Sex on Flamingo Beach (7 page)

“I was thinking in nice weather we could still hold the talent show outdoors, maybe on the boardwalk. Remember those old beauty contests? You'd emcee, wouldn't you?”

“I'd love to, and the sessions could be taped live. WARP would go for this in a big way. It's just their kind of thing to increase ratings. Who would be your judges?”

“I was thinking they'd change every week. Hopefully we can get some big names in. You must have entertainer friends, people looking for more exposure. Anyone owe you favors?”

“Half the nation,” Tre joked. “You'll need a couple of big names for the launch, and you'll need to talk to the town or chamber of commerce about moving the jam session to the resort, but I think it can be done,” he said.

“I really value your opinion. You think this can work?”

“Absolutely. Have you talked to Rowan about this?” Tre asked.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because some of the brothas he grew up with in Brooklyn are big-name rap artists. I'm surprised he didn't tell you that. That white boy is cool and very well connected.”

Emilie was beginning to realize that there was a lot about Rowan she didn't know. The more she found out about him the more he intrigued her and that needed to stop.

“Call him,” Tre urged. “Get Rowan on board and cash in on his contacts.”

“I'll think about it. Now I'm going to set the ball in motion.”

“I'll talk to Bonzo and Bozo when I get to the station. I'm certain they'll jump on the idea.”

“Bonzo and Bozo?”

“The brothers, Zachary and Joshua, WARP's owners.”

Tre was so irreverent. Laughing, Emilie hung up.

Who would have guessed that Rowan had the kind of contacts he did? She'd have to put aside her reluctance to initiate contact with him. This was business.

Emilie picked up the phone again and punched a number. There was a fluttery feeling in her stomach as she waited for the phone to be answered. She hated that she felt this way.

“Rowan James.”

She'd expected a secretary, not him. Her tongue was a pretzel. Finally it unknotted itself.

“Uh, hi, this is Emilie.”

“Emilie. It's great hearing from you. Tell me you missed me?”

He chuckled. The man never gave up.

“No, but I did see you on TV earlier. How did that come about?”

“Ask your mayor. Let me guess, after seeing me on TV you couldn't control yourself. You felt the need to reach out to me.”

She couldn't help laughing. He had a way about him.

“Actually I need a favor,” Emilie said.

“Ask and it's yours.”

“You think you could possibly get a couple of your more prominent rapper friends to Flamingo Beach?”

“How did you find out that Twenty Cents and Ice Cube are buds of mine?”

“I have my ways,” Emilie said.

“Why do you need them?”

It was not an unreasonable question and one she would have to answer.

Emilie explained what she'd just discussed with Tre.

“That is an awesome idea. It won't exactly be a Las Vegas–style revue like a casino might have, but it's innovative.”

He would have to mention the casino.

“So you'll do it? You'll get Ice Cube and Twenty Cents here?” Emilie asked.

“Yes, on one condition.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you agree to go away with me. I have a business trip coming up in a couple of weekends and I'd like you to come along.”

Emilie pinched the space between her eyebrows and gulped in a breath.

What happened to the days when people did you a favor without expecting something in return?

Nothing in this life was free. She'd always known that.

R
owan held the receiver to his ear long after Emilie had hung up the phone. What was it with her? he wondered. She'd been noncommittal about the invitation he'd extended to spend the weekend with him. He'd expected her to be more excited about the prospect of three whole days on Harbour Island in the Bahamas. Shoot, he was excited even though it was supposedly work.

Brian Lanterman, a wealthy entrepreneur, had purchased land in Harbour Island way back when with the thought of one day having it developed. Now that day had come. He'd invited Rowan to come over for a weekend, which really meant they were going to enjoy the water sports and talk. Rowan had done work on some of Brian's other properties so he knew the drill. Brian would fly him and whomever he chose to Harbour Island, put him up at an inn and pick up all of his expenses. It would be the perfect opportunity to get to know Emilie better.

Well, at least she hadn't turned him down flat. He'd managed to get an “I'll think about it” out of her.

He now sat in his office, hands clasped behind his head, feet up on the desk, trying his best to get Emilie out of his mind. The flashing green eyes, fiery red hair and sprinkle of freckles across her nose were making him crazy. He'd never been so obsessed with a woman before. Of course that might have to do with him getting his way with the ladies. Emilie was proving to be a challenge.

The ironic thing was that he'd always been attracted to dark-skinned black women with features that clearly defined their African heritage. He loved the dusky velvet of their skin and the bewitching flash of their brown eyes. He loved Afro-centric hair-styles, and the confidence and assurance those strong women exuded. Often their lives weren't easy, yet they remained fiercely independent. More importantly they spoke their minds. No such thing as communication issues with them.

Emilie with her pale skin and long, curly red hair wasn't typically his style. Although she was definitely a go-getter and sharp as they came. She didn't mince words, either. What he really liked about her was that she made it known up front exactly who she was and where she stood. The fact that she did not play games made him want her more. He was bound and determined to have her and not just in a sexual way. They'd already straddled that hurdle and damn they'd been good together. With time they'd get even better.

What he needed to do was get those two brothas on the phone and talk them into coming to Flamingo Beach. Emilie would then be suitably grateful and he would gain a point or two. It wasn't as if he didn't know Twenty Cents, whose real name was Willy Corbitt, and Ice Cube, otherwise known as Dwayne Ramos. They'd grown up in the hood together. They'd been brothers in every sense of the word. Growing up, he'd kicked butt for them and in turn had his own kicked. And even though the men were now mega rap artists, they were still good friends and hung out when time and geography permitted.

Rowan was forced to leave a message with Twenty Cents's publicist after he'd called the rapper's private line and got voice mail. He'd left a message on the recorder as instructed but wanted to hedge his bets. He had better luck with Dwayne. After a rigorous grilling by a suspicious-sounding female, he was put through to Ice Cube.

“Hey, Dwayne,” Rowan greeted. “It's been a while, man. You've been on the concert circuit, I hear.”

“Hey, R.J., I was beginning to think you were dissing me.”

“Oh, come on, give it a rest. I've been in Florida for the last couple of months juggling more projects than I have hands, trying to make some money.”

“Gimme a break. More like living the life, enjoying the sun, fun, women and beer.”

“Not me. I'm too busy working.”

The men began a friendly ribbing and then Rowan decided it was time to get down to business.

“I need a favor from you,” he said.

“Name it. It's yours.”

Rowan explained what he needed.

“You say this is a beachfront community on its way up. If we're talking fine young ‘thangs' in thong bikinis then baby, I'm there.”

“I'm talking about more exposure for your newest CD. I know just the right person to make sure you get air time. My friend D'dawg is an up-and-coming radio personality. He's going to host this venture we just discussed. I can guarantee the hotel will treat you like the VIP you are.”

“Sounds tempting. I'll check my schedule and get back to you.”

“How about you get back to Emilie Woodward, the director of leisure sales. She's the one putting the event together.” Rowan gave Dwayne Emilie's number before hanging up.

He overheard Derek in the outer room talking to Blanca in stilted Spanish. Rowan wondered what they were yakking about. The only words he understood of the language he'd learned on the street, and they weren't fit to be said in decent company.

“Hey,” he said to Derek when he emerged from his office. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Nah. I just got here. I was considering going to the Haul Out to shoot pool and wondered if you wanted to come along.”

“I might. I keep meaning to grab a beer and check out the place. It draws a local crowd, right?”

“Yes, a hardworking crowd. People who like to keep things real. It's one of the few hangouts that rarely sees tourists.”

“I'm in then. I could use a cold brew.”

Blanca, who'd overheard them, added, “Mr. James, you sure you want to go to the Haul Out? You're going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Why, because I'm white?”

“No, because you're so not a local.”

Rowan clutched his heart. “How can you say that? I'm not wearing a straw hat or shirts with hibiscuses all over them.” He stuck out a boot-clad foot and sniffed loudly. “I'm not wearing socks with sandals, either, and the last I looked I don't have sunblock on my nose.”

Blanca took one look at his expression and doubled over laughing. She was actually holding her sides.

“You are too much.”

“Come with us to the Haul Out,” Derek invited.

“Thanks, but I gotta get home. I have a kid to pick up and my old man would kill me if I put so much as my big toe in that joint.”

“Why?” Rowan asked, more curious than anything.

“Because it's what's known as a meat locker.”

They locked up and Blanca went on her way. The men headed in the opposite direction.

“What's there to know about Emilie Woodward?” Rowan asked as they were driving along.

“Joya could give you the 411 better than I could. They're quite good friends.”

“So I'm supposed to call up your wife and ask? Like she would tell me a thing. Where's Emilie from originally?”

“New Jersey. She was living with some attorney for a while but the relationship ended badly.”

“And that turned her off of men?”

“I wouldn't exactly say that. She gets her share of male attention. She's just particular.”

“Particular in terms of preferring men of her own race.”

“It just makes it easier all around I guess. Less problematic.”

“And I thought you were my friend. Are both of her parents black?” Rowan asked. Derek's glance shifted from the road momentarily. “I mean, she is very light skinned.”

“We come in all shades and colors. Anyway that's a question for Emilie. She's the first to tell you what she is. And in case you didn't know it, kids of white and black parents are usually considered black.”

They'd reached the Haul Out. After circling the block a couple of times Derek gave up on finding a parking spot close by and drove down the street.

Three blocks away they finally found a space.

“This town's going to need paid parking soon,” Rowan commented, looking at the bumper-to-bumper cars on either side of the road.

“Don't even go there. We're already over committed. Between the mall and this new casino we can't take on another project.”

“If we don't jump on it someone else will,” Rowan said sagely. “I'd be willing to broker a deal with Shore Construction to get it done.”

Derek tilted his head, thinking. “Hmm. Preston's got his hands full with all the opportunists buying the run-down old homes and wanting them restored. But he just might go for it.”

Preston was Derek's old employer. Derek, a trained engineer, had come back to Flamingo Beach wanting to learn the construction business from the bottom up. His goal had been to eventually own his own construction company. Preston Shore had hired him, but then Rowan had come along with an offer too good to refuse, even offering him a piece of his business.

In front of the Haul Out, people spilled onto the sidewalk, smoking as if it was going out of style. Rowan, recognizing several of his construction team, nodded.

“Hey, boss. Out for the evening?”

“Good evening, sir.”

“Nice weather, huh?”

No one seemed especially surprised to see him there. He'd always had a reputation for getting down with the best of them.

They pushed their way into the bar, sidestepping the crowd. Most of the folks Rowan had seen around town. Raised beer bottles acknowledged his presence, but other than that no one paid him much attention. He scanned the minuscule dance floor where several women were shaking their booties and some. The men, on the other hand, were eyeing them hungrily while hugging the wall.

Rowan followed Derek up to the bar where they tried valiantly to catch the bartender's eye. It took some doing but finally they got their beers on tap and by an unspoken agreement decided to hang out there.

A hand tapped Rowan's shoulder. He turned to see Sheena Grace, one of Chere's friends, checking him out. Sheena was wearing one of those short skirts that you couldn't sneeze in, and a cropped top that left several inches of tattooed skin bare. She also had on heels that could put a man's eyes out.

“It must be the big boy's day to go slumming,” she said, her eyes traveling the length of Rowan, as if she had X-ray vision and knew what was under his clothing.

He chugged his beer and slowly returned the stare. Sheena didn't even squirm. She was one pushy woman and had a reputation for getting around.

“I'm just winding down after the workday, like you are, Sheena.”

Not getting the desired reaction, she turned to Derek. “I'm surprised your wife's letting you out these days.”

“Is there something you wanted?” Derek asked, slanting his eyes her way. “If not, you're interrupting. There are plenty of other targets here.”

She snorted. “Jeeze, can't a person stop by to say hello without having some ulterior motive? First, Keith Lightfoot shows up here with his buddy and now you two. The Haul Out's never seen this much big-boy action. Must be something going on.”

“Keith's here?” Rowan asked. He hadn't seen anyone who even vaguely looked like the Native American.

“He sure is. He's over there trying to get people to sign up for jobs. He's dropping bucks and buying drinks, recruiting people to help build the casino. He and that friend of his are making all kinds of promises. Heck, he even offered me a job but I turned him down flat. I'm not dirtying my hands. You know what acrylic nails cost these days?” Sheena stared at her pink nails that had glittery stuff on them.

Derek and Rowan exchanged glances. “Maybe we should go over and find out what's going on.”

“I'll take you over to where he is,” Sheena volunteered.

She pushed her way through the crowd, stopping upon occasion to kiss someone she knew, which was almost everyone.

Keith Lightfoot and Stephen Priddy were in the back room where the pool tables were. They were surrounded by a circle of people. Sheena, Rowan and Derek stood on the fringe of the crowd watching the action. Priddy was up front and center, happy to have the attention.

“We'll pay you twenty-five percent more than you're making to come on with us. Where else would you get such an offer?” he said to the mostly male gathering.

“What about benefits? My company offers me a 401(k), dental, medical, vision. That's worth twenty-five percent to me.”

Stephen glanced at Keith, who nodded his head slightly.

“We'll have to get back to you on that. We'll discuss it with Landsdale International and come up with something.”

“So what else are you offering?” a burly man in the front row yelled. “I hear you're getting a bonus to bring the project in on time. What about us? Would we get a piece of that action or what?”

When Stephen wasn't able to think quickly enough, Keith bailed him out.

The Native American councilman had a commanding presence and a way of speaking that caused people to sit up and listen. While his expression was often hard to read he came across as sincere. Rowan wished he could say the same of Stephen Priddy.

“What we can guarantee is that you will have as much work as you want,” Keith said. “And for as long as you want it. We pay an attractive overtime rate and this casino is just one of many projects we plan for Flamingo Beach.”