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No man deserved to look like he did at this ungodly hour. Quen was wearing a monogrammed blue short-sleeved polo shirt that stretched across his broad chest, and showed off his muscular arms to an advantage. Where the shirt V-ed there was a patch of dark hair. His khaki shorts skimmed midthigh giving me a-to-die for view of runners’ legs. The same dark hairs curled over them. And his sneakers, well girlfriend, they had to be at a minimum a fourteen and they looked brand new. It was his hands that had me. They were large hands with long, nimble fingers, the nails neatly trimmed.
I wanted those hands on me. All over me. I dreamed about them.
“Must have been some workout,” Quen said, preparing to move along. “You keep showing up three times a week, sugar, and we’ll have you slimmed down in no time.”
An hour later, my body aching, I flopped behind my desk at the Flamingo Beach Chronicle and began opening Dear Jenna’s mail. It was more of the same whining and I quickly got bored. I began daydreaming of scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries. Soon it became pork chops and chicken legs. I was that hungry.
“Hey, Chere,” Jen St. George, my boss greeted as she flew in. Girlfriend was turned out as usual. She had a certain style about her that I’d tried copying but couldn’t pull off. Jen’s eyes were overly bright. There was a bounce to her step that made me want to strangle her. Came from sleeping with one of Flamingo Beach’s hottest guys. Jen had hooked up with wisecracking radio personality, Tre Monroe. His radio audience called him D’Dawg.
“You’re early,” Jen said, sounding astounded. “Is something wrong?”
“Good morning to you to, missy, and no, there ain’t—isn’t—anything wrong.”
She was right; I was always at least half an hour late. Mornings were rough on me. They made me hungry and grumpy. I was what you called a night person.
“I’ve been working out at the gym,” I announced, twirling around. “New Years resolution, remember?” We’d both made resolutions, mine was to lose weight and exercise, Jen’s was to exercise more patience. It was only the second week of January but I’d managed to keep mine. I waited for her to compliment me.
“Good for you. You’re sticking to the program. Is Quen still working with you?” Jen raised a sculpted eyebrow as if she didn’t think that was possible. She must think I was bluffing about losing weight?
“Yeah he is. Why?”
Jen stood and stretched. There wasn’t a ripple in the midthigh skirt she wore or a bulge where her belly should be. “Nothing. I’m getting coffee. Want a cup?”
Fetching coffee was my job but I never seemed to get around to it. “Sure and while you’re at it bring back a couple of them chocolate donuts the girls brought in.”
Jen shook her head and wagged a finger in front of my nose. “Chocolate is totally off-limits. Those calories will go straight to our hips. I need to lose five pounds so that I can fit into my wedding gown.”
I began bouncing up and down and screaming. “Jen’s getting married, y’all. Tre’s finally popped the question.”
Several heads poked over the divider. The commotion had gotten the attention of the clerical staff who were on their desks looking over.
Jen held up her left hand for all to see. My mouth flapped open like I was catching flies. Shoot, I’d never seen a rock quite that size. D’Dawg had to be making some big bucks. I wanted one just like hers.
Oohs and aahs came from the other side of the partition. My girls had calculators for brains. They were crunching those numbers, and computing the cost of that ring right down to the last dollar.
“Congratulations!” Envy dripped from that word.
“Good luck, Jen. You caught yourself a good one.”
I heard a rustle and several stifled screams.
Heads disappeared, which meant Luis Gomez, the big cheese had come in.
I was hugging Jen when Luis, stinking of cigar smoke, stuck his head in our office. “Morning, Jen,” he said, totally ignoring me.
“Morning,” she replied.
I stuck a tongue out behind his back. I couldn’t stand him. Never could. But there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about me. I had the owner of the paper, Ian Pendergrass’s ear. I’d been Ian’s housekeeper once; the worst one he’d ever had. But I’d served a purpose. Ian, the old goat with his randy ways deserved me.
“I’ll be back with that coffee,” Jen said smoothly, slipping out of my embrace.
I’d never be married. I’d never even come close. But I’d had my share of men and most of the population of Flamingo Beach thought I was a “ho.” Not true. But it was good for my image for them to think that. No one should ever know that brazen-faced Chere Adams actually lacked self confidence.
And that was another reason I needed to get the weight off. It was also the reason I’d spent two months studying like crazy for that real estate exam. I wanted to be somebody. Needed to be. I was thirty-three years old and going nowhere fast. And I wanted Quen Abrahams and babies.
I refused to think the health club manager was out of my league. Maybe he was, but a girl could try, couldn’t she? I wanted the man to start thinking of me as a woman, and not just a fatso with a crazy sense of humor. We’d been friends for a long time. Now I wanted more than friendship.
Where was my coffee? I needed a pick me up and I needed one of them chocolate donuts to hold me over. Hell, I would even settle for a jelly-filled one; anything sweet. My stomach was queasy and every bone hurt.
The minutes ticked by before Jen sauntered back in minus donuts. She was carrying two mugs in her hand. She set one cup down on my desk and flipped the switch on her computer.
“Where’s the food?” I demanded.
“No donuts. You’re on a diet. You should be eating breakfast bars.” She rummaged through her drawer and flipped a couple at me.
I caught them, glared at her and bit right through the wrapper. I was that hungry. Easy for her to say “You’re on a diet.” She was built like an athlete with curves in all the right places. That glowing coffee complexion came from nights of good loving. Tre Monroe was delivering and I was getting zilch. Nada.
“How are your real estate classes coming?” Jen asked, after she was settled in and staring at her monitor.
It would be pointless to lie. In a town the size of Flamingo Beach everyone knew everyone’s business and what they didn’t know they made up.
“I passed the real estate and property management exam,” I said, proudly sticking out my triple Ds. “Now I am officially a full-fledged Realtor.”
“Good for you. Will you be juggling two jobs then, or will you be quitting on me?”
Better to play it cool and keep my mouth shut. Jen didn’t have to know I had high aspirations; one of them being to get the credit I deserved at the Chronicle. I didn’t want her job, I just wanted equal billing. Dear Jenna and Chere, sounded sweet to me.
“You know I can’t afford to quit,” I said smiling brightly. She was after all still my boss. “I need a regular salary. Besides who said I didn’t like my job.”
One side of Jen’s lips curled up. “I thought you were bored opening mailing and cataloguing it.”
“Who said I was bored?”
She cut her eyes at me. I didn’t have her fooled.
I wasn’t exactly bored, but I did have a short attention span. I hated sitting for hours. Plus much of the advice Jen dished out came from me. I knew everything there was to know in Flamingo Beach. And even if the people who wrote in didn’t sign their real names, it was easy to figure. Nothing but nothing escaped me.
I dug into a drawer and found a letter opener, no point ruining my nails. Manicures were expensive. Especially those that had fancy artwork and sequins on them. This week mine had dolphins jumping. I’d turned into a Florida girl through and through.
“You set a date for the wedding?” I asked, my stomach rumbling thinking of that wedding cake with strawberries, fresh cream and icing.
“Tre and I will do that this weekend.”
It sounded to me like Tre Monroe was delaying committing. Not that I would tell Jen that. He’d been the beach’s most eligible bachelor up until missy here, from Ashton snatched him up. They’d hated each other on sight. Then somewhere along the way that hatred had turned to love. Now the buzz was they were living together.
“What’s going to happen to your apartment?” I asked, partially because I was curious, and partially because I needed to find out if she wanted to rent. Heck I was a Realtor plus I had my own ulterior motive.
“I’m thinking about renting.”
I wound a lock of weaved auburn hair around a jeweled fingernail and thought about how to play this. I needed a place to live. My landlady claimed her daughter and her kid were moving back to Flamingo Beach. She’d given me notice to start looking.
If I put my stuff in storage, and moved into Jen’s fancy apartment, it might work. Flamingo Place was the type of upscale complex that could do wonders for my new image. And Jen’s waterfront digs were to die for. I just couldn’t afford to pay what she was paying.
“When are you thinking of leasing?” I asked.
She crossed one skinny leg over the other. Jen had that polished look I was striving for but couldn’t quite pull off. If you weighed two hundred and twenty-five pounds and squeezed into a midthigh skirt and three-inch stilettos, you looked like a hooker. You got lots of attention but for all the wrong reasons.
“Do you know someone who might be interested?” Jen asked, “I could make the apartment available immediately. I’m spending more and more time at Tre’s place and an empty apartment isn’t a good thing.”
She’d confirmed they were more or less living together. Opportunity only knocked once. I took a deep breath and stepped through the door.
“I might be interested.”
“You?”
Jen sounded like she didn’t think I was serious.
I explained what had happened with my landlady.
“Hmm,” she said, stroking her chin. “But what would you do with all of your stuff?”
“Put it in storage. It would only be for a couple of months. I don’t even know if I can afford the rent.” I played my ace card. “There is a plus to having me live there.”
“And what is that?”
“Being that I’m officially in the real estate business, and I know a lot of people, I could keep an eye out for a tenant. You’d be my very first client.”
“Hmm.”
All these “hmms” were beginning to annoy me. I might be a lowly peon at the Chronicle but I was well connected. Jen knew exactly who’d gotten me this job; Ian Pendergrass himself. She also knew I’d introduced her to a lot of important people.
“Could you manage to pay say six hundred dollars a month?” Jen asked. “That would be half of my mortgage. I’ll pick up the other half until you find me a tenant.”
“I could pay five,” I countered, crossing my fingers behind my back. Five hundred would be a steal for Jen’s two-bedroom water-view apartment, and I would be able to put aside a few hundred per month. She didn’t have to know the rattrap I lived in was costing me close to a thousand.
I’d slaved to make the place pretty. The toilets leaked and the pictures on the walls hid holes and flaking plaster. Even the partitions were thin. During the late hours you could hear the neighbors’ bedsprings squeak. I’m sparing you the graphics. You don’t want to know.
“Okay, we’ll agree on five.”
I squealed loudly and moved in to hug her.
The phone rang and we both reached for it.
“This is Dear Jenna,” Jen said in her professional voice. I was surprised when she handed the receiver to me.
“New boyfriend? He’s got a sexy voice.”
I wish.
“Hello, this is Chere,” I said, the elocution classes I attended one night a week finally kicking in. Plus I remembered the reprimand I’d received from Jen for saying, “Hey.”
“Just a reminder, tomorrow morning at seven. Don’t mess up.” It was Quen Abrahams again. I’d missed one session two weeks ago and trust me I’d heard about it. I’d needed my beauty sleep and I’d overslept.
I groaned. I’d forgotten all about making that appointment. Plus I didn’t have the extra sixty dollars to pay him even though he was giving me a break.
Quen was not only Flamingo Place’s health club manager and on-site nutritionist, but was doing me a favor personally training me.
“My legs are killing me. Every bone hurts,” I whined.
“It’ll get better,” Quen said in that voice that reminded me of nights when the temperature in Florida dipped into the fifties and you broke out the wine and Barry White. “Did you weigh in today?”
I grunted something. I’d totally forgotten.
I could feel Jen’s eyes on me and sensed the wheels turning. Everyone thought I was easy and had a string of men. They should only know what it took for me to sleep with a man. Courage. Ian and I hadn’t exactly slept together. The old geezer liked to look and touch.
“I’ll see you tomorrow at the club then. Seven o’clock sharp, remember,” Quen said.
“I’ll be there.” I blew a kiss through the mouthpiece. “Love you, too.”
Under my breath I muttered, “slave driver,” and slammed down the phone.
Chapter 2
Crabby because I was still hungry, I clomped home and had a salad for dinner. I was starving. I stuck my head in the refrigerator, found a turkey leg in one of those Ziploc bags and yanked it out.
I zapped that leg in the microwave and quickly wolfed it down. Food never tasted so good. Afterward I sat down and made a list of what I needed to do to improve myself.
The phone rang just as I was thinking how much all this reinventing was going to cost.
“Talk to me,” I said, picking up the receiver.
“Chere?” Sheena, one of my girls greeted in her usual high-pitched squeak. She didn’t wait for me to acknowledge her but began babbling away. Meanwhile my stomach was still rumbling. I considered having another piece of turkey just to quiet things down.
“So did I hear right?” Sheena yakked. “Your boss is taking a stroll down the aisle with our favorite disk jockey?” That girl didn’t miss a thing.
“You heard right.”
“When’s the wedding?”
“I don’t know.” I didn’t want to talk about any wedding unless it was mine.
My short answers didn’t bother Sheena one bit. She was off and running. “What’s happening with your real estate? You selling any houses yet?”
“I just passed the test a week ago. Cut me some slack,” I said irritably. I wasn’t going to say one word about my two clients. That news would be all over town in a Flamingo Beach minute and I didn’t want to be jinxed.
“Then you must not have sold anything,” she said. Sheena could be a bitch at times. “I hear they’re looking for part time help selling or renting properties at Flamingo Place. Manny Varela is the property manager. You want me to put in a good word for you?”
“No, thanks. I know Manny. I can speak for myself.”
