Lucius eyed his companion with fascination. “A powerhouse at what?” he asked delicately. He knew—sort of. He’d seen Josh Salinger at work, herding an eclectic group of people who only fit in at cocktail parties if they were running a scam. A couple of them were college-aged, like Josh and Grace, but not all. Lucius had met Interpol agents, insurance investigators, and mercenaries in the Salinger den, and a couple of months earlier, the entire collective had helped him stop his company from hemorrhaging developing technology at a fatal rate.
When he’d realized that Caraway House was under siege, they’d been the first people he’d thought of. But he hadn’t counted on the heart of the operation being so ill.
“At everything, I guess,” Charles said meditatively. They approached the main lobby of the hospital, where the cafeteria sat on the ground floor, next to an in-house Starbucks, and Charles took a couple of quick steps to open the door for him.
The gesture was so natural, so smooth, Lucius was halfway over the threshold before he realized that it was a power move—or a seduction move. And when Charles put light fingertips on the small of Lucius’s back, he was reminded of the kiss.
It hadn’t been real; at least thinking back on it, Lucius assumed it hadn’t been. But at the time, when Charles had been running into a gala at the Art Institute and Lucius had inconveniently recognized him, it had felt real. Charles had been strong and commanding, which were usually the things Lucius prided himself on, and after a few brief, memorable moments of being manhandled in the shadows, Lucius had found himself barely standing while Charles wiped Lucius’s mouth with careful thumbs and told him to stay there until Charles came back out again.
Lucius had no idea how many moments had passed before he saw Josh’s friend Grace, dressed completely in black, but still recognizable by his almost complete invisibility, getting ready to climb up to the roof to intercept Lucius’s stolen tech. That was when he’d realized that Charles had been getting him out of the way.
On the one hand, Lucius had been relieved. The group of people he’d put his trust in, in spite of the fact that they’d had no reason to help him, were coming through. His company provided for a lot of families, and it funded his charitable endeavors, and he really hadn’t wanted to face letting all those people down.
But on the other, that kiss had been nothing but a smoke screen, and since it took a good twenty minutes for Lucius’s heart rate to return to normal, well, he was a little embarrassed.
He’d had a healthy sex life. He’d been kissed a lot. He was even, he’d thought, considered something of a player. But that lanky cowboy had put on a monkey suit and kissed Lucius until his brain fell out, and Lucius didn’t know how to even talk to him anymore.
For a man who had inherited a not-quite Fortune 500 company before he’d turned thirty, it was a little demoralizing.
“Mostly,” Charles said now, jerking Lucius back to the moment, “Josh is sort of the heart of the group. He’s really good at bringing people together.”
Lucius shoved the kiss back into the box it had popped out from and tried to think like an adult. “Will you all be able to help me, do you think?” He grimaced. “God, I hate to even ask. He’s practically a baby, and he’s sick, and his parents are obviously worried stupid, and—”
“And the reason we all love that kid is that he wants us to put our individual talents into helping people, and we hadn’t really thought of that before. So don’t worry. We may be worried about our friend, but if the whole Robin Hood thing is important, well then….” He shrugged, and Lucius was left to draw his own conclusions.
“Then the team has to function without him?” he hazarded, knowing it was a hard thought to have.
“At least for now,” Charles said staunchly. “And here we are at the world’s best cafeteria, bar none.” He smiled toothily, and Lucius tried not to roll his eyes.
Failed.
“What makes it the world’s best cafeteria?” he asked.
“Why, Margie here,” Chuck said, smiling pleasantly as he walked up to the counter, complete with plastic partition, behind which stood a stout middle-aged woman in full food-service regalia of apron, gloves, hairnet, and mask. “Margie, how you doin’, beautiful?”
“Better now that you’re here, Chuck,” Margie said back. Her lined face softened, and even behind the mask, she looked almost girlish. “How’s your friend?”
Charles kept his smile, but his eyes grew a little sad, and Lucius realized that the charming flirtation he’d formed with this woman held a core of sincerity in it. He remembered hospitals when his brother had been ill, and how cold and lonely they’d been. Charles Calder had managed to find humanity in the middle of that coldness, and Lucius was in awe.
“He’s sleeping,” Charles told her. “Doing a lot of that these days, but the doctors say if he can get past this rough spot, he should be on the way to mending.”
“Any word on the bone marrow transplant?” Margie asked, and as she spoke, Lucius noted she was dishing up a plate of chicken-fried steak, gravy, mashed potatoes, and buttered vegetables—extra steak, extra gravy. She put it up on top of the glass partition for Charles to take, not minding the tray or the usual process to go through the register in the least.
“We’ve got a some ideas,” Charles said. “And aren’t you a dear to remember. Now you need to let me pay for this, Margie darlin’, and my friend here too.” He turned to Lucius. “They’ve got a turkey sandwich here that Margie makes fresh. It’s good shit, hoss, I’m not gonna lie.”
“A turkey sandwich sounds perfect,” Lucius told Margie.
“Let me guess,” she said, holding up a plastic-gloved hand. “No mayonnaise, no cheese, just turkey, lettuce, and wheat, am I right?”
“Pickles and tomatoes?” Lucius told her, a little embarrassed.
Margie looked at Charles. “See? What did I tell you, Chuck. I can spot ’em a mile away.”
Charles grinned. “And so you have—a man on a diet. You’re a wonder.” He turned all those white teeth to Lucius, as though inviting him to join in on the joke.
“I put on weight like you wouldn’t believe,” he said sheepishly, and Charles laughed.
“It’s ’cause you’re a guy in a suit, Mr. Broadstone. Not enough elliptical machines in the world to burn off chicken-fried steak when you’re a guy in a suit.”
It was on the tip of Lucius’s tongue to ask Charles what he did for a living when Margie produced his sandwich, with fat slices of dill pickle and what looked like freshly carved slices of turkey.
In fact, it looked as good as any deli in New York, and he smiled gratefully at Margie.
“That looks delicious, even if it’s not steak,” he said, and Margie’s smile made her eyes practically disappear.
“It’s on the house, Chuck,” she said. “For both of you. Don’t forget your water and fruit now. You know it keeps you healthy.”
“Aw, Margie,” Charles said, and to Lucius’s surprise, he actually blushed. “Thank you, darlin’. Now I told Grace I was going to bring him back a milkshake, so when we’re done—”