Under the Table(10)
“Ambitious little cuss, weren’t you?”
He preened a little. “I like to think so. Long story short, with some help from the colonel, I devised a program that links databases. The colonel took it to his former superiors and they bought it for what I consider an outrageous sum of money. The program renews every year with a few updates. Now I spend a half hour every year striking a few keys on the keyboard and collect my check.”
In no way did it sound like he was bragging, merely answering the question. She was dying to know what he considered an outrageous sum of money but knew that was a question she didn’t deserve the answer to.
“So you decided to take on the Big Apple?” Zoey asked instead.
“Not originally. I would’ve been more than happy to stay on the island, totally remodel Paradise Cove, and hire a full staff so that my grandparents could retire in style, but I didn’t get that chance.”
He sounded melancholy again, and Zoey bit into her lower lip in response to it.
“They died, didn’t they?”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“It’s okay, Zoey. Not talking about it doesn’t change anything. My grandmother died first, after a relatively short bout with Alzheimer’s. A blessing really, when you think about how long that agony can go on. My grandfather and I took care of her ourselves, with some help of course. He didn’t last six months after she was gone. It’s strange, when he was in the army, he would be gone for months at a time. I guess as long as he knew she was waiting for him to return, he could take it. After she was gone, he just gave up.”
Zoey gave him a consoling pat on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Tristan.”
He didn’t recoil from her touch, but within seconds, he was back on his side of the room, grabbing a beer out of the fridge.
“Thanks, Zoey,” he said, before twisting off the top and taking a long swig. “After they were gone, all I knew was I needed to get away. From the resort, from the island. I had heard, and overheard, so many stories about the mainland over the years. In a moment of grief and determination, I decided on New York.”
He didn’t sound like he was proud of his accomplishment. He hadn’t embraced city life; he endured it. The evening was turning from a success to a downer, and that was the last thing she wanted. She turned off the water, squeezed the sponge one last time, and put it back in its hiding place.
“What made you decide on Cajun tonight?” she asked to change the subject.
He gave her a small grin. “I’ve never been to New Orleans.”
Was he telling the truth or did he feel like he had exposed himself enough? Zoey took the dish towel he’d left on the counter and started wiping down the already clean counters, aware that he was watching her as she did so. She surveyed the room to make sure that everything was put away and clean, then added, “This is the most beautiful kitchen I’ve ever had the enjoyment of working in.”
He smiled again, this time relaxed and real. “Thanks. You did a great job tonight. All the way around.”
“It’s easy in a setup like this.”
He reached into his pocket and handed her a wad of cash she didn’t bother to count. This man was not ripping her off. “Would you rather get paid by check?”
“Heck no! Not only is cash king, but it’s virtually untraceable by the IRS. It’s called—getting paid under the table.”
“What table is that?” he inquired.
Zoey threw her hands up in the air with a shrug. “Beats me. Maybe the table you would write the check on?”
“Can I call on you again?”
“Certainly,” Zoey said quickly, already looking forward to the prospect of working for him again. “And if you don’t mind spreading the good word, I’d sure appreciate it. Word of mouth is great for advertising in this business.”
He paused before picking up her faded doctor’s bag and handing it to her with a reluctant “Sure.”
They walked together to the front door, where he helped her with her coat and she gathered the rest of her things. “Can I call you a cab?”
“Nope. I’m all good,” she said as he opened the door. “Thanks again, Tristan. It’s been a pleasure.”
“I assure you, Zoey, the pleasure was all mine. Good night.”
He closed the door and Zoey started back down the long hall. It was her turn to feel an indescribable sadness. Tristan Malloy had been the dream client, so kind and accommodating. Then she pushed the down arrow elevator button and reached into her pocket to count the money he gave her.
That’s when she realized she still had his spare key in her pocket.
Chapter 4
Zoey was annoyed. She prided herself on her attention to detail. She trudged back down the hallway to his door, weary from a night on her feet. She gave a knock. After waiting a minute and not getting an answer, she knocked again, harder. Loud enough that it resounded through the empty hall. Again, she waited.
“Odd,” she mumbled under her breath, pulling out her phone and finding his number. She waited for it to ring ten times before disconnecting. It didn’t forward to voice mail.
She stood outside Tristan Malloy’s door and slowly built up the steam that ended in her mind completely running away with her. She had just left him not five minutes ago. What the hell could’ve happened to him? She stared at her phone, silently begging the screen to light up with his callback to no avail. Panic mounted with indecision and she pounded on the door, then pushed the tiny button that was supposed to act as a doorbell, then gave up. She stuck the key in the lock.