Ordinary Girl, Millionaire Tycoon. Darlene Gardner

“Wanna see a toad?”

      Shock appeared on his mother’s face, infusing it with life. “Joey! I thought you let the toad go.”

      “I did,” the boy said with an unhappy pout. “But I bet I could find him again.”

      “I’d have liked to see him. I used to catch toads all the time when I was a kid.” Tony stuck out a hand to the boy. “Is it okay if I call you Joe? You look more like a Joe than a Joey.”

      “Sure.” The boy beamed at him, displaying twin dimples that made him look like an imp. He placed his small hand in Tony’s and shook with surprising firmness. Then he grinned at his mom. “Hey, Mom, he’s cool.”

      Tony transferred his gaze to the Connie. Her features were even more intriguing up close. Her nose was long with a little bump on the bridge, her cheekbones high, her lips full, her front two teeth separated by a very slight gap. Her lashes weren’t particularly long but they were thick and as dark as her finely arched brows.

      His eyes dipped to the bare ring finger of her left hand. When they returned to her face, her midnight-dark eyes narrowed.

      He got the distinct impression she didn’t agree with her son’s assessment of his coolness. Tough. She should understand straight off the bat that she couldn’t con him.

      “Let’s not waste time,” he said. “Tell me your story.”

      “Who are you?” she asked.

      “He already told you, Mom,” the boy interjected helpfully. “He’s Tony.”

      “I thought Mr. Nunzio’s first name was Frankie.”

      “It is,” Tony said, wondering where she was going with this.

      “If you’re not the restaurant owner, are you the manager?”

      “No. Why—” he began.

      “Then are you hitting on me?” She looked him straight in the eyes.

      So much for presenting a can’t-con-me front. He thought he’d disguised that first visceral reaction, but she’d recognized it and called him on it. Damn.

      “He’s not hitting you, Mom,” Joe said. “If he did, I’d hit him back.”

      “Thank you, Joe-Joe.” She sent a grateful look at her son before casting a decidedly cooler one at Tony. “Look, I’m flattered. Really I am. And I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have time for this. I’m here about a job that I really need.”

      “Whoa.” He put up a hand. “I’m not hitting on you.”

      “He’s not, Mom,” Joe agreed.

      “We talked on the phone. I’m the guy you were supposed to…” His voice trailed off as a possibility occurred to him. “You’re not one of the Connies, are you?”

      Delicate frown lines appeared on her brow. “Excuse me?”

      He rephrased the question. “Is your name Connie?”

      She shook her head, her dark hair rustling. “It’s Kaylee. Kaylee Carter.”

      “And I’m Joey… I mean Joe Carter,” her son piped up.

      Tony closed his eyes, winced and put a hand to his brow even as relief swept through him. “I owe you an apology. I thought you were someone else.”

      He started to tell her he’d been weeding through letters with his lottery-winning stepmother to decide which of the Connies could be legitimate before setting up a meet. But it suddenly seemed like too much information.

      The cell phone clipped to his pocket vibrated, interrupting his train of thought. He unhooked it, checked the number and recognized it as belonging to the Connie.

      “Excuse me. I’ve got to take this.” He got up and walked to an empty booth nearby.

      He felt Kaylee’s eyes on him as he listened to the Connie say she’d changed her mind and didn’t want to reschedule. No surprise there, considering he’d made it clear she had to get past him before she could get to Sofia.

      He hung up, reclipped the phone and walked back to the booth. Kaylee watched him warily.

      “I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding.” He didn’t sit down this time. “Let me make it up to you. Let me…”

      He clamped down on his teeth before he could finish the sentence…let me take you to dinner. Yeah, like that would convince her he hadn’t been hitting on her.

      “…put in a good word for you with the owner.”

      “You know the owner?” She sounded hopeful.

      “I grew up here in McIntosh so there aren’t many people I don’t know.”

      “I’m waiting to talk to him. If you could put in a good word, I’d appreciate it very much. Joey and I, we just moved here and I really need a job.” She lifted her chin. “Not that I can’t get one myself but a good word can’t hurt.”

      He nodded, ready to promise her anything. Her combination of bravado and susceptibility touched a familiar chord inside him. He’d once left everything he knew behind to go off to live in a strange city. He understood what it was like to feel vulnerable.

      The swinging door at the back of the restaurant banged open, and Frankie Nunzio emerged. He scanned the restaurant, spotted Tony and grinned.

      A small, wiry man on the down side of fifty who moved with the energy of someone half his age, Frankie reached Tony in seconds and vigorously pumped his hand. “Hey, Tony. What? You coming in here every day now?”

      “Can’t stay away, but you’ll be glad I came in today because I found a waitress for you.” He nodded toward Kaylee. “Frankie, this is Kaylee Carter and her son, Joe. Kaylee and Joe, Frankie Nunzio.”

      Frankie shook Kaylee’s hand every bit as enthusiastically as he had Tony’s. “You’re the woman waiting to see me?”

      “Yes.”

      “Have you waitressed before?”

      “I have six years of experience.”

      “Then I’ll give you a try. I need somebody from ten to two six days a week. We’re closed Sundays. Let’s see. It’s Friday. Can you start Monday?”

      “You mean I’m hired? Just like that?”

      “Think of next week as your trial run. But, hey, if you’re a friend of Tony’s, I’m sure you’ll do fine. What do you say?”

      Something wasn’t right. Tony could see it in the set of Kaylee’s shoulders, the slight tightening of her mouth.

      “Don’t you have anything full-time?” she asked.

      “Not right now,” Frankie said. “But the restaurant business is fluid. Something could come up. So are we on for Monday?”

      She hesitated, then affixed a smile. “Yes. Provided I can find somebody to take care of my son.”

      “Try Anne Gudzinski,” Frankie advised. “She runs a day care a couple blocks from here. After I get some papers for you to fill out, Tony can walk you over there and introduce you. Right, Tony?”

      “Be happy to,” he said, noting that her smile of thanks seemed distracted.

      He kept her son occupied with a game of paper football while she filled out the paperwork. Tony taught Joe how to flick the “football” across the table with his fingertips.

      The little boy screamed, “Score!” whenever the paper football sailed off the table and into Tony’s lap, not grasping that touchdowns only counted if it barely hung over the side.

      When Kaylee was finally ready to walk to Anne’s day-care center, Tony could tell that something was