By the time she reached her office, logic set her straight. There was no room for emotion. The investor was all-important to the firm, and she owed Zen her loyalty. If Law wanted to work with a man, she’d bow out gracefully and assign a male associate for today’s tour.
She scanned the hallway to see who was available. Justin Strumm’s door stood ajar. Justin was old-school, a senior financial adviser who saw today and not tomorrow, and always played it safe. His clients made money, but their investments climbed over decades. Cat, on the other hand, made money for her investors the day they signed with her.
Pressed for time, Cat walked right in. She found Justin of the Jungle, as she privately referred to him, watering his plants. All had animal names: the elephant’s ear, monkey flower, and zebra plant. The man had a green thumb and always wore earth-brown suits.
“Can I help you, Catherine?” His smile was patient as he set the watering can on one corner of his desk. Justin openly disapproved of her futurist advice. He often felt she’d gone rogue.
Cat had never lost a client’s money. Her gut instinct continually proved true. She forced a smile. “My schedule is jammed today,” she said quickly. “I’ve set up an investment tour for James Lawless—”
“The ballplayer?”
“One and the same.” She set the file folders on his desk, sighing for effect in an attempt to appear overworked. “Here are the specs. I need someone to take Law around and close the deals.”
Justin fanned through the top folder. “You’re very thorough.”
She did her best, always.
“We split the commissions?” he asked. “Say sixty-forty?”
“Fine,” she agreed. Anything so she could get going.
He pursed his lips. “My day is fairly free. I don’t have a client meeting until two o’clock. I’ll do you this favor, but you owe me.”
Owe him? She’d just given him three significant deals. Unless he screwed up royally, the closings would go smoothly. Justin’s commission would allow him to buy the cottage he’d been renting on Cape Cod every summer.
Cat’s own commission would go into savings. Her account had matured slowly. She’d yet to decide her own investments because she’d been too wrapped up in her clients to look out for herself. Law had freed up her morning; she had time now.
“I hate to rush, but I have a commitment outside the office.” She moved toward the door.
“A word of advice, Catherine,” Justin said as she was leaving. “Keep a closer eye on your calendar. It’s very unprofessional to overbook clients. Your reputation is on the line. Zen would not be happy.”
In this case, Zen would be relieved and Law would be pleased. They now had a man to do a woman’s job. She prayed Justin could pull it off. The man could be pretentious.
Quiet yet quick, she cut back to her office. Zen’s door remained closed. She secured Foxie in the mesh dog carrier, snatched her purse, then left by the rear exit. The alley wound toward Jacy’s Java. Law had cut her off at the knees and Cat needed a strong cup of coffee to boost her esteem.
Jacy’s Java was a coffee shop unto itself. Center fielder Risk Kincaid’s wife owned the place and operated it with sparkle and finesse. Catherine passed through the red double doors and smiled. Jacy kept her customers amused by changing the eclectic décor often. The most recent shift was from retro to the Roaring Twenties.
Cat took her place in line, then looked around. The 1920s memorabilia took her back in time. Enormous movie theater posters plastered the walls. The Lost World hung near the door, the first film version of dinosaurs inhabiting a land that time forgot. Next to it, The Jazz Singer featured Al Jolson as Jack Robin. Jack had defied his father to pursue his musical dream. The Mark of Zorro was her favorite. There was something about a man in a mask ...
Captain America wore a mask.
He was a hero best forgotten.
Before her now, a vintage roadside billboard for Burma-Shave, a brushless shaving cream, fronted the counter where the baristas took the customers’ orders. The slogan “A beard that’s rough and overgrown is better than a chaperone” would have made motorists smile.
Business was booming, and Jacy Kincaid took orders along with her staff. She was easy to spot in her orange, fringed flapper dress and sequined headband with a pink feather. Jacy noticed Cat and waved. “What’s your pleasure?” she asked.
Catherine scanned the gourmet coffees listed on a chalkboard above the sliding-glass pastry case. The names all reflected the Jazz Age. She debated between the Spirit of St. Louis, a raspberry-mocha latte, and the Great Gatsby, a double shot of espresso. Frustration forced her into the espresso power boost. “The Gatsby and a cream-cheese muffin.” It was a two-muffin day.
Jacy looked at the dog carrier when she rang up Cat’s sale. “I don’t usually allow pets. Health department rules,” she stated. “Take a back table and”—she peeked through the mesh—“no barking.”
Foxie held her bark.
Once served, Cat sought a place to sit. Jacy’s offered customers unusual seating. There were speakeasy bar stools and tall tables as well as car couches. Parked throughout the shop, seating from original vintage cars offered a new coffee experience. A six-seat cable car accommodated groups.
Car couches from an authentic Packard and a Cadillac touring car were available, as well as the rumble seat from a Ford Roadster. Cat chose the Roadster. The Ford had been cut in half, and only the rear end remained. The exterior gray metal gleamed, as polished as the chrome. The steel license frame held a Michigan plate. Kerosene tail lamps bracketed the back. Steel-welded spoke wheels were anchored to flower-etched linoleum.
Jacy had told Cat the linoleum had come from a farmhouse in central Ohio. Original heel scuffs and tack marks carried the past into the present.
Cat climbed onto the dark-red leather seat, finding it well-worn but comfortable. She placed Foxie’s carrier on the floorboard, then set her white mug and muffin on a rectangular coffee table. The photograph on the mug advertised Holcomb’s Haberdashery, a store offering the finest in men’s flannel suits. Her muffin rattled on a blue plastic plate, and Cat quickly peeled back the festive confetti-printed wrapper.
No one chose to join her on the rumble seat, so Cat took the time to recoup and reevaluate. Her heart remained heavy. Law hadn’t given her a chance. She’d given him her best, but apparently that wasn’t good enough.