Innuendo. Crystal Green

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Taking a deep breath, Tam stuck her hand inside the vase, grappled around, then came out with a card.

      “Julia Nguyen?” Tam said, confused at seeing the woman’s name embossed on the thick paper.

      “I had to use my own business card,” she said, clearly excited to have her recommended man in the spotlight. “Turn it over for my note.”

      Tam did, hardly surprised to find an organized bulleted list of attributes. She read them out loud. “‘Gorgeous gray-blue eyes. Charmer. Dark hair that curls at the ends. Sexy. Waiter. Free spirit.’”

      Free spirit. Could he show her the way? Tam’s pulse started to thump.

      “He was young,” Julia said. “Late twenties, I think, and not what you would call successful yet. He’s a waiter, but talked about owning his own place a lot. When I saw that he didn’t have a card, that told me where he is in life, and it’s not where I need a man to be. Still, very, very—”

      Teena interrupted. “She wouldn’t throw him outta bed for eatin’ crackers.”

      Bumpity-bump. Tam’s heart wouldn’t shut up.

      She would be in charge of this one, right? If she could just go into it with no expectations, she could relax and have a little fun.

      What did she have to lose?

      She glanced at the handwritten name and number on the card: “Kyle Sullivan. Work number: 555-8375.”

      Her baby step into freedom.

      LATER THAT AFTERNOON, a hop skip and a jump away in Union Square, Murphy Sullivan sat at a table in Amidala, the hottest new restaurant from Chef Miike. Known for his experimental Japanese-French fusion dishes, the chef had a cooking show on The Food Channel as well as an avid following of tourists and locals alike. The menu was cutting edge and so was the decor: dark, shiny, modern furniture with avant-garde paintings and sculptures. The main dining room was tinted with chic Blade Runner-style touches, the bar lit by low, soft-blue lighting.

      Now, an hour before opening, Murphy thought the clientele wouldn’t have recognized the atmosphere. Instead of seeing waiters, busboys and bartenders shined to a polish in their white jackets and black ties, they would’ve found a group of loud, raucous poker enthusiasts gathered around a linen-clad table, shouting and joking with each other. This was the time to let go—the hour before the sun began to set and the jackets would have to be buttoned. This was the time for the boys to be boys and not automatons who existed to serve.

      “Well, kiss my ass!” one of the waiters yelled to the rest of the table as he slammed down his cards. “Full house!”

      Murphy, the head bartender here, glanced up from the law brief he’d brought with him. He was proofing it for his day job clerking at his cousin’s firm of Doyle, Flynn and Sullivan—not that it did much good in this racket.

      “You lookin’ over here, Murph?” the waiter with the winning hand asked, his black hair ruffled and his gray-blue eyes wide and teasing. Murphy’s cousin, Kyle. “I just leveled these kids. How about you come on over here to get some of that?”

      Grinning, Murphy leaned back in his chair, in no hurry to move, letting his laconic attitude speak for itself.

      “Aw, come on.” Kyle gathered the cards while another waiter stood behind him, marking down how much Kyle had won. “You’re the only one around here who gives me a run for my money.”

      “I’m working.”

      “Forget about that. You didn’t pass the bar last time, so why do you think the results are gonna be any different this time and, furthermore, that it’ll get you ahead at the firm?”

      Some of the staff oohed, as if there was about to be a big street brawl. Murphy merely shook his head, seemingly amused.

      Truthfully, Kyle’s words cut into him, made him anxious. He couldn’t say why. Murphy had a law degree and valuable experience at the firm under his belt; he wasn’t so much afraid he wouldn’t pass the bar this time than…what?

      Damn, he didn’t want to think about what came afterward: hiring on with his cousin Ian’s law firm just as he’d always been expected to do. Going to the stifling parties, like the masquerade he’d have to attend this Sunday to network. Having the rest of his life planned out because he couldn’t let down his family by doing otherwise.

      He sniffed as an enticing aroma—Chef Miike’s scallops with mushrooms over rice noodles—wafted past. Murphy closed his eyes, savoring more than just the scent. He held on to a fantasy that had no place on the path he was following—the dream of a restaurant where he could make magic in the kitchen.

      As the smell disappeared, he opened his eyes again, seeing the words on the legal brief scattered before him.

      Nerves rustled just under his skin, and his heart started to pound. There it was again—pressure building in him, around him, threatening from all sides. He felt as if there was a slab of rock pressing on his chest, pinning him down, stealing his freedom. He’d give his left arm to get out from under it.

      But, true to form, Murphy told himself to let it go. Then he put on that carefree attitude like a cloak by resting his hands on the back of his neck, reclining farther in the chair and smiling at Kyle in a who-gives-a-crap way.

      He knew it would drive his cousin nuts.

      “Look at him,” Kyle said lightly, shuffling the cards and grinning at his friends. “The great hope of the Sullivans. The big brain who almost broke the bank to go to law school at fancy-pants Tulane.”

      Hey, Murphy thought, he and his parents had worked long and hard to get him to the Louisiana college where he’d stayed with relatives, relied on scholarships and worked part-time to make ends meet. Murphy had even delayed enrollment a couple of years after high school graduation just to help earn his way through the school where all the Sullivan lawyers had gone. No wonder he felt so much pressure now. All the cash and hope that had been invested in him made passing the bar and succeeding that much more important.

      Going to Tulane held symbolic significance in the family. The first Sullivan brothers had settled in New Orleans during the late 1800s and, gradually, after working their way up the lace-curtain ranks, two descendents had realized their dreams of opening a law practice in 1938. Having been educated at Tulane, they established a family scholarship fund for future Sullivan lawyers, thereby creating a precedent for each generation to aspire to. Sullivans who’d branched out to different areas of the country vied with each other to win the honor of attending the school, and when Murphy had made his parents proud by earning the award, the last thing he’d thought to do was refuse it or question whether it was actually the best school for him.

      And while in New Orleans, he’d discovered cooking. Discovered that maybe being a lawyer wasn’t his first wish, after all.

      Not that it mattered now. Murphy’s life was set, and he knew how lucky he was to have fate give him such an opportunity. After graduation, he’d moved back to San Fran to be near his close-knit family and work at his cousin Ian’s side, and all was well. For the most part.

      Simmering with a low-burning frustration that seemed to get hotter each day, Murphy still didn’t let on that Kyle was getting to him. He just leaned back a little farther in that chair.

      Kyle СКАЧАТЬ