A Cowboy in Manhattan(58)
“You’re going to need a tux. This is a pretty high-end affair.”
“No problem. I’ll go see Salvatore.”
“You’re going back to Brooklyn for a tux?”
“I like Salvatore. Besides, I own part of his company now. He’ll have to give me a good price.”
“Just out of curiosity.” Katrina turned and leaned her back against the rounded metal rail, asking a question that had nagged at her since last night. “How did you decide to buy into a tailor shop in Brooklyn?”
He shrugged. “Instinct more than anything. I was in Brooklyn yesterday, and Nico recommended Salvatore. We got to talking about his business. He needed some help, and it made sense to me to help him out. In the end, I looked him in the eyes. I liked him, and I liked his business.”
“Who’s Nico?”
“The guy who owns the bakery I’m buying into.”
Katrina got a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Are you saying this all happened yesterday?”
“While you were rehearsing.”
She was dying to ask him how much he’d invested. She was terrified that Nico and this Salvatore character had seen Reed coming. “How do you know he didn’t rip you off?”
“I’m a good judge of character.”
“Maybe in Colorado. But this is New York City.”
“Are you questioning my judgment?”
“Yes,” she answered honestly.
The muscles in his neck went tight, and she braced herself.
But when he finally spoke, his tone was neutral. “Don’t worry about it.”
“How much—” She stopped herself. “Never mind. None of my business.”
“That’s right.”
“I’m sorry.”
The wind whistled past them.
“I have a plan,” he said.
“Do tell.”
“The baker. The tailor. And the limo guy. They all have the same problem, great little businesses, solid work ethic, and short-term cash-flow issues.”
“Oh, Reed, no.” Not the limo business, too.
“They’re good guys, family businesses that have been around for generations. I make a few more of these small investments, and when they pay off, I reinvest the profits in the next person.”
“And what if there are no profits? What if you lose? Reed, this is a very big city. Con artists are everywhere.”
“In a small bake shop in Brooklyn with a broken-down delivery truck, just waiting for a guy like me to come along and bail him out?”
Okay, that did sound far-fetched for a sting operation. But it didn’t mean these guys weren’t opportunistic.
“I’m not going to lose, Katrina,” said Reed. “I’m willing to bet people are people just about anywhere. Some good, some bad, most just trying to get by.”
“I didn’t know they taught philosophy at Lyndon Valley High School.”
His jawline set, and his eyes turned to charcoal, and she knew she’d gone too far. Then, his voice went hard as steel “Well, I’d already guessed they taught snobbery at the Upper Cavendar Dramatic Arts Academy.”
Regret shot through her. “Reed, I didn’t—”
“We’re docking,” he pointed out, turning on his heel to head for the gangway.
Sitting in row G, center orchestra, in the opulent Emperor’s Theater, Reed’s anger had long since disappeared. Katrina’s ballet performance had blown him away, and he felt like the biggest jerk in the world for barking at the ethereal angel who’d held the audience enthralled throughout the evening. He wondered how quickly the well-heeled crowd would turn on him if they knew how he’d behaved.
Mere minutes into the performance, he’d found himself transferring his anger to her family. Why had he never heard she was this good? Why weren’t they shouting it from the rooftops and dropping everything to rush to New York City and watch her dance?
Supported by rows of other dancers, she was the center of attention, all ribbons and tulle. Her skirt was gauzy mauve, her hair neatly upswept, woven with flowers and jewels as she spun gracefully across the stage, toes pointed, arms outstretched, all but floating to her partner, who lifted her as the orchestra built the music to a final crescendo.
Reed held his breath through the leaps and turns and lifts, until they finally held their position. The orchestra cut, and the crowd burst into thunderous applause.