Downstairs, he could hear the whine and rhythm of work being done, but was alone here for the moment, peering out of the new glass in the window that Reese and Tenny had leaped out of when they caught Jimmy Connors trying to vandalize the place. He frowned to himself: the sooner they found out what was going on there, the better.
Sunlight glinted off bright metal, and he watched a black Jag pull up to the curb. Bruce got out, and went around to let out his boss.
The crisp strike of leather-soled shoes on the stairs announced Ian’s arrival before he stepped through the doorway and into view. Despite the ever-warming weather, he wore a topcoat and a pair of leather gloves; didn’t want to risk touching anything dirty at a construction site, Ghost figured with an internal eye roll.
Bruce followed, silent and hulking as ever, and took up a post just inside the door, where he could monitor the stairs.
Ian strolled across the subfloor with practiced elegance, surveying the exposed pipes and wires, the stacks of materials over against the far wall. “Love what you’ve done with the place,” he deadpanned.
“Just wait ‘til we’re done with it. You won’t be able to keep your fancy ass away.”
Ian smirked, and halted in the center of the room, making eye contact finally, one russet brow arched. “How flattering of you to notice my ass.”
Ghost didn’t take the bait. He’d learned that it was best to let him get it out of his system, and he’d eventually get bored with taunting people.
As predicted, the smirk melted away into a bland expression, and he took another slow look around the room, brow marked with signs of true scrutiny this time. “It isn’t the largest space, but then, the nicest restaurants favor smaller dining rooms and niche clientele. I can see the potential. Forgive me, though” – the smirk returned, as did his gaze – “but I think you’re wise to consult me. No offense, Kenneth, but you’re hardly familiar with the finer things in life.” Above the sharp lines of his mocking little smile, his eyes sparkled, fond and warm. It was just a game, the back and forth, the insults; he enjoyed it, and, truth told, in the right frame of mind, Ghost enjoyed it, too.
He smirked back. “Not that I don’t appreciate a good poke at the redneck heritage, but this isn’t the place I wanted help with. I was talking about the coffeeshop down on the end. The landlord’s being a dick, and says he won’t sell for anything less than a fucking ransom. The proprietors are club friends. The Cooks.”
Ian’s brows jumped in interest. “Related to the charming Miss Cook your wife asked me to hire, I take it.”
Ghost nodded. “Her parents.”
Ian tipped his head, auburn hair sliding in the sunlight. “Turning over a new leaf? Adopting whole families now?”
“You can’t adopt whole-ass adults.”
“Not even me?” An innocent tone, but his eyes betrayed a stroke of true feeling; a gratefulness that Ghost found himself looking away from, to keep from embarrassing the boy too much.
Predictably, Ian cleared his throat and was himself again. “Do you want me to lean on the landlord? I’m honestly flattered that you think I’m more intimidating than you.”
“I want you to buy the building. After you lean on the landlord to get the price down – that shithead doesn’t deserve to rob anybody, not even you.”
“Hm. Am I to assume you’d want me to allow Cook’s Coffee to stay?”
“Yeah, that’s the whole point of it.”
Ian stroked his chin with gloved fingers in a movement Ghost knew was calculated.
“Don’t get all supervillain on me,” he muttered, and Ian’s hand dropped, and his cheeks colored. “If you don’t wanna do it, just tell me, that’s fine. But since you’re buying up half the real estate in Knoxville anyway, I figured it might be a good investment.”
“Is it turning a profit?”
“You’d have to ask the Cooks. They have a decent crowd.”
“This entire row of buildings is two stories. What’s above the coffeeshop?”
“Dunno. But I think it’s empty.”
Ian’s fingers twitched, like he wanted to stroke his chin again, but managed to restrain himself. That was the problem with posturing so much: it became habit. A thought Ghost entertained while he managed not to rub at the back of his neck, for once. “Why isn’t the club buying it?”
“We could swing it,” Ghost said, “but it would make things a little tighter than I want, and we’re nowhere near done with renovations on the places we’ve already bought. Whereas you could buy it with whatever pocket change you’ve got on you.”
“Don’t hate me because I’m rich, darling,” Ian sang, chuckling, then grew thoughtful. “I’ll consider it. Seriously,” he added, in response to Ghost’s look. “When have you ever known me to pass up the chance to gain more power?”
“You make a good point,” Ghost said, dryly.
“Darling, don’t I always.”
