony and filled out a lot. Like his mentor, his Italian heritage was very much a part of his appearance. His hair was jet black, his skin olive tan, and his rich eyes chocolate brown, all set in a lean face with sharp angles and an aristocratic nose.

Despite his upbringing, Derrick very purposefully proclaimed class. He had paid attention, soaked in the details, until he’d cleaned the streets and the hard living of his childhood completely off his persona.

No one meeting him for the first time would think for a second that he hadn’t been born in a stately mansion, eating from silver spoons and riding in long cars that someone else drove. They could never even imagine that perhaps, as a child, he had eaten sometimes only because he’d stolen a couple of those spoons or cars from time to time. Instead, they saw the quality Derrick nearly exuded. They saw youthful good looks, and clothes that were always the epitome of style that Derrick wore as if born in them. They heard the upper crust accent in his voice that he had perfected after long practice. Not a trace of South Boston ever spilled from his well-trained lips.

“My brother,” Tony said warmly, arms outstretched for a warm hug. “Welcome home.” He embraced Derrick then gestured to his sitting area.

Derrick lowered himself into one of the chairs. “How’s the lovely Robin faring these days?”

“Pitiful,” Tony said, his eyes softening at the thought of his wife. “TJ started second grade last week, and Madeline started kindergarten. Robin’s been randomly bursting into tears for the last week. I finally convinced her this morning to go to Hank’s Place and work on new menus.”

“I’ll have to swing by while I’m in town, give her someone to mother for a couple of hours.”

“You should. She will be so thrilled to see you. She’s at Hank’s all day today. That may be just what she needs.” He leaned back in his chair and his face lost its softness. Derrick knew that personal time was over and it was time for business. “We have a problem.”

“Which ‘we’?”

“The ‘we’ that is Hotel Viscolli – Boston.”

“And what might our problem be?”

“It might be any number of things.” He sighed. “What it actually is, however, is that our manager and assistant manager have run off together.”

Derrick raised an eyebrow. “Bill Matheson and Adrienne Christopher?”

Tony nodded. “It has been terrible. Apparently, they have been involved for some time. Bill’s wife called me about it last night. It was already too late. They left work together yesterday afternoon and are currently on some tropical island somewhere.”

“Wow,” Derrick said. “I find that astonishing.” He really did. Derrick could not imagine a more unlikely pair of employees in a more unlikely place under more unlikely circumstances.

They were interrupted when Margaret brought in Derrick’s drink. Derrick thanked her then took a long pull of the ginger ale and waited. Tony finally spoke again. “So what do you say?”

“What do I say about what?”

“Do you want it?”

“Do I want what?”

“Viscolli – Boston.”

The ginger ale he’d just swallowed caught in the back of his throat and choked him. He coughed and fought to get a breath, finally sitting back up and wiping the tears from his eyes. “You aren’t serious.”

“Always.”