One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) (7 page)

‘
I
’m going
to have smoked chicken with wild rice noodles and some pan-fried pork buns,’ Angel ordered. She slapped her menu back down on the peach-coloured tablecloth.

Hayley smiled and rolled her eyes. The appetite her daughter had definitely inherited from her.

‘Sounds good to me. Hay?’ Dean asked, looking to her now.

‘I daren’t have lobster,’ she responded, earning a wrinkle of the nose from Angel. ‘I’ll have the three chilli chicken.’

‘Oh shit,’ Dean exclaimed, putting his hand to the side of his head and turning in to the table. ‘Shoot! I mean shoot, sorry, Angel.’

‘What’s the matter? Is the chilli chicken not good?’ Hayley asked.

‘No, it’s my boss. He’s sitting just over there,’ Dean said. He hitched his head back. ‘But don’t look.’

It was pointless following the statement up with a
don’t look
. It made her want to look all the more. Hayley was seeking out some mid-fifties ogre of a businessman, all Rolex watches, port-filled belly, cigars on the table. She didn’t see anyone like that. In fact she wasn’t even sure who Dean was referring to.

‘I don’t see anyone,’ she said, still staring. ‘Where?’

‘Stop looking. I don’t want to have to speak to him,’ Dean responded.

‘Oh, Uncle Dean, is he really mean?’ Angel asked, leaning her elbow on the table and looking enthralled.

‘I don’t understand. I thought you loved your boss. I thought you went to dinner at his house and … didn’t you go away for a weekend with his family in the spring?’

Dean shook his head. ‘This isn’t Peter Lamont. I love Peter. Peter’s the head of development. This is
the
boss. Oliver Drummond,’ he stage-whispered. ‘The CEO of Drummond Global.’

That had her attention. Hayley looked again, trying her best not to appear too obvious.

‘Table at the back, with the woman in the red dress,’ Dean said.

And then she saw him, just a couple of tables to their right. Leaning back in his chair, white shirt, no tie, grey trousers, a confident smile on his face as he chatted to his dining companion. He wasn’t at all what she would imagine the head of a huge worldwide business to look like, not that she knew any others. He was young, maybe a little older than her, and he was hot! Definitely more billboard than ogre. His hair was short and tawny in colour, cut simply. He had a strong nose, an even stronger jawline, and his hazel eyes she seemed unable to look away from. This guy had
charismatic
written all over him. No wonder he was an industry leader.

‘He’s such a jerk,’ Dean stated.

‘Why?’ Hayley asked, watching as Oliver talked to his date. He had the kind of mouth models would kill for. Full lips but totally masculine, the sort you could look at for a long time and just imagine roving all over you. She swallowed.

‘Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to start,’ Dean said.

Hayley snapped her eyes away, the spell broken.

She was still trying not to think about persistent Greg and her handful of other failed dates since Angel had been born. It didn’t stop her looking back though. She wet her lips. ‘Is that his girlfriend?’

Dean was forced to turn his attention in his boss’s direction. He snorted. ‘That will be someone he picked up tonight. There’s a rumour he pays them. I guess that’s one way to get rid of your billions.’

‘He has billions?!’ Angel’s voice came out a little too loud and her eyes went out on stalks.

Dean continued. ‘His father was such a great man, an inspiration to the whole consumer electronics and computer software industry.’

‘Did he have billions too?’ Angel asked.

‘Uh-huh. He took the company into the global arena, from just a small firm with big ideas to a huge company with no limits.’

‘And, let me guess, junior is mucking it all up,’ Hayley said. Perhaps junior had different priorities too.

Dean shook his head. ‘No, he’s good at what he does. He flatters and uses his father’s old-school network to the company’s advantage, but, in my book, if you can’t remember the names of the people you employ, can’t spare a
good morning
or a smile now and then …’ Dean stopped, focussing his attention on Angel. ‘Listen to me. Going on about work when we have Chinese food to order.’

‘Shall we call the waiter?’ Hayley suggested, finally turning her attention away from Oliver.

She couldn’t remember what she’d intended to order because, for some reason, food was the last thing on her mind right now. Reasons Christmas is better in New York number 35 – eye candy at Chinese restaurants.

O
liver watched
her lick the ice cream from her spoon with all the experience of a Brooklyn hooker. Maybe that’s what she was. Did it matter? That’s what the rumour mill thought anyway. He put down his own spoon. She smiled then and, ravishing the stainless steel one more time, she placed it into her bowl.

‘So, are we staying for coffee? Or are you going to take me somewhere a little more intimate?’ his companion asked.

She was possibly the most forward woman he’d ever propositioned. Any soupçon of inner vulnerability had completely disappeared between their eyes meeting and her sucking the silverware like a porn star. He wasn’t sure he liked it. He wasn’t sure he wanted this now it was being laid out for him. It was all too easy. Too brazen. He swallowed. What was his problem? Easier was better, wasn’t it? Nothing difficult, just sex, a quick fix, no flying off in helicopters or trips to Vegas.

A skipped beat of his heart alerted him to the fact the woman – what was her name again? – was waiting for an answer. He’d lost all concentration, his tongue was parched and his glass was empty.

She leant forward, making sure her ample breasts met the table and rose up in the confines of her dress. ‘Shall I call us a cab?’

It didn’t really sound like a question. An internal punch to his heart had him squirming in his chair. He could feel his breath catching in his throat, adrenaline flooding his every sense. He could feel the blood flowing fast and hard through his entire body, his fingers were growing tight, his vision clouding.

He put his hand on the table to steady himself as he stood. ‘Please excuse me, for one minute.’

Without saying anything else, he headed in the direction of the restrooms.

‘
D
id
you know that the word
noodle
actually comes from the German word
nudel
? That’s n-u-d-e-l.’

Hayley was watching Angel trying to use her chopsticks. Most of the noodles – or
nudels
– were falling off the two prongs as soon as she’d got them anywhere near on.

‘Do you want a fork?’ she asked as Angel grabbed the strands between her lips and sucked.

Angel shook her head and sucked harder. Maternal pride coated Hayley’s insides as she watched.

‘She gets her brains from me, you know,’ Dean said, nudging Hayley’s elbow and smiling.

‘Are you calling me stupid?’ Hayley said in mock crossness.

‘I wouldn’t dare. Not when you’re holding chopsticks
and
a fork.’ Dean eyed the leftovers on her plate. ‘If you don’t eat that chicken, you know I’m going to have to.’

Hayley put her cutlery down and pushed the plate towards him.

‘I didn’t mean … take it back,’ Dean said, his fingers shifting the china across the cloth.

She shook her head. ‘No, it’s fine. I’ve had enough.’ She just wanted to get back to Dean’s apartment now, put her head on the pillow and let the exhaustion sweep over her. Tomorrow she would face what she’d come here to do. Tomorrow, after two months of virtual searching for Angel’s father, she was going to begin the physical search. Starting with one of the galleries he’d mentioned exhibiting at all those years ago. Thank God for the ten-year diary containing all the information she’d needed to make a start. She’d remembered the name of the hotel too. It didn’t begin with ‘t’. It was the Shelton. She’d phoned them twice, both times getting the client confidentiality spiel. Bribing the receptionist hadn’t worked either. She also suspected they probably didn’t keep records of guests for ten years. She just had to hope turning up at the galleries was going to get her more results than the phone calls and emails.

Angel’s mouth hung open as the waiter walked past, a lobster on a silver platter heading for a table near the door. ‘It’s Lyndon,’ she announced, tearing up.

‘No,’ Hayley said quickly. ‘It can’t be. There were about twenty lobsters in that tank.’ She turned to observe the bubbling water, green weeds wobbling in the current. There were definitely fewer crustaceans than there had been. ‘Look, there he is.’

She pointed at a lobster bearing the closest resemblance to ‘Lyndon’ – although they all looked the same to her – and hoped for the best.

Angel shifted in her chair, getting up onto her knees to get a better look inside the water. ‘No it’s not.’

Nothing could get past her daughter but now a crisis was looming. Hayley looked to Dean for help.

‘Hey, Angel, tomorrow afternoon, when I get back from work, shall we go and see Vern and Randy?’ Dean asked.

Angel was still eyeing the remaining lobsters in the tank, seemingly scrutinising them, checking every mark, the position of the elastic bands on their pinchers. ‘I guess so,’ she said half-heartedly.

‘Want to see a photo?’ Dean offered. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out his phone.

‘I think
I’d
like to see a photo,’ Hayley said.

‘Of Randy?’ Dean asked.

‘No, of Vernon, the guy I had to hear about from my daughter.’

‘Oh, I don’t have any of him on this phone,’ Dean said quickly.

‘You have more than one phone? When did you join
Sons of Anarchy
?’

‘This is just my phone for …’ he hesitated.

‘For pictures of dogs?’ Hayley offered.

Dean ignored her comment and reached to put the phone under Angel’s nose. ‘There he is.’

For a second Hayley thought Angel wasn’t going to move her eyes from the water tank. But as the waiter headed towards it, his hands in rubber gloves, ready to pluck another lobster from the water, she slipped back down onto her chair and turned her attention to Dean’s phone.

‘See how cute he is,’ Dean said, swiping to another image.

‘What type of dog is he?’ Angel asked, calling Greenpeace about the sea creatures all but forgotten.

‘He’s a Pomeranian.’

‘Is he fully grown?’ Angel asked.

‘Yes, they’re a small breed.’ Dean smiled. ‘You should see Vern with him. It’s like a giant taking a mouse for a walk.’

‘So he’s tall then. Is that all I’m getting?’ Hayley said.

‘You’ll see him tomorrow.’

‘Can we take Randy for a walk tomorrow? Can we go to Central Park?’ Angel asked, leaning her head sideways and batting her eyelashes.

Hayley stood up, placing her napkin on the table. ‘While she goes full on child actress, I’m going to go to the toilet.’

‘The
bathroom
. We’re in America now,’ Angel corrected.

‘Fine. I might even turn on a faucet.’

O
liver splashed
his face with water and looked at his reflection in the mirror of the gents’ bathroom. He was pale, his hazel eyes a little bloodshot. He held out a hand, stretching it into the space, seeing what happened. It was trembling. Not an obvious shake like someone with Parkinson’s, but a visible tremor. He clenched his fist and closed his eyes. What was he doing here? After his close call at the hospital, his run-in with both his mother and Clara, he should have left with Tony and headed home.

But going back to the penthouse alone, biding time, thinking, wondering, worrying, that wasn’t a life. That’s why he did what he did. Here, with this woman, with Christa last night. Because being with someone, being part of the intricate fabric of New York, was better than the alternative. Wondering when you were going to die and who would care if you did.

He shook the water from his hands and smoothed the rest into his hair. Looking at his reflection again, he swallowed. He had two choices. He either rode this feeling out, went back to the table with whatever-her-name-was and enjoyed a night of carnal desire he really wasn’t in the mood for. Or he escaped out the back door. There was really only one option.

T
he cool air
from the corridor lifted Hayley’s hair as she moved through the door from the restaurant. As soon as she had been to the toilet, she’d suggest skipping dessert and calling the driver. Angel had to be running on adrenaline alone right now. It was something like three o’clock in the morning in the UK.

She stopped walking the second she saw him. She widened her eyes, getting them used to the half-light in the hall, making sure she
was
seeing what she thought she was seeing. It was Dean’s boss, the hot Mr Meanie, struggling to open the fire exit door at the end of the corridor. What was he doing? Was he a smoker in need of a nicotine hit? It seemed desperate if that was the case. He was pushing and pulling like his life was at stake.

She knew what she should do. She should disappear into the ladies’ toilets and pretend she hadn’t seen. Whatever he was doing was none of her business and she shouldn’t be standing there appreciating the fine cut of his trousers as he leaned against the metalwork. She subconsciously took a step towards the ladies bathroom. And that’s when he turned around.

She could see his top button was undone and half the bottom of his shirt was untucked from his trousers. His hair was wet and, even from this far away, she noted his unsettled breathing.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked.

He spoke first. ‘I, er, can’t seem to get the door open.’

He looked awkward, one hand on the handle of the door, the other drooping at his side. She wasn’t sure what to do, but now he’d addressed her she couldn’t just leave.

‘Do you
need
to get it open?’ she asked, wondering what a billionaire was doing trying to break out of the back entrance.

He nodded. ‘Oh yes. I really do.’

‘Why? Is there a fire?’ She took a tentative step closer.

‘More of a fire
fight,
if I’m honest.’ He pushed at the door again. His breathing was ragged and he looked unsettled. ‘It’s necessary to take evasive action.’

Hayley took another few steps towards him. ‘And you can’t use the entrance you came in by?’

He stopped manhandling the door then and turned to face her. He furrowed his brow. ‘You’re English.’

‘Yes. And you’re so obviously on the run. Who is it? The mafia? The Triads?’

He smiled then and the beginnings of a laugh fell from his lips. He shook his head at her. ‘If only it were that simple. I’m actually off to change into Spandex and save the city like Superman.’

Thinking about him in Spandex did worrying things to her insides. She swallowed, watching him look her up and down. From her boots that had seen better days, to her jeans she’d been wearing for the last three seasons, then to the green-coloured long-sleeved top that had definitely shrunk in the last wash. She was as far from Galliano as it was possible to be.

‘Ever needed to sneak out on an unsuitable date?’ Oliver asked her.

Her mind went to Greg. Over-tanned, teeth over-whitened, breath over-garlicked. She could relate to many occasions she’d wanted to slip out of his sight. But this was not what she’d been expecting. He was about to abandon a woman at a restaurant. That did not sit well with her.

‘You’re sneaking out on a date?’ she clarified.

‘Well, kind of, not exactly a pre-planned engagement but …’

‘And you’re not going to tell her you’re leaving.’ Her hackles were rising fast.

‘I’ve settled the bill.’

‘Wow, that’s heroic. Very Superman.’

‘It isn’t like you think,’ Oliver said, pulling in another ragged breath.

‘No?’ It seemed exactly like she thought.

‘She’s not a date in the normal sense.’

She raised her eyebrow and took a half step backwards. ‘I think I’m going to just back out of here, pretend you haven’t insulted the whole female population and let you get on with the great escape.’ He might have eyes the colour of cashews but this behaviour wasn’t acceptable in her world.

‘Please …’

It sounded like a desperate plea. She stood still.

‘Listen, this is the first time I’ve done this. She’s just …’ He let out a breath and paused for a second. ‘Anything I say is going to sound insulting to you, so please, just help me open the door, I can go and you can forget we ever met.’

He really did sound agitated and keen to make a rapid exit. Hayley wondered what his date had done to make him want to flee so badly.

‘Is that a promise?’

He held up his hand. ‘On everything I have.’

She stepped forward and leant against the door, pushing down on the steel bar with all of her force.

‘I do have to say that my male pride is going to be significantly injured if you open that door.’

‘I’ll feel I’ve let down the women of Britain if I
don’t
.’ She shoved at it. ‘I’ve decided the woman in the red dress is going to be a lot better off without you.’

‘Whoa, that hurts.’

Hayley pushed, pressed and shunted, all at the same time and the door whooshed open, taking her with it. Her feet hit the snow-covered concrete of the alleyway outside but she held onto the door, steadying herself. The snow was falling thick and fast and the night was as black as tar, its air ice-cold.

‘Well, it’s open.’ She looked back at him, standing just inside the doorway, his eyes still on her.

‘And I feel like the biggest dick,’ he replied.

There was no humour in his tone and when she met those nut-coloured eyes she realised just how jaded he looked. There was exhaustion written over every part of him, the tense shoulders, the tight jaw, his hands clenching into fists. Maybe Mr Meanie had a lot more on his mind than being civil to his workforce. Maybe he did have a good reason for running.

‘Thank you,’ he said sincerely, stepping out and joining her on the snow.

She waved her arm out. ‘So, there you go, wide open alleyway. You’d better get a move on, save the city.’

‘I guess I should.’

Snowflakes were circling down, catching in his hair and landing on the shoulders of his shirt, seeping through the expensive material. The mighty fine bone structure could be admired now he was so close. A Jason Stathamesque layer of light brown covered his jaw, those full lips pink with cold, his chin firm.

He shivered. ‘So, what do I call the English rose who rescued me tonight?’