by Dee Burks
Serena glanced at the printouts Nolea left on her desk. There were large black circles around several ads and big numbers denoting the ranking of each one. She hated to think what kind of suggestive message Nolea left while pretending to be her. Now these men were calling her house. They could be stalkers for all she knew, and she had to write some mushy crap to sell more advertising?
The line between good reporting and pleasing the advertisers blurred a little more every day, and this was the kind of situation that turned professional journalists into outright liars. And that’s what this would be: a complete and total lie.
Serena knew the odds of an actual relationship were pretty much nil, which suited her fine. She had no intention of getting involved with anyone or putting off her plans to flee this place for the lights of Manhattan. She wasn’t about to share her nonexistent love life with the whole world, either. Too bad she couldn’t find some guy, take a few pictures, and fabricate a racy affair. Her heart picked up pace as she turned the idea over in her mind.
Why couldn’t she? Uncle Frank didn’t say it had to be real. Newspapers used to run serial novels all the time, and as long as it was presented as a special advertising section, that gave her a great deal of freedom. It would serve them right if she wrote copy so hot it melted off the page. If they wanted Tarzan, she’d give it to them.
Now all she had to do was find the right guy—one that could be convinced to play along, but keep it strictly business. Maybe an out-of-work actor or someone who might be interested in some free advertising. She glanced down at the circled ads and smiled. Wonder if any of these guys have a leopard skin loincloth?
Chapter 2
A wet, rough tongue slathered Tyler Cooper’s face. He tried to push it away, but only succeeded in getting two paws firmly planted on his chest.
“Off, Shadow.” The tongue continued. “Off!” The dog backed away, sat, and waited. Tyler opened one eye, then the other, wiping dog slobber off his cheeks at the same time. Morning came so early these days and so brightly. He raised his head and looked down. He’d fallen asleep on the couch with his clothes on. Again.
The chef smock he wore still smelled of the grill, and he hadn’t even taken his shoes off. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to wake up. Unbuttoning the top two buttons, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it in the corner on top of a few other articles of clothing in similar condition. The smell of barbecue, steaks, and grease clung to his skin and hair.
He hoisted his tired body off the couch and walked to the window. The boxer followed, prancing and wagging her stunted tail in anticipation. When he failed to notice, she yapped a half-bark. The noise echoed around the empty apartment. Tyler scanned the room. He should do something about this place. A TV, the couch that sometimes served as a bed, and his recliner.
Krista took everything else. Everything. The furniture, the money, and John Suther, his best friend and business partner. They’d left him nothing but a struggling restaurant and piles of bills. Every time he got a few dollars ahead, some other financial disaster crashed in on him. Most, courtesy of Krista. She was like the damn Ghost of Christmas Past, revisiting his mind and raping his bank account with some leftover or undone business every time he turned around.
He didn’t really blame John. Tyler had fallen for Krista’s crap for two years until she’d wiped out every resource he’d had. John was her next meal ticket, and that thought provided Tyler with some small comfort. Tyler went to the kitchen and filled Shadow’s bowls with food and water. He watched the dog munch.
John would get what was coming to him in time, and what a hard lesson it would be, too, as Tyler had already found out. That woman went through more cash than Donald Trump. Being raised on cash and weaned on a trust fund had given Krista the attitude that money was to spend, not pay bills, and that’s exactly what she did. Everything from old student loans to IRS debt arrived on his doorstep in little white envelopes from this lawyer or that one. The threats ranged from arrest to liens on the business.
At least he still had this condo, such as it was. Krista had subleased it from her uncle, and as long as he paid the rent, no one said anything. Somewhere in the past year he’d ceased to view Krista as human, deciding it was safer and more accurate to define not only her, but the entire sex as a mutant species—the financial black holes of the universe.
The dog nudged him in the back of the knee. Tyler had worked like a slave for a year and a half trying to run the restaurant by himself, and hadn’t cared about or even noticed anything else. Except Shadow. He bent down and scratched the dog’s ears. Now this was a loyal companion, incapable of lying, cheating, or scheming. She also couldn’t talk. Another big plus in his mind.
Tyler located the leash, and they started outside for her morning walk. As Shadow trotted down the hall, the door to Mrs. Lathem’s condo swung open. She frowned over her half-glasses at his bare chest. Grasped snug in her arms was Rat Dog. Some kind of exotic hairless Chihuahua, the thing couldn’t weigh three pounds and was completely naked, except for white tufts of hair at the tips of his ears. It growled at Shadow, who wagged her tail at the bite-sized mutt.
“In this complex, Mr. Cooper, residents are expected to present themselves fully clothed.”
“Yes Ma’am, just taking Shadow out for a walk.” As if on cue, Shadow sniffed at the woman’s knee, then tilted her nose higher. Tyler ignored the dog and smiled at Mrs. Lathem, watching panic light in the woman’s eyes. He tugged the leash back as Shadow’s nose grazed Mrs.Lathem’s crotch. She gripped Rat Dog tighter and glared at Tyler.
“You would do well to control that dog of yours, too. It has been leaving gifts in the geraniums again.”
Gifts? She wouldn’t even lower herself to call it dog pooh, let alone anything else. “What makes you think it’s my dog?”
“I watch, and it doesn’t happen during the day. You are the only one coming in at all hours of the night when I’m trying to sleep. You can’t fool me, you know. I’ll have it tested if I have to, to prove it’s that dog.” She gave Shadow a disgusted look. “And if it continues to happen I will take it up with the homeowners association.” The door slammed in his face. He clenched his teeth.
Ah, swell. Another woman determined to make his life miserable. What was wrong with people? She would take it up with the association, too. Probably even have the offending droppings DNA tested if it meant getting rid of Shadow, and him in the process. Tyler had no idea what he’d ever done to piss the lady off, but she clearly hated him for some reason. He’d been made well aware that several of the older couples disapproved of a single man in residence. They didn’t think it produced a family-friendly environment.
All he did these days was work, and if the Rat Dog patrol had been watching, they would also know that no female had passed his threshold since Krista left. He could be voted monk-of-the-year at this point, and if that wasn’t family friendly, he didn’t know what was.
Tyler took Shadow out to the garden and sitting area the association had spent years cultivating, and unhooked the leash. As expected, the dog ran on the lawn sniffing and playing. Not giving one hoot about the flowers and certainly not squatting on any of the precious geraniums.
Tyler caught a movement in his peripheral vision. Mrs. Lathem peered out of one of the first floor condos, alongside another woman with matching blue hair. Their gazes latched on him like two prison guards.
Tyler’s temper surged. As if he didn’t have enough crap going on in his life, he had to deal with a snooty, petty, nosey old biddy. Tyler walked over to the flowers. Several of the blooms were bent and broken. He leaned down and examined them while Shadow roamed the grass. He sighed. It was another no-win situation. Tyler smiled and waved to the ladies who just glared, then whistled at Shadow to head back in.
Just as Tyler opened the door to his condo, he heard his cell phone beep with an unanswered message. He frowned at the number, and put the message on speaker to listen, not in the mood t
o talk to anyone. His sister, Chelsie’s, perky voice squealed, “Hey big brother! Just called to wish you a happy birthday. Jim and I are having a little gettogether this afternoon about three and would love for you to come.”
Tyler grimaced at the phone. He’d have to make up some excuse. There were a million things to do today to get ready for the weekend run on the restaurant. He had no time for a tea party and hadn’t even thought about it being his birthday. Thirty-eight and broke hardly seemed like something to celebrate.
Her voice continued, “And you can’t say no or I will ambush you at work.” She would, too. His sister was one of the most determined people he knew.
“I have a big birthday surprise for you!”
Tyler groaned and flopped onto the couch. He’d bet the “surprise” came in the form of some friend she wanted to hook him up with. Chelsie thought being single ranked right up there with having the plague. Like being alone was some hideous disease she had to save him from by parading eligible prospects in his path. Why couldn’t she accept that he preferred being alone?
He didn’t have the patience for a relationship, having to tiptoe around and worry about making someone else happy. Without a woman in his life he could be himself all day, every day, and that’s the way he intended to keep it.
Chelsie could be very determined, but so could he, and maybe it was time to lay down the law. Get her to back off and let him breathe. He’d stop by for a second, have a firm chat with little sis, then be on his way.
Just as Chelsie’s message finished, his phone rang again. The name on the caller ID flashed JT’s. Tyler had a sinking feeling. The restaurant only called this early if it was bad news. He picked up.
A thick Spanish accent boomed through the phone. “We have problem right now.” Lydia was the head server and his allround right hand at the restaurant.
“Yeah, so what else is new?”
Lydia ignored the comment and went on full steam ahead. All business, as usual. “The truck this morning is short chicken and no New York steaks. Arty called in sick, and the ice machine is no working again. You want I should call somebody to look at it?”
Tyler glanced at the clock. Lunch rush loomed two hours away and no repair guy ever moved fast. “No, I’ll do what I can. See if you can get Jamie to come in and send him over to buy fifty bags of ice. Maybe I can get it up and running by then.”
“Si.”
The dial tone hummed in his ear, and he scrambled to the bathroom for a five-minute shower. Twenty minutes later, Tyler weaved his Jeep through the alley to the back door of the restaurant. Tony greeted him on the back step, his 6-foot-4, 260 pound frame blocking Tyler’s way. A large, imposing man, Tony looked more like a bouncer than a chef.
“You don’t wanna go in there.” He shook his head and stepped into the alley, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket.
“Why’s that?”
“It’s too long a list for one smoke.” Tony lit up his smoke and took a deep drag.
“Great.” A small pickup loaded with bags of ice screeched into the alley.
“You mind unloading while I try to get the ice machine running?” Tyler asked.
Tony nodded. “No problem.”
Tyler walked through the busy kitchen. Within seconds, Lydia trailed behind him, talking non-stop. A tiny woman, she had the tenacity of a pit bull and the temper of one. Tyler chalked it up to her Latin heritage. Lydia could get things done, and in his mind that outweighed her occasional lack of people skills.
“We got more chicken from Ken’s Wholesale, but we still short. The New York steaks are a no, everyone’s out. Jamie went to get ice, should be back by now.”
“He is.”
“A guy called from Brown, Lankley and something and said they send some kind of papers over.”
Tyler checked the hoses on the ancient ice machine as she talked. Frozen over again. He’d have to get it melted before he could unhook it. The phone up front rang, and Lydia scrambled around the equipment, leaving him in peace for a few minutes. He retrieved a heat gun from the office that he kept for this particular recurring emergency and plugged it in. It roared to life and the lights flickered.
The building was historic for the area, and so was the wiring. Hopefully the ice would melt before they overloaded the circuits. His cell phone buzzed. He didn’t recognize the number and clicked it off, shoving it into his front jeans pocket. Probably just bill collectors anyway.
Lydia waved her hand in front of him to get his attention. He turned off the heat gun.
“Your sister is here.”
“Shit.” Handing the heat gun to Lydia, he wiped his wet hands on his jeans. “See if you can get the rest of that ice off the hoses.”
He turned and almost ran over Chelsie.
“Nice to see you too, Ty.” She crossed her arms over her expanding stomach and frowned at him.
“Just have lots to deal with today, Sis.”
Tyler directed her to the front of the restaurant and grabbed them two glasses of water. She slid into a booth across from him.
“I figured you wouldn’t come to the cookout, so I decided to chase you down. Happy Birthday, by the way.”
“Thanks. How’ve you been feeling? How’s Jim?”
“Fine. I’m fine, the baby’s fine, Jim’s fine. Don’t change the subject. I came to give you your birthday present.”
“I don’t need a present, I’m fine.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say, and no you’re not. It’s like you’re this shell of your former self. All you do is work. You never do anything else.”
“I have to work. I don’t have time for anything else.”
“You don’t make time. But you will now.”
“Why’s that?”
“You need to get back out and meet people. Since you seem determined to avoid any of my friends, I placed a personal ad for you online.”
“You did what?”
“You heard me. It started today. By the time you get home, there should be an avalanche of phone calls from women who would love to meet a, she cleared her throat and quoted, ‘Single white professional male, seeking professional female for companionship, maybe more. I’m six foot two, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes. Like to dance and enjoy cooking for that special someone.’
“This is a joke right?”
“Nope.”
“I swear to God, Chelsie, what gives you the right to mess with my life?” She’d gone too far this time, stepped over the line. His temper boiled.
“It’s your own fault. You refused to work with me on plan A, so I switched to plan B.” She leaned toward him. “And if this doesn’t work, then there’s a plan C.”
“No.” He got up. “I’m not doing this. I will decide who is in my life, and you will keep your nose out of it from now on, or I’ll…”
“You’ll what?” Chelsie stood in front of him, the top of her head barely coming halfway up his chest. “Beat a pregnant woman? Ooh, I’m so scared.” She waved her hands at him exactly like she used to when she was little and he threatened her.
“Don’t tempt me.” His bluff hadn’t worked much better back then, either.
“You’re not even in your life anymore, Ty.” She bounced her finger off his chest. “You’ll thank me for this someday.” Turning on her heel, she didn’t give him time to argue.
“Don’t bet on it,” he yelled after her. He shook his head—at a complete loss. What could she have been thinking? You don’t intrude on someone’s life, set that person up with the whole world by running a personal ad and then spring it on him like it’s a good thing. This could possibly go down as the worst birthday he’d ever had, and it wasn’t even noon yet.
Lydia and Tony looked very busy when he got back to the kitchen, pretending they hadn’t heard every word. He took the heat gun and bent down to start on the hoses again.
“So, boss,” Tony’s voice held a hint of humor, “when do we get to meet your first virtual Miss Maybe?”
&
nbsp; Tony and Lydia dissolved into laughter. Tyler clenched his teeth. These two would never let go of this one. He’d likely hear about this everyday for a month. He flicked on the heat gun to drown them out.
The rest of the day sped by, as the restaurant filled and emptied through the lunch rush and refilled with patrons for the evening. Tyler cooked side by side with Tony until the last order was filled and the last ticket paid. When he finally glanced at his watch, it was well past midnight.
Driving home in a blur, Tyler collapsed on the couch. Shadow rubbed her head under his hand until he scratched behind her ears. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and tossed it on the end table. He pulled the phone from his pocket to toss it on the table as well, but stopped. Remembering his little chat with Chelsie, he powered it up.
The display flashed 18 messages. Eighteen? What had Chelsie done to him? He blew out a slow breath. What that girl needed was a good swift kick in the butt. He stared at the flashing number. How many desperate women were there anyway? Eighteen, at least. He closed his eyes, physically and mentally exhausted. Too bad he couldn’t hire a buck-toothed biker chick to take to Chelsie’s next cookout. That’d shut her up.
His eyes popped open, and he focused on the number again. Why hire someone when there were 18 possible biker-chicks calling for free? He could pick the worst, most desperate woman of the lot. How hard could it be? Tyler chuckled to himself. Chelsie was going to learn the lesson of a lifetime, and all he had to do was push “play.”
Chapter 3
Serena sat at her kitchen table and looked over the names on her notepad. It had been easier than she thought to set up her plan. She’d taken half a day off to make the calls in privacy while her son was at school. At least Nolea gave out her landline number and not her cell. She could always cancel her home phone if one of them turned out to be a stalker. She scanned the list. She’d planned for one each hour from 5:30 p.m. to 7:30 p.m. If she had to do this, no reason not to be efficient about it. She had two set up already, and only needed one more. She could teach a course on speed dating: three dates, three hours, no commitment, no kidding.
