Buch lesen: «Sex On Flamingo Beach»
Sex on Flamingo Beach
Marcia King-Gamble
To the residents of Flamingo Beach, real and imagined.
Thank you for making this book possible.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 1
“Emilie, your job is to make sure a warm body is in each bed.”
“Let’s be realistic, Tom,” Emilie Woodward pleaded with her unsmiling boss. “This is Flamingo Beach, not Las Vegas. Give me time to get us there.”
“Eighty-five percent occupancy. I’ll take nothing less.”
“Sixty-five percent,” Emilie shot back, “And that’s a stretch goal. It’s a brand-new resort, and the first of its kind to be built in a town known for motels. We have to build our reputation. That’s not going to happen on my minuscule advertising budget.”
“Seventy-five percent and that’s that, or else.”
“Or else what?”
Emilie placed her hands on her slender hips and blew a lock of flaming red hair out of her eyes. Not one to back down, those green eyes flashed a challenge.
Tom Burke, senior vice president of sales and marketing, stared back. His eyes looked like huge road maps either from lack of sleep or one too many martinis. A little of both Emilie suspected.
“We’ll both get canned, that’s what. Corporate is expecting us to put the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort on the map. They’ve invested a bundle in top-of-the-line appointments and world-class amenities. And in case you forgot there is that huge bonus at stake.”
She hadn’t forgotten. That bonus was money she really could use. She had plans to buy the condo she was currently renting from Quen Abrahams before prices went right through the roof. Even so she was not about to be intimidated or bullied.
“Let the muckety-mucks at headquarters know that unless my advertising budget is increased, they’ll be hard-pressed have a hotel at fifty percent capacity. I can’t be expected to work miracles.”
“You’re the director of corporate and leisure sales. You can make it happen. Look at what you did with that property in Painted Post.”
“I’m leisure sales, strictly leisure sales. When did I acquire the corporate title?”
“Since I appointed you. Did I forget to mention the title change?”
“Apparently you did.”
Pressing two manicured fingers to her forehead, she massaged the frown lines. “Did you also forget to mention the raise that came with this title change? Keeping that Painted Post property at maximum capacity added ten years to my life. I still haven’t recovered. Only a brain surgeon would build a five-star hotel in a little Upstate New York town.”
“That surgeon was our owner, Caryn Knight. Caryn has always prided herself on finding possibilities where none exist.” Tom glanced at his watch and shot to his feet. “Better get going. I have a flight to catch.”
After shaking the wrinkles out of his slacks, he grabbed his jacket and briefcase and took off.
“Guarantee that I won’t be transferred for five years and throw in a nice raise, and I can make it happen,” Emilie called after him.
“Three years, but I can’t promise a raise. A fat bonus should be incentive enough,” he said.
After Tom left Emilie sank into her chair and kicked off her high heel pumps. She stabbed the intercom button and called to her assistant.
“Hey, Zoe, can you get Rowan James on the phone?”
“Sure thing.”
Rowan was the hotshot developer buying up properties like they were going out of style. He was new to Flamingo Beach. The Knight Corporation, the company that owned the resort Emilie worked for, had used him to develop their waterfront land. They’d gone out a couple of times, but he wasn’t exactly what Emilie considered relationship material. Her goal was to find a smart, savvy, African-American man who didn’t come with baggage. That’s what she’d promised her father.
“Mr. James isn’t answering,” Zoe called from the outer room. “I left him a message to get in touch with you.”
“Try reaching Joya and see if she’s available for lunch.”
“Will do.”
Emilie had gotten her friend Joya Hamill-Morse a job as an event planner at the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort. The two women were close, but the hotel business being what it was they seldom crossed paths at work.
Minutes later, Zoe stuck her head through the door.
“Joya says she can meet you at Shellfish at twelve o’clock sharp. It’s that new place on the boardwalk. Is noon good for you?”
“Perfect. I’ll return calls and catch up on e-mails. Please don’t put anyone through.”
Almost half an hour later, Emilie sashayed into Shellfish and looked round. She finally spotted Joya seated on a high stool on the outdoor deck. Her friend had already ordered and a spread lay before her. Joya waved her over.
“Nice of you to wait for me,” Emilie chastised, easing onto the stool opposite and helping herself to a fattening French fry.
“Hmm, this is good. I haven’t had carbs in months.”
“You’re half an hour late. I’m not management. I have to be back on time. If I’m even five minutes late Keanu gets crazy. Who needs that stress?”
Emilie began pushing buttons on her phone. “I’ll fix things with Keanu. You know I always take care of my girl,” Emilie said.
Conversation over, Emilie shoved the phone back into her purse. “I bought you another hour. I told your temperamental boss we’re having a lunch meeting.”
Joya rolled her eyes and bit into her fish sandwich. “You’re going to get me fired.”
“I’ll probably be fired first.”
“Not you. You’ve got a position, and your employees think you walk on water.”
“Tell that to Tom Burke, my senior vice president. He doesn’t think I’m doing such a hot job. I just got told to get occupancy rates up or else. He doesn’t care whether it’s the season or not, and that people aren’t exactly flocking to North Florida in the summer.”
“You’ll just have to make it so they flock to the spa. You’re creative and innovative. Why don’t you offer promotional specials to people in the travel and hospitality industry? Give them rooms at a discounted rate and they’re there.”
“Maybe you should be my assistant,” Emilie said, taking a pad from her purse and jotting notes.
A server hovered nearby and she ordered a shrimp salad and sweet tea.
“What about singles events?” Joya suggested. “You could offer weekend specials or even minivacations so those looking for a soul mate can hook up. You could even partner with a dating site. Dr. Phil, the celebrity psychologist, does it, so why can’t the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort?”
“Keep those ideas coming,” Emilie muttered, continuing to jot. “I was thinking more along the lines of Girlfriend Weekends and Passion Parties.”
“What’s a Passion Party?”
“Events where adult toys are sold. Those parties are big with women.”
“Adult toys, as in sexual paraphernalia?”
“Lotions, potions, electronic gadgets.”
Joya’s eye roll said it all. “That should really go over big in this provincial town.”
“Come on now, Flamingo Beach is growing in leaps and bounds especially since all of those New Yorkers moved in. Look at all the changes since Flamingo Beach turned one hundred years old.”
After Emilie’s meal was set down, Joya jumped right back in.
“Yeah, we’re suddenly hot and everyone with a spare dollar is looking to buy property here. A new mall is going up and now there’s talk about a casino and resort being built.”
Emilie’s stomach suddenly felt queasy. There was a tightness in her chest that had her breath coming in little bursts. “What casino and resort?”
“Didn’t you hear? Derek and Rowan were approached for the project. Camille Lewis has the scoop on the whole thing. She claims Mayor Rabinowitz is taking kickbacks to make the casino happen.”
Emilie stopped eating and stabbed the air with her fork. “If that’s true that’s no surprise about the mayor. What about the casino? The Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort can’t stand the competition. This town can hardly support one resort much less two. Do you know who’s funding this venture?”
Joya’s glance met hers head-on. “James Morse, Inc., is arranging the funding, but the brain behind this is a black Native American. He’s someone I went to school with. He lived in Flamingo Beach way back when.”
“What’s his name?”
“Keith Lightfoot. Hey, Rowan and Derek just walked in. Rowan can fill you in. I’m off to say hi to my honey.”
Joya leaped from the stool and went off to greet her husband.
In a matter of seconds after she’d sat down at his table, Rowan James, the developer, came loping over. He was a big man at almost six foot five and built like a football player. He had blond hair that flopped over his forehead and sky-blue eyes that could be mesmerizing at times. Rowan’s jeans were faded in all the right places and snug. There was a slit in one knee exposing a tanned kneecap. His large hands were amazingly clean, the nails neatly clipped. His boots were dusty and if she were to guess hid size fourteen feet. Mama Mia!
“Hey, you,” he said, sliding onto the chair Joya had recently vacated. He reached over, touching the tip of Emily’s nose with his index finger. “So when are you and I going to hook up again?”
“We’ve never hooked up. Let’s get the verbiage straight,” Emilie said, laughing.
“Hook up” implied they’d done the nasty. They’d come close, but then she’d decided better not go there. What she really hoped to find was a brotha, though it seemed all the good ones were taken…at least in Flamingo Beach.
Joya had nabbed Derek Morse; Jenna, Tre Monroe and Chere, oversized personality and all, had married Quen. That left pitifully few black males of a certain age. Emilie with her light skin, red hair and freckles was not short of suitors, except that most of them were white.
Not that she had a problem with cross-cultural dating. It was just that bronze skin and dark eyes turned her on. She was the product of two light-skinned African-American parents, and she found a dark-skinned man especially appealing. There was also the promise she’d made to her father.
“Okay, when can we go out again? Is that better?” Rowan asked, his glance lingering a tad too long on the white linen shirt that stretched across her full breasts.
Emilie played with her top button and gazed into his eyes. She knew she was playing with fire.
“I’m available tomorrow night. Take me to dinner and you can tell me all about this casino you’re building.”
“Invite me to your place to eat and we can talk all night.”
“Sorry, dude. I don’t cook.”
Rowan groaned loudly, his massive shoulders rising and falling. “Figures I’d pick a woman who can’t cook and who gets a kick out of playing with me. Okay, pick the restaurant and I’ll take you there.” He reached for her glass and gulped down most of her tea.
“Might as well finish it,” Emilie said, inspecting the almost-empty glass and shoving it back at him.
“I just might.” Rowan’s tongue rimmed his lips. She tore her eyes away. Rowan James was much too sexy for his own good. “Thirst quenching.”
Before Emilie could come up with an appropriate retort, Joya came back to the table with Derek in tow.
“Looking good as usual. Are you taking care of my wife?” he asked, kissing her cheek.
“Always.”
His partner glanced at his BlackBerry and shot up. “Keith Lightfoot is on his way over to our offices. We need to go.”
“Why do I keep hearing Keith Lightfoot’s name mentioned?” Emilie called after both men.
Rowan’s index finger jabbed the air. “We’ll talk tomorrow night at dinner.”
“What’s the deal with this Lightfoot guy?” Emilie asked Joya after the men had left. “He seems to command a lot of respect around here.”
“Keith does. As I mentioned he’s a black Native American businessman with deep pockets. He’s on the tribal council. He moved away, made some money in real estate and now he’s back.”
Emilie raised a finger and placed her phone to her ear. “Hold on for a minute. I have an incoming call.”
“Yes, Zoe. Shoot! I totally forgot about that meeting. Make Mr. Pendergrass comfortable, get him water, coffee, anything he wants.” She disconnected. “Listen, I really have to run. Let’s talk about this Lightfoot guy later.”
Grabbing her purse, she took off.
This was not good. She was late for her meeting with Ian Pendergrass, the publisher of the Flamingo Beach Chronicle. Ian was not one to be kept waiting, and she was the person who had called the meeting.
Emilie made it back to the hotel in record time. She entered her office to find Ian lounged on her couch. One tasseled loafer tapped impatiently as he waited.
“I’m sorry I’m late. I had a meeting that ran overtime,” Emilie lied.
“Not to worry. Your assistant kept me wonderful company.” Ian rose and took both of Emilie’s hands, pressing them to his lips. “You are one gorgeous woman.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as she could gracefully extricate herself she stepped away, finding safety behind her circular glass desk. She’d heard the stories about Ian. The old man had an eye for the ladies. But he was wealthy and influential, and she could use the Chronicle’s business.
“Can I top that off for you?” Emilie asked, noting Ian’s coffee cup that was no longer steaming.
“No, no, I’m fine.” He looked at his watch pointedly.
Emily went for the direct approach. “I wanted to speak with you because I heard the Chronicle has a major recruitment effort going on.”
“That’s true. We’re expanding. I’m hiring staff to fill several key positions. Are you thinking of applying?”
Emilie shook her head. “Me? I’m hardly reporter or editor material.”
“You could be. I’d groom you.”
“I don’t think so.” Emilie softened her words with a smile. She steepled her fingers. “I also heard you’re offering assistance with relocation. The candidates you fly in are going to need a place to stay. The Flamingo Beach Resort is a logical option. I would, of course, adjust the room prices.”
Ian ran a hand across iron-gray hair. “I’m not sure what Human Resources is doing about accommodations. We could talk in more detail over, uh, dinner. Are you available?”
“I’m afraid not. I have a dinner engagement.”
Somewhat of a stretch, but he didn’t need to know that. She planned on getting takeout and parking herself in front of the television set.
“Tomorrow then?”
“Sorry, but I have a previous commitment.”
Ian handed her his business card. “Why don’t you call me when you’re free and we’ll take it from there?”
She thanked him and handed him her own business card.
He stood towering above her, holding on to her hands.
“Because I like you I’m going to tell you this. Keith Lightfoot’s bringing in men from out of state to get his casino built. Those men are going to need accommodations for an extended period of time. I’ve heard they’ll be around for a good six months to a year. I could put in a good word for you,” he said.
Keith Lightfoot again.
“Why would Mr. Lightfoot consider having his men stay with the competition?”
Ian winked at her. “Don’t worry your pretty little head. I can make it happen. What better way for the Seminoles to see what they’re up against than to experience life at the resort?”
Emilie was now seriously beginning to worry. If the Lightfoot man had grown up in Flamingo Beach and Mayor Rabinowitz was really in his pocket, it spelled trouble. The Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort didn’t stand a chance.
No, she refused to have negative thoughts. She should view it as a challenge. She had a huge bonus at stake here and one she needed to buy a place she could call home.
No way was she going down without a fight.
Chapter 2
“Tell me more about this Lightfoot guy,” Emilie said to Rowan the next evening as they were having dinner at Mario’s.
Rowan reached across the table, capturing her fingers in his. “What would you like to know?”
He’d cleaned up for the occasion and instead of his usual jeans, he was wearing khaki slacks and a formfitting polo shirt that hugged his chest in all the right places.
“Everything. I’m especially interested in hearing about this casino he’s looking to build.”
“So much for having a nice relaxing evening without work creeping in. The project is actually a partnership between the Seminole Indian tribe and Landsdale International. Keith engineered the deal.”
Emilie almost choked on her Long Island iced tea. She set down the drink and reached for her water. There was more here to worry about than she’d initially thought.
“Landsdale International, owners of the luxury resorts?”
“Right on the money. Partnering with the Seminoles to pull this off is going to put Landsdale in a whole other league. They’re looking at a one-thousand-room resort on at least a hundred acres. We’re talking a huge casino, lagoon-style pool and there’s even talk of a theme park. The idea is to have investors buy the suites and villas, which can then be rented out on a daily, weekly or even monthly basis.
Emilie was starting to feel sticky. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to sit outdoors after all. She picked up her menu and began to fan.
One of Mario’s waiters came hurrying over.
“I can reseat you, madam. You might be more comfortable inside.”
“No, no, I’ll be fine.”
It was difficult not to burst out laughing. Not so long ago the help at Mario’s diner consisted of Mario and his extended family. Service was friendly but incidental. If you were looking for fine dining then you went elsewhere. What Mario was known for was good food and huge portions. But now Mario, like everyone else, had jumped on the expansion band-wagon, adding upstairs seating and a pretty little garden out back. He’d also hired trained waitstaff.
Sitting outdoors had been Emilie’s idea. She’d convinced Rowan it would be far less crowded than the air-conditioned interior. Now she was beginning to regret it.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go in where it’s cooler?” Rowan repeated, looking like he was ready to jump up and fan her if necessary.
“No, just give me a moment and I’ll be fine.” Emilie took another sip of ice-cold water and stuck her head in the menu. When the waiter came to their table she gave him her order.
“So what role do you and Derek play in this deal?” she asked after the waiter left.
“Keith wants us to develop the land and make it happen. The PR alone should put James Morse Incorporated on the map.”
“That’s cool.” Emilie touched Rowan’s bare arm with the tip of her fingers. He used that as an excuse to capture her hand. “I’d imagine the project should take at least two years to get up and running.”
“Keith is aiming for six months. He wants the casino and accommodations constructed in that time and he’s given us carte blanche to bring workmen in from all over the country. There’s a huge bonus if the project’s brought in on time.”
Emilie sipped on her water again and reflected. There was an unsettling flutter in her stomach and her forehead felt clammy.
“Six months! You can’t be serious. It’s going to take about that long just to get permits.”
“Not if you’re the mayor’s friend. Keith’s a very powerful man and he has connections.”
Emilie remembered her earlier conversation with Joya. She’d said something about the mayor being in Keith Lightfoot’s pocket. She wondered if Rowan might be getting a kickback, too, but she couldn’t imagine Joya’s husband, Derek Morse, involved in anything shady. Rowan, on the other hand, had a reputation for being an aggressive, hard-nosed negotiator, but she’d always thought he was honest.
“Lightfoot really believes that he’s going to have enough business to keep a thousand rooms filled?” Emilie asked. She had to wonder where the traffic was coming from. She was at her wit’s end trying to come up with ideas to keep her hotel at even fifty percent capacity, and her hotel had half as many rooms.
Rowan gulped his beer and set down the bottle. “Gambling’s an addiction, babe. When you’re hooked you’ll follow that roulette wheel to the end of the earth.”
“Gotcha. But why would high rollers come to Flamingo Beach when they can go to Las Vegas? What makes us so special?”
“New turf. Gamblers flock to wherever opportunity lies. Must we talk about gambling and casinos? I would much rather talk about us.”
“I didn’t know there was an us,” Emily said, hiking an eyebrow.
Rowan’s hand covered his heart. “You’re killing me. Here I am crazy about you, and you keep pushing me away. Is it the race thing that makes us a problem?”
Emilie bit into a breadstick and debated how to answer. “You want me to be brutally honest?”
“I’d be disappointed if you were anything but,” Rowan said.
This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.
“I like you a lot,” Emilie said, choosing her words carefully. “I think you’re smart and sexy. However I’m pushing thirty-five and I have to start looking at long-term possibilities.”
“And I don’t fit the bill?”
“I’m not saying that. I just think you and I are from different walks of life and that could create problems.”
“How so?”
He was asking her to spell it out.
“My family is African-American and very proud of their heritage. I’d be disappointing them if I got involved with you.”
“What you’re saying is that I’d not be their choice because I’m white. Babe, I’m not looking to get married. Race aside, would I be your choice?”
Emilie had to think about that.
“You’re hot,” she eventually said, “But what my family thinks counts a lot to me. It would be easier all around if my man came from a similar ethnic background. And frankly, I’d be more comfortable. Shared experiences make for better long-term partners,” she said.
Rowan’s easy laughter rang out. “You’re blowing me off, treating me like some stodgy white guy born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Babe, I grew up in a tough Brooklyn neighborhood, the only white kid for miles around. I had to fight for respect at an early age. I bet you anything I know more about your culture than you do.”
Emilie was completely taken aback. She hadn’t known that about Rowan. She’d thought of him as solidly upper middle-class, and looking to experiment with someone who was different. A name like Rowan James was as Waspy as they came. Now she’d just discovered there was a lot more to the man than the sexy exterior package.
When their meal arrived the conversation veered off in an entirely different direction. Rowan told her how he’d first gotten into land developing and she shared with him her struggle to fit in with corporate America.
“Do you think some of your issues might have to do with people not being sure who you are?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re so light skinned. I’m sure you are frequently mistaken for white,” he said.
“I’m used to that, but I’ve made no secret of being African-American. I’ve never tried to pass.”
Rowan cleared his throat, his glance now off in another direction. “Look who just walked in.”
Emilie spotted the man in the entranceway waiting for a table. He had a commanding presence. He was olive skinned with high cheekbones, silver-tipped hair and a regal bearing. The man accompanying him she recognized as a reporter from the Southern Tribune.
“Who is the darker man?” Emilie asked.
“That’s Keith Lightfoot. I’ll introduce you.”
He was already up and heading over to where Keith and the reporter had just been seated. Curiosity prompted Emilie to follow. She might as well see what she was up against.
The men were shaking hands by the time she got to their table.
“Keith, this is Emilie Woodward, my date,” Rowan said, introducing her.
Keith towered above her when he stood. He was long and lean with piercing gold eyes that didn’t appear to miss much. Those eyes were carefully appraising her.
“A pleasure, Ms. Woodward.”
“Emilie.”
“Emilie is the director of leisure sales at the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort.”
“You don’t say.”
Keith Lightfoot had a clipped way of speaking and an accent she couldn’t quite place. His clasp was firm and his unyielding gaze disconcerting.
“Rowan tells me you’re building a resort that will put mine to shame,” Emily said when the silence stretched out.
“Only time will tell.”
The reporter cleared his throat as if to remind them that he was still there. He was observing the exchange intently and taking mental notes.
This might be her only opportunity. She couldn’t wait for Ian Pendergrass to pave the way. “You’ll need someplace for the builders you’re bringing in to stay. I hope you’ll consider the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort,” Emilie said, handing him her card.
Remaining noncommittal, Keith glanced at the business card before pocketing it. Rowan’s hand remained on the small of her back as he steered her back the way they’d come.
“Dessert?” he asked when they were seated again.
“None for me. My hips can’t afford it.”
“Babe, you don’t have an ounce of excess flesh on you. All that roller-skating’s done you good.”
Emilie smiled at him and blew a lock of red hair out of her eyes. “You must be spying on me. How else would you know I roller-skate?”
Rowan winked at her. “You’d be blown away at just how much I know about you.” He signaled the waiter for the bill.
Minutes later they were seated in Rowan’s souped-up Ford truck that had all the bells and whistles, zooming down Ocean Avenue as if there weren’t speed traps.
“What’s the rush? Where are we heading?” Emilie asked after a while. She’d assumed Rowan was taking her home but they’d already passed her street.
“To my place for a nightcap.”
“Uh…”
“You don’t trust me?”
“No, I don’t.’
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Nothing’s going to happen unless you want it to, babe.”
“Hmm.”
Emilie had never been to his house and was curious to see how he lived. She’d once been told you learned a lot about people from their living habits.
They sailed by a guardhouse entering a community of newly built town houses. One looked pretty much like the other except some had prettier landscaping.
“This is one of my developments,” Rowan proudly explained. “We’re just about sold out except for the town house I live in.”
“Is it for sale, as well?”
“I’m still up in the air. I’m uncertain whether I’ll be making Flamingo Beach home.”
“You don’t like it here?”
Rowan pulled into the carport and parked before answering. “Home for me is the road. I’m always looking for new terrain to conquer. That’s why Derek and I are such a good team. He’ll take care of business while I scope out new opportunities.”
Rowan James was definitely not the man for her.
She’d had enough of the nomad’s life. She was sick of living out of boxes and couldn’t wait to get settled someplace.
Rowan helped her out of the truck and hand in hand they walked to the front door. They entered a great room with huge fans whirling. A winding stair-case led up to a loft. The furnishings were minimal and the walls could use a picture or two.
“What would you like to drink?” Rowan asked the moment she was seated.
“Water, please.”
“You really must not trust me,” he said, feigning injury.
“If I thought you knew how to make a cosmopolitan that’s what I’d have.”
Chuckling, he left her and entered his state-of-the-art kitchen. Rowan returned a short while later, a beer in one hand and a martini glass in the other.
“Your cosmopolitan, madam,” he said, handing Emilie her drink before he turned on the stereo. He plopped down, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Here’s to you, babe.”
Emilie sipped her cosmopolitan and eyed him over the rim. It was one of the best she’d tasted. “Mmm. Not bad. You surprise me!”
“I have a lot more surprises in store for you.”
She wasn’t going there. “You’re a good bartender,” she said.
His bushy eyebrows wiggled again. “That’s not all that I’m good at.”
The conversation was getting a bit too intimate for her liking. Glass in hand, Emilie stood. “How about showing me around?”
Rowan gave her the grand tour of his surprisingly neat home. Downstairs, French doors separated the living room from a small office with tons of shelf space. The dining room was an extension of the kitchen, and a half bathroom provided a convenient place to wash up. Upstairs were two spacious bedrooms all with tiny back decks. One bathroom had a Jacuzzi tub as well as a shower. The other was more of a powder room and designed for the lady of the house. Recessed lights illuminated the vaulted ceilings. All in all it was a charming place to live.
“So how’s a big-city girl from Joisey adjusting to small-town life?” Rowan asked when they were seated downstairs again. He’d slipped off his loafers and began poking her with his toes.
She grabbed his big toe playfully, capturing it between her thumb and index finger and squeezed.
“I love it here. This little town’s got style and possibilities,” she said.
“You’ve got style.”
“You never give up, do you?”
On the radio, D’dawg, the popular radio personality, was having a field day picking on Mayor Solomon Rabinowitz.
“Don’t y’all think it’s high time this village loses its idiot?” he drawled. “Hit me up and tell me if you agree. Lines are open y’all.”
One caller after another said their peace. The mayor apparently had few supporters.
“How come no one will ever admit they voted for Rabinowitz, yet he’s serving a second term?” Rowan asked, shaking his head.
