The Better Man. Amy Vastine

Чтение книги онлайн.

       CHAPTER TWO

      MAX JORDAN WAS a punctual man. Always on time. Never late.

      Except when meetings were scheduled before noon, that is. He tended to be a little tardy for those.

      In his defense, he was still adjusting to the time change. It was only eight-thirty in Los Angeles, and the only time Max saw eight-thirty was if he was getting ready for bed after an extremely late night. In the restaurant and night club business, daytime was bedtime.

      Even though the restaurant he was here to run wasn’t open yet, it was difficult to change his sleep schedule. There were plenty of places for him to scope out, as competition in the restaurant business was tight in the Windy City. He wanted Sato’s to be a success. He needed it to be.

      Managing a successful restaurant would look good, and right now, Max needed to look good—in the eyes of the court, his ex and, most important, his son. Being late to his first meeting with the interior designers was not going to help.

      The invitation to sit in on the presentation had been unexpected, especially since Max knew Mr. Sato had the only vote that counted. Sato was a shrewd businessman who only hired the best of the best. Whomever he chose to design the restaurant’s dining area would be top-notch.

      That didn’t excuse Max’s lack of punctuality, however. He should have been there. On time. How he was going to explain his late arrival was the only thing on his mind as he raced down the steps and out the door toward the cab he had called. Just as he reached for the car door handle, he heard a voice.

      “Dad! Wait! It’s us!”

      Max stopped, looking up and across the street. Nobody called him Dad. Not even Aidan, his own son. It wasn’t the name that captured his attention, but the desperation.

      The boy across the street looked much older than Aidan, but they shared the same brown hair and strong lungs. Aidan’s scream rivaled that of any horror movie leading lady. Max glanced around, searching for this other child’s father. There wasn’t anyone on his side of the street and the boy looked like he was about to dart into traffic.

      Max felt his heart skip a beat until he noticed the boy held a woman’s hand, his mother most likely. She’d keep him from getting hurt.

      Their eyes met for the briefest of seconds and he could’ve sworn she recognized him. But that was impossible. There was one thing he hadn’t made time for since he moved to Chicago and that was women. The only person he’d spoken more than a couple of words to was the nice—almost too nice—guy who owned the condo under his in their three-flat.

      Max slid into the back of the cab and rattled off the address and a plea for haste. Rubbing his tired eyes with his thumb and forefinger, he tried to refocus on his excuse for being late. He had texted Mr. Sato’s assistant that he’d be late the moment he’d woken up and realized the time. He hadn’t, however, given a reason.

      An accident. A boy ran into the street and was hit by a car. Max had to stop, wait for help to arrive.

      Nah. Boys being hit by cars would probably make the news. He needed to think less dramatic.

      Traffic? Traffic in Chicago was almost as terrible as in L.A. Almost. Unfortunately, it wasn’t bad enough to make him an hour late.

      He could almost hear Katie now. His ex-wife would be reading him the riot act if she knew. This is what you call being responsible? The only thing you’re good at, Max, is lying. Doesn’t this prove Aidan deserves better than you?

      Some days he hated her. Her, her sanctimonious attitude and her new attorney husband. Nothing bugged him more than the way she acted like a saint. As if he didn’t know who she used to be. As if her life in L.A. never existed. Sadly for her, he did remember and she wasn’t perfect.

      Max took a deep breath and stared out the window as the buildings grew taller and the streets more crowded. He swore things would be different in Chicago. He would be different. He came here to prove something and he wasn’t going to blow it. He was not going to be like his deadbeat father. Not if he could help it.

      * * *

      MR. SATO’S OFFICE was in the heart of the West Loop. Max knew they were close when they passed the Willis Tower. He threw in a couple of extra dollars of tip for the speedy service and jumped out of the cab.

      With no excuse but the truth, he marched into the building and headed for the elevators. Hopefully he hadn’t missed the entire presentation. Perhaps they’d waited for him. The designers were sure to be less than pleased with him if that was the case. That accident excuse felt less wrong for a minute until the elevator reached the correct floor.

      The dark gray marble beneath his feet matched the color of the imaginary cloud above Max’s head. He approached the receptionist seated behind a curved glass block desk, buttoning his jacket closed before smoothing down the lapels. He smiled, hoping the friendlier he was, the friendlier others would be in return. “Good morning. Max Jordan. I’m here for Mr. Sato’s meeting with the interior designers.”

      The woman pushed her red glasses up her nose and tucked her jet black hair behind her ear. Everything about her was severe, from her hair color to the angle of her chin. “Mr. Sato’s nine-thirty meeting?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

      “That’s the one. Better late than never, right?”

      The woman’s lips didn’t even twitch. “Let me see if it’s still happening,” she said, her tone as judgmental as the look she gave him. She picked up her phone and dialed. “I think the designer left,” she told Max.

      That figured. Max bounced on the balls of his feet and patted his pockets for the cigarettes that weren’t there because he’d quit. He needed to figure out a way to make it up to Mr. Sato. Work harder. Do more promotion. Put in more hours when the place opened.

      “Through those doors and to your right. The conference room is at СКАЧАТЬ