Measure of a Man Read online

  “I can’t complain.”

  “What happened?” his friends asked in unison.

  Lincoln shrugged as he condensed what had happened. “Seems a beam fell and shattered my ankle. They put a metal plate in my ankle and promised me I should be as good as new in a few months.” He ended with a smile.

  The group’s expressions looked crushed with disappointment.

  “What does that mean for your firefighting career?” Walter asked sternly. He was an M.D. himself—actually, a gynecologist, which was the best kind of doctor, according to his friends.

  “I don’t know yet. I’m trying not to think about it.”

  “It wouldn’t be so bad if you took a desk job, would it?” Henry inquired. He being a paper pusher himself at the mayor’s office wouldn’t see anything wrong with that.

  “I don’t know if I’m cut out for that kind of work,” Lincoln admitted, but realized that his life was quickly approaching a crossroad. Admittedly, he was nervous about returning to a job that was proving more difficult as the years rolled by. But at the same time, it was all he knew.

  Desmond perked up. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll be racing into another fire in no time. Granted, I don’t know why any sane person would want to do that, but who am I to judge?”

  A knock drew everyone’s attention to the door.

  Flex strolled inside with a wide grin, but Lincoln’s gaze fell to the bag from Burger King. “Please tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  “I figured you might want some real food,” Flex said.

  “Boys,” Lincoln announced. “I’d like you to meet the man who saved my life—Flex Adams.”

  Flex set the food down on the table and shook hands with the gang as Lincoln introduced them one by one.

  “The mayor’s chief of staff?” Flex asked, pumping Henry’s hands. “That has to be an interesting job.”

  Henry’s chest puffed up with pride. “Well, I don’t want to brag.”

  “Of course he does,” Desmond cut in. “It’s what he does best.”

  “You know, Desmond works for the city, as well.” Henry slid his hands into his pockets. “Trash collection.”

  Unbelievably, Desmond’s midnight complexion darkened. “It’s a decent living, you—”

  “All right, guys,” Lincoln snapped, and rubbed his pulsing temples. “Let’s not fight today. This is a hospital, after all.”

  Flex looked as if he didn’t know whether to laugh or run.

  “Don’t worry,” Lincoln said, unwrapping his Whopper. “They’re like this all the time. You get used to it.” He held up his sandwich. “Good looking out.”

  “Don’t mention it. So when are you heading home?” Flex asked.

  “I’m going to try and make a prison break today. I have to get out of this bed.”

  “Wow. The crowd’s all here,” Tyrone said, bursting into the room and carrying Lincoln’s leather gym bag.

  Another round of handshakes and high fives ensued while Lincoln chomped on his burger. So far, it looked as if everyone was getting along—except for Henry and Desmond.

  “Linc tells us that you’re going to be our new buddy on poker night,” Tyrone said.

  “Oh?” Flex looked over at Lincoln.

  “Actually, bigmouth,” Lincoln admonished, “I haven’t asked him yet.” He met Flex’s stare. “Do you play?”

  “I might be a little rusty. When do you guys play?”

  “Thursdays. Of course, you being new at the department, you might not be able to get every Thursday off, but you’re more than welcome to join us any time.”

  Flex’s smile broadened. “Thanks, I just might take you up on that.”

  “That burger is looking pretty good,” Walter commented, and then his stomach growled to second the motion. “I’m going to head out and grab me something.”

  “Hey, I’m coming with you,” Desmond said.

  “I skipped breakfast,” Henry added.

  Before Lincoln knew it, his three stooges left with promising to return later.

  “Seems like a nice bunch of guys,” Flex said, crossing his arms. “How long have you all known each other?”

  “Too damn long,” Tyrone answered for Lincoln. “By the way, I swung by your house and picked up a change of clothes.”

  “Thanks, dog.”

  Tyrone frowned and crossed his arms. “Mind if I ask what is all that metal stuff in your spare room?”

  Lincoln stopped stuffing his mouth and cast a nervous glance around the room. “What?”

  “Those statues. Are you working on something?”

  Lincoln’s brain scrambled for an answer while he washed what he had in his mouth down with a swig of Coke.

  “It actually looked pretty cool,” Tyrone added.

  Stunned, Lincoln felt as if his brain had completely shut down. “You, uh, liked it?”

  “Yeah.” Tyrone bobbed his head. “You sure have a lot of them in there.”

  “You should see the attic and the garage.”

  Tyrone shrugged and then reached for one of Lincoln’s onion rings. “So what are they?”

  “Sculptures.” He decided to go with the truth. “I’ve been working on them for a little while.”

  “A little while? It looked like a small warehouse in there.”

  “You really liked them?” Lincoln smiled.

  “From what I saw they looked pretty cool. I never knew you were into that kind of thing. You ought to try and sell some of them.”

  “Sell them?” He laughed, but was intrigued by the thought, as well. “Who would want that junk?”

  “My sister always quotes that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” Flex jumped into the conversation. “Besides, have you seen what they called art nowadays?”

  A fusion of emotions assaulted Lincoln, but he was riding high over the fact that Tyrone actually liked his stuff. “I’ll look into it,” Lincoln announced. “Who knows? Maybe this is the beginning of a whole new chapter for me.”

  * * *

  Christmas came and went and Peyton was unable to make it to Atlanta. However, she did jet around the country for one art show after another. Working with museums and art dealers was a breeze. It was working with artists that usually drove her crazy.

  Her latest protégée, Kanji, was a brilliant painter and a brilliant pain in the ass. According to her, nothing was ever right—from hotel rooms to the kinds of questions that critics asked. But the paychecks kept a smile on Peyton’s face and an extra bounce in her step.

  Now it was the first day of spring and the first time she’d been in her office in San Jose since Valentine’s Day. Valentine’s Day. She rolled her eyes from just thinking about the crappy holiday.

  “Peyton,” Basil Rollé said, jumping up from behind Peyton’s desk. “I thought you weren’t coming back until tomorrow.”

  “I can see that.” Peyton smiled as she entered the room. “Getting a little too comfortable around here, are you?”

  Basil’s high-yellow complexion burned red from embarrassment. “Sorry about that. It’s just so much nicer in here,” she offered as an excuse.

  “I know. That’s why I chose it.” She laughed and settled into her chair. And as if she had a Lojack on her butt the phone rang.

  “Before you answer it, Kanji called twice this morning. She wants to come home.”

  “She just left for Tokyo yesterday.”

  “She says she�
�s homesick.” Basil folded her arms and forced a tight smile. “So, needless to say, Tae Zhao, the art director at the Meguro Museum of Art, has also phoned.”

  The call went to voice mail.

  Peyton drew a breath and popped the top off her grande cappuccino. “Kanji is giving me gray hair.”

  “Cornel Dyson has also been calling. He said that he couldn’t reach you on your cell.”

  “Dyson, really?” A faint smile hugged her lips at the thought of the ruggedly handsome…and married man.

  “I know what you mean.” Basil sighed with an equally wide smile. “All the good ones are taken.”

  “And a lot of the bad ones,” Peyton added with a wink and picked up the phone. By the second ring, Cornel Dyson’s whiskeylike voice filled the phone line.

  “Ah, P. J. Garner. What a breath of fresh air,” he praised.

  Peyton eased back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Mr. Dyson, I could say the same for you. I heard you’ve been looking for me.”

  “Yes, I have. It’s been about a week now. I take it the job is keeping you busy?”

  “Unfortunately. But hey, it pays the bills.”

  “That it does.” He snickered. “I called you because I have a referral for you. I mean, if you’re taking on new clients.”

  “A referral from the great Cornel? Mind if I ask why you’re not taking this artist on?”

  “I’d like to, but I really am working with a full roster.”

  Peyton took a sip of her coffee. Dyson had been her mentor in the business from day one. He represented the best of the best, and as far as she knew he was pretty stingy with his talent, so she didn’t really know what to make of a referral. If this person was Dyson quality, he would undoubtedly give up sleep to fit the person into his lineup.

  “I don’t know, Cornel,” she said, hedging. “Things are pretty busy around here, too.”

  “Hey, no pressure. Do you think you can at least squeeze in a meeting? You can just check out his portfolio and see if you like him.”

  She drew a deep breath and reached into her purse for her Palm Pilot. “When are we talking about?”

  “It’s up to you, but I do have to tell you this guy is on the East Coast.”

  “He knows how to hop a plane, doesn’t he?”

  Dyson laughed. “Most likely.”

  Peyton stared at her crammed calendar. “It’s not looking good. I’m packed all week and then I leave for New York on Friday. I have a show to attend on Saturday and then I’m on vacation for two weeks to visit my brother.”

  “How about he meets you in New York?”

  Peyton’s brows rose in surprise. “Does he live there?”

  “No, but I can make sure he gets there to meet with you. Are you interested?”

  Peyton sensed his determination. Maybe she should check this person out. “What the hell?” she finally said, and reached for a pen. “What’s the artist’s name?”

  “Carver,” Dyson said. “Lincoln Carver.”

  Chapter 6

  Peyton and Joey arrived in New York tired and irritable. After having survived airport security, crying babies and horrible airline food, all Peyton wanted to do was to sink into a nice warm bed. However, their nightmare of a trip wasn’t over yet.

  Joey’s luggage arrived okay, but Delta had no clue as to what part of the world Peyton’s new Louis Vuitton bags were headed.

  And still, it wasn’t over.

  The women piled into the first available taxi, and ended up with a driver whose English was highly suspect. He drove in circles through downtown New York pretending, in Peyton’s opinion, not to know where their hotel was located.

  Peyton glanced at the meter and performed a double take when she read seventy-two dollars. “We’re not paying you to be lost, Kareem,” Peyton thundered, catching on to the man’s game. “We’re not paying you any more than thirty dollars for this ride and we’re not getting out until you get us there.”

  Five minutes later, the cab stopped in front of New York Palace.

  “Sheesh. He was nothing but a crook,” Joey said, storming away from the cab.

  Peyton rolled her eyes. “I wonder how many people actually fall for that stunt.”

  “I hate to admit it, but I probably would have if you weren’t here.”

  Peyton shivered when a breeze whipped across her body. She tugged her coat tight and waited for the doorman to allow them entry.

  “I’m ready to change out of these clothes and hit the clubs,” Joey announced.

  “You have to be kidding me,” Peyton said, moaning. “I want to go to sleep.”

  “I heard the nightlife in this town is off the chain. We have to at least check out 2i’s.”

  “Girl, my feet are killing me and I don’t have anything to wear. Did you forget, the airline lost my luggage?” Peyton stopped at the check-in counter.

  A few minutes later, the girls walked into their beautiful room overlooking the city. As promised, Peyton dove for the nearest bed.

  “No, no, no.” Joey rushed over to her and tried to pull her off the bed. “I want to go dancing. You promised me before we came.”

  “Go away.”

  “C’mon, it’s Friday night and it’s New York,” she whined. “Who knows? We might even meet P.Diddy or somebody. We could end up at his place swimming in a bed of money.”

  Peyton tugged her arm back and rolled her eyes. “You have one hell of an imagination.” She sat up. “Besides, thanks to the friendly skies I don’t have anything to wear. I have to find time to go shopping before we head out to Atlanta on Monday.”

  “You know better than that.” Joey turned from the bed to grab her bags. “You can wear something of mine. Oh, what about that short silver number I bought just before we left?”

  “You mean those two strips of fabric? No, thanks. I’ll catch pneumonia and blow my meeting with this Carver dude.”

  “Work, work, work. That’s all you ever think of. No wonder you meet the same type of men. Stiff business suits or oversensitive artsy-fartsy men.”

  “Just give me the damn outfit. Anything will be better than listening to your hollow words of wisdom.” Peyton stood up from the bed.

  “Hollow?”

  Peyton lifted her sister’s left hand. “I don’t see any rings on your finger.”

  “I could’ve been married by now if I wanted to,” Joey said, lifting her chin. “Ryan Mendes asked me to marry him once.”

  “Yeah, back when you two were in grade school.”

  “A proposal is a proposal.” She proudly held up the silver dress.

  “Trust me. Marriage isn’t what it’s cracked up to be.”

  “It is when you take on a partner and not a dependent like Ricky.”

  Peyton bit back her retort and snatched the outfit. What was the point of arguing? They could easily be at it all night. Once she was in the shower, she mulled over how her sisters placed way too much value on being married.

  True, she would love to be in a good, loving relationship, but she wasn’t too sure if marriage would fit her lifestyle or her sense of independence. “Better not mention that to anyone,” she mumbled and shut off the water.

  For the next hour, she and Joey prepared to hit New York’s nightlife. However, she held little hope that her evening would be any better than her day. She was tired, hungry and showing more skin than was probably legal.

  “Damn, girl. You look hot.” Joey clapped her
hands.

  “I look like I should be in a rap video,” Peyton corrected, but admitted inwardly that she did feel sexy in the skimpy number. “All right. Let’s just get this over with,” she huffed when Joey came out and performed a pirouette to show off her outfit. “It’s nine o’clock. I want to be back in bed by one.”

  Joey’s expression dropped as she looked at her watch. “That’s hardly enough time—”

  “Take it or leave it. I have an appointment in the morning that I plan to keep.” Peyton grabbed her jacket and headed toward the door.

  Joey sighed as she followed her.

  * * *

  With a firm hold on his silver cane, Lincoln maneuvered through a throng of fine women and testosterone-charged men to make it to a seat at the bar. “A scotch on the rocks, please,” he ordered, and then glanced around to see if he could spot his buddy Tyrone.

  As he glanced around he felt more than a tad out of place. Not that he didn’t appreciate the surrounding beauties, but damn, did they have to play the music so loud in this place?

  “One scotch on the rocks,” the Alicia Keys look-alike bartender said, smiling.

  “Thanks.” Lincoln flashed her his set of dimples and watched as her eyes lit up before she was called to the other end of the bar.

  “You still got it.” Tyrone’s rough laugh filled Lincoln’s ear before his heavy hand pounded his back. “Did I lie or is this place off the hook?”

  “It’s definitely…something.” Lincoln took a sip of his drink and glanced at his watch. “Well, don’t forget we can’t stay long. I have that meeting in the morning.”

  The deejay changed the record and apparently it was a club favorite, judging by the way the crowd’s volume accelerated and how everyone, including the ones at the bar, broke out dancing.

  “Hey, don’t turn into a fuddy-duddy on me tonight,” Tyrone yelled. “This is my first time in this city and I want to see for myself if this is a city that never sleeps.”

  “You’re going to have to find that out on your own.” Lincoln drained his drink and signaled to the bartender for a refill. “I heard this P. J. Garner is one of the best agents around, and I’m not going to blow this opportunity.”