Читать книгу Love on the Rocks - Pamela Yaye - Страница 12

Socializing with clients after hours was one aspect of his job that Warrick hated. Away from their wives and esteemed country club members, sane, upstanding businessmen propositioned women half their age, guzzled champagne like it was water and partied more vigorously than a championship-winning football team.

Known for its carnival-inspired decor and twenty-one-seat sushi bar, SushiSamba appealed to professionals and partiers alike. It was the place to be seen at, and international real estate mogul Hakeem Kewasi had requested they have dinner at the upscale restaurant lounge. Proud of his movie-star looks, he’d hit on waitresses and girls barely out of their teens, but seemed particularly taken by full-figured women.

Warrick was nursing his second beer, wondering how much longer he’d have to babysit the businessman, when he felt his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. Convinced it was his father calling to check up on him, he said, “I’m going to the men’s room.”

“You’re not sick are you?”

“No. I feel great.”

“Good because the night’s still young, and I can’t wait to check out Vixen.”

“The topless bar?”

His eyes were bright. “My brother was here last year and he said the dancers at the club look like that Beyoncé girl.”

Warrick smothered a laugh. A week after Tangela had moved out, Quinten and the guys had dragged him to the gentlemen’s club on Paradise Road. He’d had a lot to drink, but he didn’t remember seeing any beautiful dancers there. Most of them looked like teenagers playing dress-up, not like the Grammy-winning superstar. “Vixen’s not all it’s cracked up to be. It’s just a lot of Las Vegas hype.”

“Andre said a hundred bucks can get me anything I want.”

There was no disputing that. Warrick wasn’t a saint and he loved clubbing as much as the next guy, but he’d rather go home and hang out in his living room than watch some bony chicks dance. He didn’t want to go to Vixen, but his dad had ordered him to show Mr. Kewasi a good time and that’s what he was going to do.

Strolling through the bar, he noted the coltish smiles the female patrons were shooting his way. Most were wearing designer outfits but had colorful tattoos on their shoulders and arms. Attractive in their own right, but not his type. Classy, sophisticated women who carried themselves with grace piqued his interest every time. Tangela would never dream of getting a tattoo. Or would she? If she could show up at the Hawthorne party in a skin-tight cat-woman costume, there was no telling what else she’d do.

The brunette sitting at the bar waved. Warrick returned her smile. He thought of approaching her, but when he saw her see-through outfit he changed his mind. It looked as if she’d stuffed two hot-air balloons under her dress. It was a wonder she didn’t topple over. Fake breasts didn’t appeal to him, and neither did silver tongue rings.

After using the washroom, he wandered into the lounge and sat down. The inviting decor, padded leather booths and lively music created a relaxing atmosphere. Pressing his BlackBerry handheld to his ear, he listened to his messages. Making a mental note to return the calls later, Warrick slid the phone into his pocket and stared up at one of the flat-screen TVs.

He checked the score of the Mariners game, relieved to see his team was beating the Yankees. An American Airlines commercial came on and he thought of Tangela. He wondered if she was out with her friends. On the weekends, she liked to go with her coworkers to the Karaoke Hut for cocktails. Singing off-key and encouraging others to do the same was something he couldn’t get behind, but Tangela always seemed to enjoy herself.

Warrick glanced over at the bar. Mr. Kewasi was gone. He combed the lounge for his prospective client. Ten minutes after his search began, he spotted the businessman in the dining area standing with a tall, slender women. The waiter was obscuring his view of her face, but he’d recognize those legs anywhere. Tangela!

Wanting to confirm his hunch, he stepped into the lounge. Tangela’s look was a slam-dunk. The white belted shirtdress was tight in all the right places and unlike all the other sisters in the restaurant she didn’t look as though she’d spent hours getting dressed.

Relieved to see a petite woman join them, Warrick felt the tension flowing through his body recede. He was in the middle of the room obstructing the flow of traffic and other patrons were eyeing him curiously, but Warrick didn’t move. Dazzled by Tangela’s stylish ensemble, he watched as she sat down at one of the round tables and crossed her long brown legs. Warrick swallowed the lump in his throat. At the Hawthorne party Tangela had been a seductive temptress, but tonight she looked more like her old self. The golden tones in her auburn hair made her eyes sparkle and a smile sat beautifully on her rosy lips.

Warrick didn’t know how he got across the room, but he pulled up to their table and stood there, studying her. He waited impatiently for Tangela to acknowledge him, but when she didn’t, he said, “Twice in one month. This has got to be some sort of record.”

Tangela spun around, her smile frozen in place. “What are you doing here, Warrick?”

“Entertaining a client.”

Surprise splashed across Mr. Kewasi’s face. “You know these two beauties?”

“Yes. Tangela and I used to date.”

“A long, long time ago,” she added, shifting in her chair.

The businessman gestured to the chair beside him. “Sit down, Warrick. I’m buying these lovely ladies dinner. Carmen was just telling me how stressful her job is.”

“Stressful?” Warrick started to make a joke, but thought better of it. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize his ex-girlfriend and her friend. They were being nice to his client and that was a very good thing. “The pay’s not the greatest, but I bet you’ve been to some amazing places,” he said instead.

“I have, but being a flight attendant isn’t a walk in the park. There are days when I’m so tired I fall asleep in the shower!”

Mr. Kewasi wasn’t convinced. “But you can travel anywhere in the world and your friends and family can accompany you for just a fraction of the cost.”

“Every job has its drawbacks and being a flight attendant is no different.”

“Drawbacks? Really? Like what?” Mr. Kewasi asked, studying the brunette thoughtfully.

“For starters, there’s a common misconception that we’re waitresses. We’re not. We’re highly skilled flight specialists, equipped to deal with everything from ill passengers to operating cabin equipment and handling unexpected safety matters.”

Mr. Kewasi grinned. “No offense, ladies, but you do serve drinks.”

“Imagine this,” Tangela began, facing him. “You’re on an eight-hour flight to Paris and a few minutes after takeoff, you start to have trouble breathing. Sweat’s dripping down your face, your hands are clammy and it feels like your heart is about to explode out of your chest.”

The businessman adjusted his collar.

“You don’t want a waitress coming to your aid, do you? No, you want a trained, proficient flight attendant to keep you from dying in your first-class seat, right, Mr. Kewasi?”

Warrick hid a crooked grin behind his menu. Tangela was as sharp as ever. She’d lost some weight, but she hadn’t lost her sense of humor. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t seen each other for two years; she was still the same saucy woman he’d fallen hard for nine years ago.

“Well put, Tangela. I’ll never disrespect flight attendants again!”

The waiter arrived, and addressed Tangela first. “What can I get you to drink?”

“An apple martini with a dash of calvados and three maraschino cherries.”

Warrick didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Carmen bumped his elbow with her arm. “You still remember how she likes her cocktail? Wow, I’m impressed!”

“It just slipped out,” he mumbled, hating the way the Latina woman was eyeballing him.

“So, you guys dated, huh?” Carmen began. “What happened? Did you have a roving eye? Or a little problem with recreational drugs?”

“No, of course not.”

“Well?”

Warrick tripped over his tongue. “I…she…we…”

“We fell out of love,” Tangela offered, wearing a thin smile. “We were barely out of our teens when we met and over time we changed.”

Warrick felt as though someone was pelting him in the back with golf balls. Was that what she thought? That he’d stopped loving her? He’d never heard anything more ludicrous. Just because he didn’t walk around quoting Nikki Giovanni or buy Tangela flowers every day didn’t mean he didn’t love her. He’d let his actions speak for him. Wasn’t that what women wanted? Money, gifts and jewelry? He’d kept her in designer clothes, took care of the bills and gave her money on a weekly basis. Tangela was a hopeless romantic and wanted his attention all day every day, but Warrick wasn’t going to sacrifice his career so they could stay home and cuddle.

“He was finishing his IDP training and working crazy hours.” Tangela folded and unfolded her napkin. “We stopped making time for each other, and after seven years of dating we both got a little bored.”

Her voice was light, carefree, free of spite, but he felt the sting of her words. Tangela had a great capacity for love and affection, and after a few dates he’d known she was the one. They’d grown up together and she’d been there through every trial and every success. He kept his eyes on her as she spoke, amazed that she could discuss the demise of their relationship with such detachment. Warrick was the first to admit he hadn’t been the perfect boyfriend, but he’d never imagined those words coming out of Tangela’s mouth.

“It’s hard to maintain a relationship when one person wants out.”

As if sucker punched in the gut, Warrick slumped back in his chair, shoulders bent in defeat. Clearing the cobwebs from his mind, he swallowed a curse. He considered giving his side of the story, but didn’t want to lose his temper. Tangela didn’t look at him and carried on as though he wasn’t even there. Was she putting on an act or did she really believe he’d stopped loving her? Warrick didn’t know what to think. Women were confusing and even now, at thirty-one, he didn’t understand them any better than he had at thirteen.

“Our breakup was the best thing to ever happen to me,” she admitted, laughing at nothing in particular. “I learned to stand on my own two feet and stopped looking to someone else to make me happy.”

The waiter arrived with the appetizers, putting an end to all conversation. Over king crab and wine, the group discussed movies, music and Las Vegas’s thrilling nightlife. Mr. Kewasi asked Tangela about her stint in Mexico and she talked about her host family, the vibrancy of the culture and the sweltering heat. Warrick pretended to be watching the Mariners game, but he was listening to every word. He wanted to ask Tangela if she was planning to go back to Gaudalajara, but didn’t. She was being cordial, and he didn’t want to push his luck. Stealing a glance at her, he watched as she opened her purse and took out her pink, diamond-studded cell phone. The one he’d bought her years earlier in Japan.

When it rang, her eyes lit up. He strained to hear what she was saying, and listened intently as she greeted the caller. “Buenas noches, Marcello. ¿Cómo es usted?”

Warrick broke into a sweat. Who the hell was Marcello and why was she speaking in a sultry Spanish whisper? Back in the day, they’d lain in bed long after midnight, laughing about the crazy things that happened on her flight or planning their next vacation. Now, she was on the phone with some guy, asking questions about his day and listening intently to his answers.

Infected with lust, his wanton eyes roamed over her tight, toned physique. The sound of her laughter drew his gaze back up to her face. He couldn’t believe his ex—the woman he’d planned to marry—was on the phone with another man, flaunting her single-and-available status in his face.

Thanks to his sister, he knew Tangela had shown up at the Chrisette Michele concert with some blue-eyed geek, who was so smitten with her he’d escorted her to and from the ladies’ room. He’d pressed Rachael for more details, but she’d abruptly ended their conversation.

Staring down at his hands, he used his fingers to tick off the number of guys Tangela was dating. There was Leonard Butkiss, the concert guy and now some dude named Marcello. How many more were there? For all he knew, she could be dating someone from Mexico. Or an oil tycoon from Saudi Arabia. What was Tangela up to? Personally doing her part to bridge the racial divide?

Throwing down his napkin, Warrick searched the room for their waiter. He’d had enough. Enough of her giving him the cold shoulder, enough of her speaking in hushed tones to the mystery man on the phone and enough of her superior attitude. He had a hole in his heart the size of a basketball and she was dating more guys than the Bachelorette.

Tangela said something to Carmen, then got up from the table. Warrick watched her leave. She moved with a rhythm all her own. A confident, magnetic grace that made all the blood rush to his groin. Despite their acrimonious breakup, one thing was clear: he still desired her.

“You’re right, Mr. Kewasi, the American legal system has become a joke, but there are legitimate cases where people should sue their employer. Look at what happened to Tangela.” Carmen appealed to Warrick. “Don’t you think she should have sued Flight Express for discrimination? Or at least told her story to the news media?”

Her words didn’t register. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, frowning at her. “Tangela quit her job to study in Mexico.”

“That was after they cut her hours.”

Warrick felt his blood go cold. What the hell? Tangela told him she’d scaled back on her hours so she could devote more time to planning the wedding. Angry at her for dropping by his office unannounced every day, he’d suggested she return to work. In the weeks leading to their breakup, they’d argued about the ever-increasing guest list and soaring wedding costs. And when he stumbled across a five-thousand-dollar florist bill, he’d told her to quit wasting his money. “Carmen, I want to know exactly what happened.”

“Her boss said some mumbo jumbo about her not reaching her full potential. Apparently, she wasn’t reflecting the right image and the airline wasn’t satisfied with her work.”

“What does that mean?”

“Translation? She’d gained too much weight and they wanted her out.”

“Her supervisor actually said that?”

Carmen grunted. “They’re not that stupid. The airline didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands, so they cut her hours in half.”

“Can they do that?”

“It’s their company. They can do whatever they want.” Carmen continued, “Tangela quit and moved to Mexico. It was good for her to get away for a while. She needed it.”

He filled in the rest of the story. “But she missed flying, so she returned home and applied at American Airlines.” Warrick looked up just in time to see Tangela exit the ladies’ washroom. A slim, lanky guy in a white fedora stopped her as she entered the lounge. The woman was like a magnet. Everywhere she went, men followed.

Minutes later, Tangela returned to the table, clutching a thin stack of business cards. His ex, the social butterfly. While they were dating, he’d encouraged her to get out and make friends, but Warrick had never imagined his words would come back to haunt him.

As he watched Tangela sipping her second apple martini, he considered asking her about what had happened at Flight Express. She’d never admit it, but her appearance, or rather, other people’s opinion of her, had always been a sore spot for her. He’d loved her curvy figure, and the male attrention she garnered whenever they were together. Or at least he used to.

A cell phone shrilled and Tangela reached for her purse. When she greeted the caller and rose from her seat for a second time, giggling as she strode off, Warrick stabbed a shrimp ball with his fork and plunged it into his mouth. He wasn’t going to confront Tangela about what Carmen had shared with him tonight, but this wasn’t over.