Daring Dylan (The Billionaire Brotherhood Book 2) by Jacie Floyd Page B

permanent menu. Not exactly fine
dining. It looked clean and smelled delicious, but waiting in line didn’t
appeal to him. He began backing out the door when an elderly foursome crept in,
blocking his path. While he waited for them to clear the path, a raised hand to
his right drew his attention.
    Gracie.
    She waved
at him and pointed him out to Mrs. Lattimer and an older man. And Clayton.
    Damn. The
very person he’d hoped to avoid. He could leave with a clear conscience if he
pretended not to see them. Dylan edged toward the door, but a barrel of a man
emerged from behind the service counter and rolled forward.
    “Dylan
Bradford!” A meaty paw landed on his shoulder, anchoring him in place. “I’m
Jake Armstrong, the owner and proprietor of the Lobster Pot, as long as Lulu—”
he nodded toward the Betty Boop up front “—doesn’t hear me say so. The wife
likes to think she’s in-charge just because her name’s on the sign.
Har-har-har.” The booming laugh and elbow in the ribs underscored the jest. The
brawny fellow drew a kerchief from his back pocket and blotted his red face.
    “I knew
your father. A fine man. Come with me. I’ll fix you up with the best and
biggest lobster that ever found its way out of the sea and into your mouth.”
    By this
time, others in the restaurant had turned to point and stare. Dylan decided to
bail out of The Lobster Pot. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Armstrong.
Thanks for the offer, but I’m—”
    “He’s
meeting friends, and he’s late.” Gracie stepped up and linked her arm through
his. “He’ll have the Number Three, Jake. We’re already seated, so if you’ll
bring his order over when it’s ready, we’d be grateful.”
    “Wonderful,
wonderful!” Jake hustled away. “The Number Three! With extra bread! Coming
right up.”

Chapter Six

 
    “Thanks...
I think,” Dylan said out of the side of his mouth as Gracie led him forward.
Despite her motives, it would be rude to decamp now. “Where are the taciturn
natives I’ve heard so much about?”
    “Oh, they
exist,” she said, “but Jake’s only lived here thirty years, so he doesn’t
count. Sit there by Gran.”
    At least
she hadn’t placed him next to Clayton, although sitting across from him might
be worse. Now the Bradford wannabe could glare at him throughout the meal.
After Gracie settled on the bench beside the man, she introduced Dylan to the
fourth member of the group.
    “This is my
stepfather David Collier.” Gracie smiled warmly, but the older man’s stony
expression didn’t alter. “David raised Clay after his mother’s disappearance,
you know.”
    “How do you
do, Dr. Collier?” Dylan recognized the name from the detective’s report, but he
pounced on the new information that Clayton’s foster father was also Gracie’s
stepfather. So what did that make Gracie and Clayton? Closer in more ways than
Dylan had originally thought. Maybe not so close in others.
    The older
doctor nodded as they shook hands. David Collier had the kind of wise,
distinguished face that Dylan always pictured his father having, if he had
lived another couple of decades. But even when his father had died in his
forties, the corners of his eyes held crinkles from smiling, and this man’s
never would. No matter how long he lived.
    Like they
were the audience for a dinner theater production, the other diners leaned
forward to listen in on the conversation. So much for Dylan’s plan of nosing
around quietly. “I’d like to speak with you privately in the next few days if
you have the time, sir.”
    “All right”
was all Dr. Collier said. At last, one of those taciturn natives.
    After
checking out Clayton’s glower and the older doctor’s stoicism, Dylan turned to
the most receptive member of the group. “Thanks for letting me join you, Mrs.
Lattimer.”
    Her gray
hair was curled and sprayed, presumably for her hospital visit or dinner out.
She had on the kind of dress Dylan had only seen housewives