Heart of Steel

Chapter 9

“Why did you want me to change the reservation time?” Harry asked as Chandler dove into her pasta primavera with her normal gusto.

“I’m trying to teach someone a valuable lesson.” She closed her eyes in delight as the first mouthful passed her lips. Crunchy broccoli drizzled with olive oil and parmesan cheese.

Was there anything more perfect than al dente pasta with fresh vegetables? “One hour later is perfect. It’s for someone who, you’ll agree, deserves a good lesson.”

Harry put down the fork and stared at her. “Okay, what’s going on? You don’t sound like yourself. You always say accept a person the way he or she is. Don’t punish someone or have false expectations. Has something changed?”

She sighed. “Thanks a lot, Harry. There’s nothing worse than hearing your own words come back to haunt you. Especially when it’s from one of your students.”

“You know I hate it when you call me a student,” he grumbled. “I’m your friend and equal, remember? Are you ever going to get over the fact you were two years ahead of me throughout school?”

“Sorry.” She laughed. “Sometimes I forget you decided to quit my yoga classes.”

Harry glowered at her. “That’s because you were constantly on my case giving me lectures on nutrition, on stress, on exercise. During class you always embarrassed me by correcting my postures in front of the other students. I had to quit. Class was damaging our friendship.”

She fought back a giggle and took a sip of wine. “I apologize. I was concerned with your well being. I guess I was so used to tutoring you in school that I got carried away when you joined the Yoga And Arts Center. Lord knows, I shouldn’t lecture on nutrition. My love of food always makes me put my foot in my mouth when I preach about a healthy diet.”

“Yeah, you do eat a lot.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I only have a big dinner. The rest of the day I exist on fruit and vegetables.”

He snorted.

She shot him a glare and stabbed her fork into a crisp red pepper. “Well, getting back to our previous subject, I admit it’s not my usual style to teach someone a lesson but I feel there’s no choice.”

“Who is it?”

“Logan Grant.”

Silverware clattered as it hit the plate. “The man who has the power to send you packing and put you in the poorhouse in six months?”

“That’s the one.”

He studied her with suspicious eyes. “There’s something going on you’re not telling me. When I met him I felt like he was ready to cut my head off. Why would he take an instant dislike to me? Unless of course…” he trailed off.

“What?”

“No. You wouldn’t.”

Chandler focused on her plate. She had a feeling she was in for a lecture.

Harry’s mouth dropped open. “You did. You’re sleeping with him.”

“No!”

“Then you’re thinking about it!”

She decided not to answer and continued shoving pasta in her mouth.

“I knew it.” He muttered under his breath and shook his head. “I knew you'd snap one day because of all that meditation.”

“You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“Yes, I think you’re crazy. For years you insisted you’d never get involved with a corporate mogul. Then you pick the most ruthless executive in the city who happens to have the future of the Yoga and Arts Center in the palm of his hand. He could wipe you out with one clean swoop. Yes, I think you’re crazy.” He picked up his fork and stabbed his swordfish.

She sighed. “I know, I know. I never asked for this to happen. But don’t you think a person can change? If there’s a good reason?”

“What kind of reason? People don’t usually change overnight.”

“If one person fell in love with another, don’t you think it’s possible?”

She watched as Harry gently placed his fork down. “You didn’t.”

“What?”

“You fell in love with him!”

She looked away. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to, I know you too well.” He paused. “Oh, Chandler, what have you done?”

She met his gaze. Confusion muddled her thoughts. “I’ve never felt like this before. At first, I fought him so hard I never gave myself an opportunity to explore my feelings. But little by little, he showed me signs.”

“What kind of signs?”

“Signs that he wants more in life than just money and prestige. Maybe he wants a wife and family and a home in the country.” She pushed back her heavy mane of hair. “Something about him draws me. He’s so alone. I feel like in some crazy way he needs me.”

Harry groaned. “Logan Grant is not some stray puppy you can bring home. He’s not a lost man to show up in your yoga class looking for inner peace. He’s a ruthless business executive who could hurt you. Anyway, what happened to the lawyer guy? Thorne, right?”

She sighed. “I like him as a friend.”

“I thought you said he was perfect for you.”

“He is.”

“Hmmm, do women not want perfect now?”

She laughed. “I just don’t love him. On the outside he seems to be everything I’m looking for. But my gut tells me he’s a liar. Isn’t that weird?”

“This whole conversation is weird.”

She lowered her voice. “I’m tired of being afraid to trust, to love. I think Logan wants a relationship, not a one night stand. I’d like to give him a shot. After I teach him a lesson, of course.”

“What kind of lesson?”

“He ordered me to cancel dinner reservations with you. When I refused, he commanded me to wait for his call at nine thirty. Then he practically threatened me not to disobey him.”

“You changed our reservations to eight. We won’t be home before ten.”

She smiled. “I know.”

"I guess he'll just call you on your cell."

She tried not to look guilty. "I left it at home."

He reached for his vodka and tonic and took a long swallow. “Why do I feel like I’m going to be caught in the middle?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to drag you into this. But you have to admit I’m right. Ordering me to be available for his call? Can you blame me?”

“Actually, I agree with the guy.”

“What!”

He nodded. “He’s right. If my current lover—”

“I’m not his lover!”

“Okay, if my ‘lover to be’ decided to go out with some man I didn’t know, who said he was an old friend, I’d be nervous. I’m surprised he let you go in the first place. Cut the guy some slack.”

Chandler buried her face in her hands. “I can’t believe this. Men always stick up for each other. I just don’t get it.”

“I can’t believe you’re pushing him this far.”

“I only want to prove a point.”

“As long as I’m nowhere in the vicinity when nine thirty comes and you’re not there to pick up the phone. Logan strikes me as a dangerous man to cross.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “Stop trying to scare me, Harry,” she said. “His nickname doesn’t give him the powers to fly or bend steel. Besides, I intend on calling him when I get home. It may not be nine thirty, which will prove my point, but it’ll still give him the reassurance he needs in this relationship.”

Harry looked doubtful. “Okay. If you’re sure you know what you’re doing then I won’t rain on your parade.” They ate for a few moments in silence. “You’re really in love with him?”

“I could be making the biggest mistake of my life, but yes, I think I’m in love with him.” She gave a humorless laugh. “My father would be in his glory if he knew.”

“You still haven’t spoken to him?”

“No. He calls on a regular basis and talks to my machine. I don’t know if we’ll ever be able to patch up our relationship after what happened with Michael.”

“Are you going to tell Logan about your past?”

She dipped her bread in the sauce and bit into the hard crust. “He knows a little, but I’m not ready to reveal all yet. Besides, I don’t know what will happen between us. I’m going to grab today and not worry so much about the future.” She pointed her fork at him. “You should do the same and ask Rachael out.”

Harry groaned. “I’ve been practicing my speech for months but every time I get close my mind goes blank.”

“Slip her a note with your phone number on it.”

“I’ll have an anxiety attack.”

“Harry, she’s going to say yes. I bet she has the hots for you and just wants you to make the first move.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

She smiled at his glum tone. “Come on buddy. Dessert is on me. How about the chocolate mousse?”

He raised an eyebrow and glanced at her tiny waist. “How can you lecture on nutrition and still keep a straight face?”

“I will ignore that remark and chalk it up to negative feelings regarding your inability to take a chance on life.”

Harry snorted.

After a rich, creamy dessert and ten vows to starve herself for the next few days, they paid the bill and walked out of the restaurant. It was a cool, summer evening which brought hints of the fall to come. The breeze lifted her hair and caressed her skin. The night sounds swarmed around them as they made their way to their cars, the click of her high heels echoing in the smog infested air.

Chandler thrived on the nighttime activity in Manhattan, enjoying the atmosphere without getting drawn into the tension and stress of everyday life. Taxis hurtled down the streets; brakes screeched when the traffic lights had the nerve to turn red. Swarms of people walked in unison and ignored DON’T WALK signs, jumping around buses and screaming drivers without a glance back. Vendors urged pedestrians to stop and buy their wares, from Coach purses to 14 karat gold necklaces, all at fifty percent off and so hot the merchandise burned the fingers immediately. Vagrants begged to wash the windshields on passing motorists, and called out for spare change. Chandler threw quarters and dollar bills into the cups of the homeless who held signs from I AM BLIND to I HAVE NO LEGS, and never wondered about the truth of the statements.

She knew Harry shook his head at her gullibility. Native bred New Yorkers were supposed to be more hardened to people who lived in the streets, but she slept better at night believing the money helped. Every winter she bought a number of coats and gave them out to the homeless. She volunteered for soup kitchen duties around the holidays, especially since her rift with her father. Her community may be filled with a variety of con artists, but it was her home, and she needed to give back something to one of the most diverse melting pots in the US.

Harry stopped beside her ancient red Chevy and waited for her to unlock the door. “Well, I wish you luck. You are now exactly one hour late for Grant’s call.”

Chandler glowered at him as she fished around in her purse for her car keys. “Thanks for the support. Tonight was a real blast.”

He laughed. “I hope it was worth it. What’s the matter?”

She dug frantically through the leather compartments. “Dammit, I can’t find my keys.”

“Did you leave them in the restaurant?”

“No, I clearly remember getting out of the car, reaching for my purse, and—uh, oh.” He followed her pointed stare. The car keys dangled neatly from the ignition. The car was locked up, safe and sound.

“You have an extra key, don’t you?”

She closed her eyes in despair. “You know, I always told myself I should get an extra key made. I never seemed to get around to it.”

"This car is older than dirt. The new ones make it impossible to lock your keys inside."

"I don't have money for a new car, Harry."

"Why'd you buy American? You can't lock yourself out of the imported cars."

Chandler glowered. They stood together and looked through the closed window. “Well, we have a couple of options," Harry said.

“Do tell.”

“We can call the police and wait for the next couple of hours, and hope they come amidst the calls for robbery, rape and murder.”

“Next option.”

“We can break your window to get to the keys.”

“Keep going.”

“Are you a member of any auto club?” he asked hopefully. Chandler shook her head. “Then I’ll take you home and we’ll call a locksmith in the morning.”

“I won’t be able to get into my apartment.”

“Wait, let me guess. You never did get around to making an extra set of keys for your apartment.”

“Give the man a gold star.”

“Then you’ll have to come home with me and crash at my place.”

Chandler bit her lip. “Sounds like a logical solution. There’s just one teeny, tiny glitch.”

“Logan Grant.”

She groaned and leaned her forehead against the roof of the car. “He’s going to kill me, Harry. Besides not being there when he calls, I’m going to be at your place all night. I left my cell in my locked up apartment. He’ll never trust me again.”

“Hmm, mine's dead, we're a pair. Savvy New Yorkers with no cells. Just call him from my place and explain the situation. If he freaks out, he can pick you up at my apartment."

She picked up her head. “That could work.”

“Right now it’s our only choice.” He tugged at her hand and led her over to his car.

It was a half hour ride to his place. Harry lived in one of the fancy condo duplexes Logan passed on, complete with health club, cafe, swimming pool, and other amenities. Harry made a pot of coffee while she rang Logan's home phone. This time she’d apologize to him. Four rings. Five rings. Six. Seven. Eight.

Where was he?

She heard the click of the answering machine. Logan’s deep voice instructing the person to leave a message at the beep. She stared at the phone in her hand as if it held all the answers. Then she replaced the receiver.

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s not home.” She stared at him in amazement. “Logan isn’t even home.”

“Maybe he’s in the shower. Or screening his calls. Leave a message on the machine and maybe he’ll pick up. Or call his blackberry, he's attached to it twenty four seven.”

“Maybe. But he specifically wanted me home for his call. I assume he's not working a deal this late." She frowned. “You don’t think he purposefully left the house because he knew I’d be home waiting for his call?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Are you two playing these games with each other for a reason?”

She didn’t answer. She kicked off her shoes and relaxed on the sofa for the next ten minutes, then picked up the phone again.

No answer.

She spoke into the machine and told him to pick up if he was there.

No answer.

Her temper surged. She forced herself to take long deep breaths. It was after ten o’clock and Logan Grant wasn’t home. Which probably meant he hadn’t been home when he was supposed to have called. He could be out at this very moment, satisfied he’d taught her a lesson, laughing at the idea that she had hurried home to wait for a call which would never come.

She was going to kill him.

He was going to strangle her.

Logan sat in his car and gripped the steering wheel as he fought to control the rage coursing through his body. It was after ten and she wasn’t home. Hadn’t been home for his call. He'd called and texted her twice and still no response. So after patiently waiting another half hour and only getting her cheery voice telling him to leave a message, he’d decided to drive to her apartment and wait.

And she still wasn’t home.

He took a deep breath and tried to think the situation over. He’d been nice enough to allow her to go to dinner with a man who may be trying to coax her into bed at this very moment. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt when she asked for his trust, knowing how important that was to her in a relationship. He decided to try to be the man she wanted him to be: patient and understanding, kind and generous, trusting and open-minded. A man like Richard Thorne pretended to be. He played by her rules, thinking with enough time she’d come to him on her own. Admit she loved him. Then he could finally drag her into his bed where she belonged.

Now she could be doing that with another man she insisted was only a friend.

His stomach coiled at the thought. He stared out the windshield at the deserted parking lot and listened to the eerie silence. His fingers tapped absently against the steering wheel as he went over his options. He’d made a mistake. He allowed his feelings to get in the way, and now she was taking advantage of the situation. He almost laughed out loud when he suddenly realized the sad picture he made. The mighty “man of steel” was really a poor chump sitting in the parking lot of a woman’s apartment building, waiting for her to show up from a date with another man.

Shards of ice ripped at his heart as he reigned in his emotions and took control. This was the last time his lady would make a fool out of him. He’d been going easy on her. Allowed her to play the game by a different set of rules so she felt safe.

Now they'd play by his rules.

He pushed the uneasy thought out of his mind that she was really in cahoots with her father. Could she be using him? Could she be so clever that even he had been fooled? As he gunned the engine and pulled out of the lot in a roar of screeching tires, he realized how much he wanted to believe in her innocence.

His first action was to find out where Harrison Edward Weston III lived.

And God help the man if Chandler was there.