Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani)

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “Oh, yes, big-time. Must be a man. Now don’t deny it.”

  Ellis was amazingly astute. He always had been. He tilted her chin upward. “So what’s his name?”

  “Tre.”

  “Very Tres,” Ellis said, grimacing at his own feeble joke.

  “Trestin’s his real name.”

  “And what does he do?”

  She hesitated, already knowing what Ellis’s reaction would be. “He’s a radio personality.”

  “You mean disk-jockey type?” Ellis said, and began to giggle. Then, noting Jen’s stricken expression, he said, “Sorry, hon. I’ll try to contain myself.”

  “It’s a perfectly respectable profession,” she said as his mirth again threatened to explode.

  “Who said it wasn’t? It’s just you, the diva of love, the preacher of stability and a disk jockey. I just can’t see it.”

  She found herself defending the man who she still wasn’t sure how she felt about. “Tre is perfectly respectable. He owns a car, and a boat and is in the process of purchasing his apartment and even has a mother I’ve met.”

  “You met his mother? Things must be serious then. No man introduces you to his mother unless he feels there’s some potential there.”

  She supposed what Ellis said was true and she’d botched it big-time. She should never have acted impetuously and shot off that e-mail and photo in reply to that ad on Café Singles. That more than anything else had pissed Tre off.

  “So what are you going to do about this man of yours?” Ellis asked, rubbing his cheek against hers.

  “Nothing. There’s nothing to do. He may be moving to New York anyway from what I’ve heard.”

  Ellis grasped her chin with his free hand, forcing Jen to look at him. “Hon, you’re being an idiot. You’re the one in control here. I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but if you let that man go without at least telling him how you feel about him…well…well, I’ll be disappointed. What would you tell a reader who wrote in with your problem?”

  “To take the initiative if it meant that much. To get the situation resolved one way or the other. That she was doing it for herself and not necessarily him.”

  “Beautiful, bébé.” Ellis chucked her under her chin. “That’s my girl. It’s all about you. Now let’s go back inside and see what Jacques is up to. And you, my darling, can flirt with Jean Pierre all you like but take it no further. He is—as they say—married.”

  Feeling as if a load had been taken off her chest, Jen kept an arm around her brother’s waist and walked back into the apartment with him.

  “You got it going on, girl!” Chere screamed, the moment she spotted Jen’s new haircut. “You get that in Paris?” She fingered the material of the sleeveless linen dress that Jen wore with a shrug to pull it together and because she was going into the office today.

  Her screams drew the attention of other members of the news team who’d arrived at the office early.

  “Great hair on you,” one of the secretaries shouted from over the top of her cubicle.

  “I want that dress,” another person in passing said.

  The compliments served to make Jen feel like a million bucks. Altogether she’d had a great weekend. Outstanding really. She’d sorted through all the things that had weighed heavily on her mind and she’d returned determined to resolve them.

  “You look great,” she said to Chere, meaning it. “You had to have lost so far at least ten pounds.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  Her assistant had at least a hundred and fifty more to go but you had to start somewhere.

  Jen eyed her in-box, surprised to find it almost empty. Chere had actually been doing some work in her absence and on a holiday weekend at that. Miracle of miracles.

  “I brought you something,” Jen said, dipping into the paper bag she carried. The gift had been purchased on a whim and as an inspiration to Chere.

  Jen handed the exquisitely wrapped box over, then dug back into the paper bag to remove the truffles and coffee beans she’d brought for the staff.

  Meanwhile, Chere’s long nails plucked away at the pink-and-lavender ribbon the package was secured by. She flipped open the box.

  “Oh, my, God!” she shrieked as she recognized what the gift was. Hooking the thong bikini bottom over one finger she waved it around and around. “I’m going to need to try these on.”

  Her high-pitched shrieks naturally drew the staff’s attention again. Chere proudly paraded the itsy-bitsy French bikini around. Jen’s present had apparently made her very happy.

  Jen settled in. She’d come to work early with the express purpose of getting organized before the day officially began. It had only been a three-day weekend, four for her since she’d taken an additional day off, but even so there seemed an unusually high number of voice-mail messages. She’d attack those first.

  For the most part they were the usual, people who’d bypassed the screening process and were hoping to get an audience with Jenna. Eileen had called not realizing she was out. She’d wanted to set up a day and time for lunch. There’d been a couple of other calls from staff members with one inquiry or another and there were several from WARP asking her to call.

  Jen actually felt her breathing quicken. Could any of the half-dozen messages that were left be from Tre? Then she remembered the debate that never happened. That was most likely what those messages were about. She’d return the calls when she got around to it. She had much too much catching up to do today to make a return phone call a high priority.

  And so it was later that afternoon, when the phone rang, she delegated its answering to Chere as she’d done all day.

  “Diva Advice,” Chere sang, making up the title and simultaneously making herself sound important.

  Jen shot her a look.

  “Oh, my God, oh, my God!” She stomped a heavy platform-shod foot then rocked back and forth. “I have to sit down.”

  Jen looked up from her typing, concerned. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “You gotta be kidding me!”

  Chere was practically wheezing. Concerned that her admin was having some kind of attack, Jen bolted out of her seat, bringing her own bottled water with her.

  “Breathe,” she admonished.

  And she was. Chere, while still clinging to the receiver, was breathing heavily through her mouth.

  Jen attempted to get her to relinquish the equipment and finally settled for pressing her ear to the receiver.

  “This is Jen St. George, are you still there?”

  Canned music came at her, then loud applause. A man’s deep voice boomed, “You’re a winner, Jen St. George. You’ve won our Fun Ship Cruise for two.”

  “Okay, what are you trying to sell?”

  “We’re not trying to sell you anything. You’re our winner.”

  “I didn’t enter any contest.”

  “Perhaps you forgot. In any case your business card was selected from amongst a record number of entries.”

  Still huffing and puffing, Chere pointed to herself. It took Jen a while to get it. She covered the mouth of the receiver and angled an ear at her.

  “Remember that Ford dealership opening?”

  “Yes?”

  “WARP had a booth that was off the chain. I had several of your business cards on me. You know I carry them in case you forget.…”

  “You entered me in this contest?”

  “I entered us several times. It was just another way to help get us on that cruise ship.”

  Relinquishing the receiver to Jen she pretended to lead her own conga line.

  “I’m feeling hot, hot, hot!”

  Not! Not! Not! Jen thought. Definitely not!

  Chapter 23

  Tre sat in the chair the new owners of WARP had waved him into and waited for them to start the meeting. He should have felt anxious but he didn’t. He’d been preparing himself for this all along, and he had a backup plan, an ace card to pull out of his pocket if need be.
He’d come prepared to listen to what the brothers had to say.

  For the past week his colleagues at the station had been grumbling and overall morale had been low. This had been especially noticeable after the mandatory staff meeting where the two brothers had announced they were taking over. Had they tried talking to the staff, things might have been very different. No one liked being dictated to and read a list of changes and policies. Even worse was not being allowed to ask questions.

  During the week some of the staff had mysteriously disappeared. Speculation of course had run rampant. It was believed they’d been fired or simply jumped ship. Tensions were now at an all-time high, and attitudes were expressed in ways that were not necessarily beneficial to the radio station.

  Supposedly there was to be a gradual transition of ownership. But with no official communication, people were running scared and team spirit had virtually disappeared.

  “We’ve been meaning to get together with you before now,” Zachary, the oldest of the two brothers said, resting his butt on the edge of the desk.

  Tre said nothing.

  Joshua, the shorter of the two, cleared his throat. “We wanted you to know how much you’re valued at the station. Your ratings are by far the highest of any on-air personality.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Tre said, wishing they would cut to the chase.

  “Keep doing what you’re currently doing and you’ll have a job for life.”

  Tre nodded, guessing this was their reassurance talk.

  “You must have questions.” This came from Zach.

  “I have several.”

  Tre listed them and waited as the brothers spewed their rhetoric. They weren’t bad men, but it was clear they didn’t have much experience in the business. Tre had worked for one owner previously who didn’t have a clue.

  He’d come aboard thinking that radio was a glamorous business. What he’d found out was that the hours were unpredictable, the politics awful and the turnover high. Radio, like any other revenue-generating business, relied on ratings and ratings assured sales. The two invariably went hand in hand.

  The brothers were now droning on. Tre had heard enough to figure out how to play this. He stood.

  “Well, I certainly appreciate your faith in me, but it needs to be backed up with something more substantial like a contract and dollars. What I’m saying is I would like some security.”

  Both brothers exchanged looks. They had to have seen what was coming.

  “Well, we would be willing to talk about an attractive package,” Zach hedged. “Give us a few days to put it together.

  It was time to play his ace card. “I should tell you I have another offer.”

  Bonzo and Bozo actually gaped. Josh sputtered, “But we thought you were happy at WARP. At least that’s what your predecessor led us to believe.”

  Tre studied his fingernails. Let them worry. “I’m not unhappy at WARP,” he said after a while. “Management has been very good to me. I have a prime-time slot but the broadcast needs to be taken to the next level. I’ve been offered my own syndicated show along with the money to go with it. I would expect WARP to match both of those offers.”

  “Can we ask what salary you negotiated?” The question came from Joshua.

  Tre named the figure.

  Neither blinked an eye.

  “There’s also that contract that we’d need to talk about,” Tre reminded them.

  “We’ll get back with you shortly.” Zach squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry. It’ll all be good.”

  “I’ll need an answer by tomorrow so that I can make my decision.”

  “You’ll have one.”

  He left both brothers looking as if they’d just been run over by a sixteen-wheeler.

  Jen set the mail on the dining room table as she always did before slowly going through the stack. She’d only been gone four days, yet judging by the bills and junk mail you wouldn’t think so. She picked up the one personal-looking piece of correspondence amongst the bunch. It had no return address.

  Curious as to the contents, she slid a nail under the flap of the envelope and removed a card. Three African-American women of varying ages dressed in colorful kente-cloth dresses danced across the border. Jen’s lips curved into a smile as she scanned the signature. Then she read the accompanying note.

  Tre’s mother wrote just like she spoke, using very few commas. She wanted Jen to know she’d made it back to Detroit safely, and was now signed up for line dancing classes with her neighbor, Mrs. Calhoun. She rambled on about a number of friends and their doings and finally ended with a suggestion that it wouldn’t hurt if once in a while Jen looked in on her son.

  Well, she’d planned on doing just that. Tonight, she’d decided they were going to resolve their differences, one way or the other. Jen’s conversation with Ellis, plus time apart had given her a completely different perspective on things. Conversation between them was well overdue putting closure to their unfinished business.

  Tre’s stereo was cranked way up as usual, meaning he must be home. A few weeks ago she would have been banging on his walls and calling him an inconsiderate SOB. Now she found his music and his presence reassuring.

  Jen exited 5C and approached the door of 5B. She rapped sharply.

  The volume lowered a bit. She thought she heard the sounds of approaching footsteps and made sure to stand in an area directly outside of his vision.

  “Who is it?” Tre called.

  “Security,” she answered, disguising her voice.

  “Does security have a name?”

  Jen stepped directly in front of the door and Tre’s front door swung open almost immediately.

  “I thought you’d left town,” he said, his eyes sweeping over her. “That new hairstyle looks good on you.”

  “Thank you. Yes, I was out of town. May I come in?”

  He moved aside and in the living room they stared awkwardly at each other.

  “May I sit down?” Jen finally asked.

  “Of course.”

  Tre waved her to a couch. When she sat he joined her. He was so close she was able to smell the musky scent of man. She was having difficulty putting her thoughts in order.

  “I heard you might be leaving WARP,” Jen began, forcing the words out. “It’s rumored you got a job with another station.”

  “That’s true but I haven’t decided what I want to do. My moving or not moving will be determined by a number of different factors.”

  “Like?”

  “Like what WARP comes up with for a package. Like whether the woman I’m interested in would move with me, and that’s just a few of my concerns.”

  “I see.”

  He was staring directly at her as if expecting a bigger reaction to his comment about the woman. She decided two could play the same game.

  “Which woman would this be? The one that might or might not move with you?”

  “My next-door neighbor,” Tre said, boldly.

  Jen quirked one eyebrow. He was still one cocky son of a gun and sure of himself, too. “And what if this woman likes it here at Flamingo Beach and enjoys her job?”

  “A wise man would be respectful of that. He’d even think of commuting for a while. Compromise makes for a good relationship.”

  “Gee, the last I recall,” Jen said, standing and pretending to look baffled, “the woman next door was being accused of some pretty heinous things. Things like deception, wanting to further her own career at the man’s expense, buttering up his mother…”

  “Ouch!”

  Tre was up alongside her and placed his hand over her mouth. “Okay, okay. I admit it. I missed you. Can you blame a brother for being distrustful? I’m a radio personality and I get pursued by some pretty weird types. But time apart gave me a chance to think about how much you’ve become a part of my life. Of course, you getting along with my mother is a definite plus,” he said with a laugh. “But seriously, I really, really missed you.”

  He remove
d his palm allowing her to speak.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said.

  Tre kissed her, cutting off any further response she might have made.

  “I might be in love,” Tre whispered in her ear. “Want to know who with?”

  “If you’d like to tell me.”

  “That sexy woman in 5C. That diva’s really gotten under my skin.”

  “Then maybe you should tell it to Dear Jenna, baby. She’d listen.”

  Tre let loose with a hearty laugh.

  “So you think I can entice the woman to stay over?” he asked.

  “If you talk to her nicely and whisper the right words in her ear.”

  “What about if I promise to love her forever and ever.”

  “That’s a good start.”

  “And what if I told her I missed her and her sexy ways.”

  “Keep talking, boy!”

  Tre was slowly dancing her up the hallway toward the bedroom.

  “I think I might be in love, too,” Jen confided.

  “With who?” Incredulity registered in his voice.

  “This fine specimen of a man who lives in 5B. He calls himself D’Dawg. I’m thinking of taking him on this cruise that I won courtesy of his radio station.”

  “He’s onboard. There’s a bottle of Red Stripe in his hand. He’s on that conga line.”

  Tre leaned in for another soulful kiss. Jen blocked out the picture of Chere on the dock in her itsy-bitsy bikini screaming, “This ain’t fair!”

  She’d make it up to her assistant somehow. Right now her priorities lay elsewhere.

  She and Tre would do some serious talking in bed about their future. Whatever the outcome she would support him fully. New York was only a two and a half hour flight away and if they planned carefully they could see each other often. It was after all a modern day and commuting couples were common.

  They’d reached the bedroom. Tre was already getting undressed.

  “Come on, baby,” he said, arms wide open.

  She took one look at the man she loved. His smooth brown perfectly proportioned body beckoned. If there was one last lingering doubt it fell away.

  She loved this man. Heart, body and soul.