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I take a sip and smile. Arguing with her won’t serve any purpose, so I let it slide. “Let’s finish lunch. I need to get back to the bar.”

“My house first,” she reminds me. “You want to be ready to give William that gift when you see him again.”

I don’t think that will happen until the bar is open to the public, and for that to take place on time, I have a long to-do list I need to tackle.

I pop a fry in my mouth and smile at Hildy. “You’re the best great aunt anyone could ever wish for.”

“I know,” she says with a wink of her eye. “I know, dear.”

14

William

The tantrum playingout in front of me is the very reason why I’m successful.

I’m in the lobby of the Beaumont Hotel, waiting for a client to come down from his suite to meet me for a drink in the bar. He calls Boston home, but the woman he is crazy in love with lives here in Manhattan.

His situation is somewhat unique in that he loved and lost. He loved this woman for five years before he lost her because he stopped viewing her as a gift.

He wants a second chance, so I’m here to help give him that.

That’s all well and good, but while I wait for Rupert, my client, to show up, I’m being subjected to a shitshow of toddler theatrics from what appears to be a man in his thirties. I’d peg us around the same age on paper, but this fool is lagging behind me by leaps and bounds when it comes to emotional maturity.

Frankly, the little kid who just breezed past me on his way into the hotel, holding tightly to a woman’s hand, is more of a grown-up than the man tossing a bunch of brochures in the air at the reception desk.

“I said I want her room number!” the brochure-tossing guy yells. “Give it to me now.”

“That’s against our policy, sir,” the man behind the reception desk explains. “I told you I’m willing to call her room and ask if she’d like to speak with you.”

“She won’t!” The fool, losing his cool, throws another brochure in the air.

“I don’t blame her,” the little kid jumps into the fray. “You’re loud.” He looks up into the face of the woman he’s with. “He’s loud, Mommy. Why is he so loud?”

Still holding tightly to his hand, his mom shushes him. Thank Christ the jerk doesn’t turn around to direct his frustration at the kid. I suspect that may happen if someone doesn’t step in to lower the temperature in here, so I do just that.

“Hey, you!” I call out to the guy, who is now spinning in a circle as if he’s trying to decide his next move.

“Me?” He pats the center of his chest. “Are you talking to me?”

I stalk toward him. “Of course I am. You’re making a scene. You need to shut the …” I glance to where the child is taking all of this in, and rethink what I need to say, “I’d appreciate it a lot if you could use your inside voice.”

The little kid nods. “Me too.”

“My inside voice?” The loudmouthed asshole takes a step closer to me. “What the fuck does that mean?”

The child gasps. I do, too, for good measure because I don’t want the little tyke to feel alone in his shock.

“Swear words are bad words,” I say with a frown. “Apologize for using that word.”

“You can go straight to hell.”

The kid gasps again, but his hands shoot up to cover his little ears this time. It’s not enough of a buffer to silence what I really want to say to the swear-loving bastard, so I motion for him to come even closer to me.

He tugs on the front of his sweatshirt before he raises his fists like he’s ready to drive one into my jaw. I don’t back down because I’ll have his arms behind his back before any part of him touches any part of me.

“Knock it off,” I whisper when he’s close enough to hear me. “Whoever you’re hoping to talk to is going to hear about this, and I promise you, she’ll want less to do with you than she already does.”

“Gloria?” he spits out the name of the woman who has apparently taken harbor in this hotel. “You think she’ll hear about this?”