Destiny's Daughters

by Gwynne Forster

  “I hear that. Wheeling and dealing or humping and bumping?”

  Nathan laughed. He took the cordless phone, crossed the room, and sprawled out on the couch, tossing his right leg over the back. “Quiet as it’s kept, I do work for a living.”

  “That’s the rumor.”

  “So what’s up?” He wished he’d brought his beer with him.

  “Marcia is having some friends and business associates over for a dinner party, and for some reason she insists that I invite your sorry ass.”

  Nathan grinned. “Marcia knows I’m charming. A fact that has apparently escaped you.”

  “With good reason,” he joked back.

  “Tell my sister-in-law that I’ll be there. What time?

  “Around eight, last Friday of the month. And bring one of your lovely ladies, or you know Marcia is gonna try and hook you up with one of her friends.”

  “Gotta give her credit for trying. She doesn’t give up.”

  “She wants you to be just as miserable as I am.”

  Calvin and Marcia married right out of college and there were no two people who were happier. Marcia was perfect for his frat brother. She settled Calvin down in a way that no other woman before her could, and there had been plenty. When they got married, Nathan felt a certain kind of loss. His running buddy was off the market. Their days of hanging out and swapping stories of their romantic trysts came to an abrupt end—at least it did for Calvin. He now lived vicariously through Nathan’s escapades. In a way, Nathan envied Calvin. He had yet to feel about any woman the way Calvin felt about his wife, and often wondered if he ever would. In the meantime, he’d keep having fun and looking.

  “If you’re miserable, then I believe in Santa Claus,” Nathan said.

  Calvin chuckled. “I got to play the role.”

  “Only for those who don’t know any better.” He leaned his head against the cushions. “So what’s been happening? I haven’t seen you in a minute.”

  “Oh, you know, the usual—working. We have a new pilot set to launch in the spring, and everyone in production is going crazy.”

  “But you love it. Television is in your blood, and putting on a new program and all the madness that goes with it keeps you young.”

  “True dat. Speaking of television, did you see the fight on Friday night?”

  “Aw, man . . . did I . . .”

  They talked about sports, segued to music, friends they’d run into, and wrapped it up nearly an hour later with promises to make plans to have a boys’ night out with some of the fellas.

  “So, I can count you in for dinner?”

  “For sure. Wouldn’t miss it. Besides, I don’t want Marcia to come looking for me. Blow my whole program!”

  Calvin laughed. “You got that right. Who do you plan to bring?”

  “Hmmm, not sure yet. Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

  “You always do. Coming!” he shouted out. “Well, that’s my cue. Duty calls. See you soon.”

  “Will do. Tell Marcia hello for me.”

  “Sure. Later.”

  Nathan slowly hung up the phone, the shadow of a smile still playing around his mouth. It would be good to see Calvin and Marcia, and if things worked out with Pamela, maybe he’d ask her to be his date.

  He checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. Not a word from her.

  He was more intrigued than before.

  Chapter 4

  A habitual early riser, Leticia was up with the sun and in the hotel gym. She’d put in a good two-hour workout by the time any other guests arrived.

  Returning to her room, she took a hot, then cold, shower, then lathered on her favorite lotion, Papaya Mango, created by this small, onewoman company called Pamper Me, Pamper You that she’d stumbled upon in Brooklyn. She smiled as she watched herself in the full-length wall mirror. She turned from side to side, checking herself from every angle. What man wouldn’t want this body? It’s what women were made for, wasn’t it? To bring and receive pleasure.

  Yet, even with her internal mantra constantly playing in her mind, the hollowness in the center of her being was never filled, not with men, money, clothes . . . She turned away from the damning reflection.

  A drink and a compliment from a handsome man were sure to lift her mood. It always did. She was confident that Nathan Spencer was a man who could easily make her forget the things she didn’t want to remember.

  She selected a soft-peach wrap dress in a clingy jersey that did lovely things for her figure. Gold hoops for her ears, a hint of makeup, and peach-and-yellow back-out sandals, and she was ready to go.

  Leticia arrived in the hotel dining room, and quickly scanned the space to see if Nathan had arrived. When she didn’t see him, she experienced a moment of disenchantment. She was certain that her nonresponse to his thank-you gift would have piqued his interest.

  She lifted her chin, shook off the momentary flutter of disappointment, and walked up to the waiter to be seated. She perused the menu.

  “I didn’t think you would show up this morning.” Nathan pulled out a seat opposite her and sat down.

  Slowly she put down her menu. “I generally do what I say, especially when an intelligent, handsome man is involved.”

  “Is that right? So can I conclude that you consider me a handsome and intelligent man?”

  “You could . . . if you like.”

  Nathan chuckled. “What are you having for breakfast?” he asked, changing the direction of the conversation. He had yet to have his coffee for the morning and instinctively knew that he wasn’t ready to go toe-to-toe with Pamela.

  “I was going to start with a fruit salad. What about you?”

  “Sounds good. We can make that two.” He signaled for the waiter, who quickly took their orders. “So . . . how did you spend the rest of your evening?”

  A flash of Felix’s hot flesh and whispers in Spanish skipped through her head. She shrugged. “Nothing special. Watched a little television and went to bed.”

  He looked at her for a moment. “Hmm.”

  “And thank you for the champagne, by the way. I should have called.”

  “Glad you liked it.”

  “Do you always send champagne to women you’ve just met?” She picked up her glass of orange juice and brought it to her lips.

  “Depends on the woman and how much of an impression she made on me.”

  “I take it I made an impression . . . of some sort?”

  “You definitely did that.”

  She took a sip of her juice, then put the glass down. “Did you decide what you’re going to show me today?”

  He had plenty he wanted to show this woman, but it would have to wait. “Thought I’d take you on a tour of South Beach, then lunch, then take you back to your hotel so that you can change for dinner and some music.”

  “I love the sound of that. A full day.”

  The waiter arrived with their food.

  “I hope you’re up to it.”

  She glanced at him from beneath slightly lowered lids. “Oh, Nathan, I work out. I’m always ready.”

  “I’m sure you are.” He raised his glass in a toast. “To beginnings.”

  Chapter 5

  “You never did tell me what kind of entertainment business you’re in,” Nathan said as he wound his way around the Miami traffic. They’d been spending all their free time together during the past weeks, but he’d never gotten a clear answer to his question. He took a quick glance at her before veering around a tan Lexus sedan.

  “I book clients for . . . special performances.”

  “That must be interesting. Music, art, what?”

  “Music,” she lied smoothly. “Is that the Versace mansion?” She pointed to the grand edifice guarded by a ten-foot white fence.

  “Yep. Sometimes they offer tours.”

  “I’ve heard so much about it.” She smiled.

  “It’s definitely impressive. His sister is there quite a bit, Donnatella.”

  “Hmm.” If she met th
e right people during her stay, she was sure she could get a peek inside.

  They drove slowly down the crowded streets, teeming with people. Every restaurant had an outdoor café setting and practically every seat was filled with young, tanned bodies.

  Palm trees swayed gently against the offshore breezes, and from certain points you could see right down onto the white sandy beaches dotted with sunbathers.

  “That building on your right. It’s one of the projects that I’m working on.”

  “What is it going to be?”

  “The top ten floors are residential co-ops. The bottom five are offices.”

  “How soon will it be available?”

  “Construction is completed, actually. The closing with the owner should wrap up next week. All of the office floors have been leased and ready for occupancy.”

  “Are all of the co-ops purchased?” She stared up at the building, imagining herself ensconced on the top floor, looking out on the city below. It wasn’t New York, but . . .

  “I believe there are about three vacancies. The prices are pretty steep.”

  She turned to him. “What do you consider steep?”

  “Five hundred thousand for one bedroom on the top floor.”

  “Hmm. Not bad.”

  His brow arched. “I guess not, if you have it like that. I personally prefer some land for my money.”

  “I don’t want the headache of having to mow lawns, water grass, and chase kids off my front yard.”

  “You have a point. But there’s nothing like walking out onto your own property. I never really understood the purpose of spending that kind of money to live in a high-priced apartment building.”

  “Do you share your sentiments with all your potential buyers?”

  He chuckled. “First and foremost, I’m a businessman. If clients want to spend a million bucks on three rooms with a view, I’m more than happy to take their money.”

  “Can you take me inside?”

  He stopped at the red light. “Sure.”

  “Then let’s go. I want to see up close what you do.”

  He made a quick right turn and headed toward the building.

  Just as she’d thought, the view from the fifteenth floor was spectacular. The rooms were spacious with high ceilings and glass everywhere. Wood floors, plenty of closet space, and a sunken living room. Perfect.

  She spun toward him, hands on her hips. “I’ll take it. Who do I need to speak with to make that happen?”

  Nathan’s eyes widened. “Just like that?”

  “I don’t dawdle on making decisions, especially when things feel right to me.”

  “I can get you an appointment with the owner and have the papers written up. You’re sure about this? I didn’t realize you wanted to stay in Miami. I got the impression it was temporary.”

  “Even if it is,” she turned and began walking through the space again, “I’d like somewhere to call home.” She ran her hand across the black marble countertop in the kitchen. “I can see myself here. Can’t you?” She gave him a slow smile.

  He walked toward her. “I can see you being at home in any place you chose.”

  She rested her elbows on the counter and leaned forward. “I can see you visiting here . . . often.”

  “Can you, now?” He was right in front of her. The tantalizing view of her cleavage called out to him. Touch me, go ahead. Reluctantly he pulled his gaze away and focused on the teasing smile that played around her moist lips. That wasn’t much better. If he kept looking at her looking at him that way, he was going to have to keep his hands in his pockets for the rest of the afternoon. He turned away.

  “If you’re sure about it, I’ll make an appointment for you to meet with the owners. What day is good for you?”

  “My time is my own, Nathan. Get the date and I’ll be there.” She came from around the table and stood in front of him. She looked up into his eyes, saw the desire there. “Is something wrong?” Her voice was a caress, not a question.

  He cleared his throat. “Nothing that spending the rest of the day with you won’t cure.”

  “I like the sound of that.” She glanced around. “I know exactly where I’ll put everything.” She turned back to him. “The bedroom is always my favorite room to design. Do you have a favorite color?”

  “Nude.”

  She chuckled. Her brow arched. “Touché.” She touched his arm. “Let’s go before we get ourselves into trouble.” She headed for the door.

  Nathan followed her out. The view from behind was just as tempting. This was going to be a long day.

  Chapter 6

  Nathan and Leticia spent the rest of the afternoon roaming the streets of South Beach, darting in and out of boutiques and art galleries, stopping off periodically for a cool drink.

  “I’m famished,” Nathan said after coming out of the florist where Leticia had put in an order for some exotic plants to be delivered to her hotel.

  “Do you have someplace in mind?”

  “Why don’t I fix us something on my grill?”

  “A man who can cook! How can I say no?”

  “Do you like steak?”

  “I love meat.” She grinned.

  Nathan shook his head and chuckled. “I aim to please.”

  By the time they arrived at Nathan’s beach house, the temperature had cooled considerably. The warm breeze off the ocean gently rustled the trees that braced his home.

  “Let me give you the grand tour, then you can relax while I get things together for dinner.” He opened the front door and stepped aside to let her pass.

  In a sweeping glance, Leticia took in the rustic and contemporary mix. Wood and smoked glass dominated the rooms. Heavy beamed rafters gave the space an outdoor yet secured feeling. The stone fireplace was perfect for stormy nights or after a cool evening swim.

  She turned to him with a smile of approval. “Very nice.”

  “Glad you like it. Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  He took her to the kitchen, which looked like it was straight out of a cooking show. Sparkling pots hung from ceiling hooks. The center island was black and stainless steel, matching the industrial refrigerator and freezer. The kitchen opened onto the wraparound deck with a laundry room on the side. Speakers tucked neatly into the high ceilings played soft jazz. Upstairs was a guest bedroom down the hall from the master bath, complete with a Jacuzzi tub, that led to the master bedroom.

  It was much as she imagined, strong and masculine, like Nathan. Rich browns and soft tans complemented the space. There was no television or a telephone in the room, she noted. Nothing distracting. The large windows looked right out on the water.

  “This is definitely you. It looks comfortable.”

  “I spend a lot of time here. I want to be able to relax and shut out the world.”

  “Without interruptions,” she added.

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s pretty much it, except for the deck. That’s where I’ll do the cooking tonight.”

  “Can I help with anything?”

  “What are you good at?”

  “Whatever I set my mind to.”

  “I bet you are.” He took her by the hand and led her back downstairs.

  “Ever been married?” he asked while cutting peppers and onions on the cutting board.

  “No. Never found anyone that could put up with me or vice versa.” She emptied several ice trays into the ice bucket and put it on the side counter.

  “There’re several different wines in the cabinet in the living room. Pick what you want.”

  “How ’bout I make us some margaritas—if you have the ingredients.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Everything you need is inside.”

  She went into the living room and found the bottle of tequila and margarita mix and noticed a photograph on the mantel. For an instant her heart thumped in her chest. It was a picture of Nathan and Norman Conyers. She stepped closer and picked up the framed photograph. Yes, it
was him. And the background looked like Nathan’s house. “Damn.”

  “Find everything?” he called out from the kitchen.

  Leticia put the picture back. “Yes. Coming.”

  Most times it didn’t matter to her if some of her clients knew each other. A good referral was what kept her business thriving. But in this case it was different. She didn’t want Nathan to know about her other life, what she’d done before fleeing New York. She wanted him to know her as Pamela, a wealthy entertainment manager, and that was all.

  Nathan looked up from his chopping when she reentered the room. “You okay?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” She forced a smile. “Where’s your blender? I think I’ll make frozen margaritas.”

  “In the cabinet over the sink.”

  “Thanks.”

  She kept her back to him as she worked and wondered how long it would be before he found out who she really was. Inhaling deeply, she decided to just go with the flow and ride the wave as long as she could. She’d cross those troubled waters should the need arise. But a part of her hoped that it wouldn’t.

  With the steaks seasoned and sizzling on the grill, Nathan and Leticia relaxed on the deck chairs, taking in the atmosphere and each other.

  “Did you always live in New York?” He took a long swallow of his margarita. “These are excellent, by the way.”

  “Thanks. They’ll sneak up on you if you’re not careful. To answer your question, no, not always, but I feel like a New Yorker. I lived there for more than ten years.”

  “Where before that?”

  “Atlanta. What about you?”

  “Homegrown southern boy. I grew up in Mississippi during the height of the civil rights movement.”

  “You were in the thick of it.”

  “Tell me about it.” He polished off his drink and went for a refill from the crystal carafe. “I grew up seeing so much ugliness, I believed it was the way of life.”

  “What changed your mind?”

  He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and stared out toward the ocean. “I met Martin Luther King one day at a rally. My folks took me. I guess I was about five or six. He was . . .” He paused, searching for the words. “The most powerful presence I’d ever encountered and not in a threatening way, but in a way that reached inside and touched you, made you believe that all things were possible if you had faith.” He turned and looked at Leticia with a sheepish expression. “I know that sounds corny, but it was truly a spiritual experience, even for a little kid.”