Tangled Ashes Read Free Page A

center.”
    Beck rolled his eyes. “Nobody says doofus .”
    “I’m an innovator.”
    “You’re full of it.”
    “So you’ve said.”
    Beck leveled a laser-sharp stare at his friend and held it for a moment. They squared off like wrestlers in a ring, both above six feet and built like quarterbacks. If things had ever come to blows, it was anybody’s guess who would have come out on top. “Don’t ever overstep me again,” Beck said with unmistakable gravity. “Not for my own good. Not for T&B’s good. We’re equal partners. Just be happy I’m in the mood for a change of scenery this time.”
    “Agreed.” Gary went around the desk and retrieved a manila folder from one of the drawers, then slid it across to Beck. “Here’s what you need to know. Ticket’s in there too. You leave February 2, two weeks from tomorrow.”
    “Are you kiddin’ me?”
    “First class. To Paris . Stop your whining.”
    Beck leafed through the documents in the file and took a closer look at several photos. “This is big,” he said without looking up.
    “But you love it, right? Do I know you or do I know you?”
    Beck pointed at his friend with the folder. “If this thing goes bust, the blame’s on you.”
    “Fair enough.”
    Beck moved toward the door, grabbing his jacket off a leather chair and casting a disparaging glance at Gary’s shoes. “And buy some real shoes, will you?” he said. “Those shiny Italian things are for sissies.”
    “You know what, Beck? Go to—”
    “France? Why, I believe I will.” He gave his partner the you-owe-me-one look that had gotten them through the worst hurdles of their collaboration and opened the door.

    The two weeks before Beck’s departure passed in a frenzy of work-related pressures—tying up loose ends on nearly finished projects, handing others off to collaborators, and postponing those that didn’t require immediate attention. Beck and Gary pored over what few blueprints they had of the castle in France, comparing visions and arriving at creative compromises that were both pragmatic and artistic. There was little they could truly predict from a continent away, but what could be anticipated was meticulously planned out. Turning a castle into a high-class hotel and restaurant, of course, was primarily a business proposition, but the hotel needed to be true to its origins if it was going to attract the clientele its owner hoped for.
    Beck entered the Lucky Leprechaun two days before his departure and took a stool at the end of the bar.
    “Hey there, Beck,” Jimmy said from the other side of the counter. “The usual?”
    “Yup.”
    “Knockin’ off early?” Jimmy asked, cutting a glance at the Miller Lite clock on the wall above the door.
    “Just pour the beer.”
    The bartender saluted. “Aye, aye, sir.”
    There was some pleasure in watching the foam pour over thetop of the tall glass and edge down its side, eventually soaking into the coaster’s smiling leprechaun.
    “Just past three and boozin’ it up? What are we celebrating?” Leslie asked, sliding onto the stool next to his.
    “My partner’s insanity.”
    “Well, here’s to the productively insane! If you two get any more successful, you’re going to have to develop big-shot attitudes.” Beck raised an eyebrow at her. “Never mind. That ship has sailed.” She lifted a hand to get Jimmy’s attention and pointed at Beck’s beer. “One more.”
    Becker’s eyes were on a recap of a Celtics game on the TV screen in the far corner of the room, but his mind was on the chore at hand. He hated this kind of thing. The artificial sincerity of cutting ties with the unimportant. He glanced at Leslie. Her eyes were on the game, her manicured fingers idly turning the glass of beer in front of her. Quarter turn, quarter turn, quarter turn. Her platinum hair was overteased and sprayed hard. Her makeup was garish—too bold and somehow geometric to actually flatter. Her business suit was expensive and sleek, cut