by Pamela Yaye
“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.
Chapter Five
Warrick doused his face with water. The ice-cold liquid coursed down his cheeks like rain, cooling his overheated body. Returning it to the cup holder, he increased the speed on the treadmill and jogged to the beat of the song playing. At 6:00 a.m. on a Friday morning, the gym was practically empty. Four junior draftsmen lifted weights, three female clerks did sit-ups and Payton was on an exercise bike, reading a women’s magazine.
He ran with grace, fluidity, like a long-distance runner on a wide-open track. He was in a zone, a sphere, a place free of stress, deadlines and difficult clients. A row of exercise machines stood in front of the window providing runners a clear view of the pink-orange horizon. The clouds were piled onto each other like a stack of buttermilk pancakes. Warrick licked his lips. After he finished his workout, he’d stop in at Guido’s for breakfast. He had a long day ahead of him and needed to eat while he still had the chance.
A plane glided across the sky. An American Airlines plane. Even from miles away, he recognized the distinctive logo on its wings. Before he could guard against it, an image of Tangela surfaced. It was the first time since running into her at SushiSamba that he’d allowed himself to think about her. Every time she’d interrupted his thoughts or sneaked into his dreams, he’d resisted her. But he couldn’t run forever.
Sweat dripped from his chin. He felt good. Strong, powerful, resilient. Then Tangela’s words came back to him, blaring in his head. We fell out of love…we…we…we… Warrick gripped the sides of the machine. He still couldn’t believe Tangela had said that. She’d been polite at the Hawthorne party and had even chatted with Alexis. Warrick had been stunned to learn that Tangela hadn’t revealed her true identity. Was that what things had come to? Avoiding each other and lying about their past? He was even more confused by her behavior at SushiSamba, but more than anything, he wanted to know when she’d stopped loving him.
Running full-tilt, he thought about his plans for the weekend. He’d planned to catch up on sleep, but when Marshall had called and requested his help moving into his new Lake Las Vegas home, he’d said yes. And thanks to his buddy, he knew that Tangela would be there, too.
The timer beeped, cuing Warrick
that his hour was up. In thirty minutes, he was showered, changed and dressed to impress in a three-piece charcoal suit. On his way up to his office, he went to Guido’s and ordered pastries for his staff. As he was leaving, he spotted Dr. Marc Solomon sauntering toward him.
“Carver, it’s been a while. How are you doing, man?”
Warrick didn’t answer. The pediatrician was full of himself, but according to his female employees, Dr. Marc Solomon was the best thing since fat-free ice cream. Warrick didn’t see what the appeal was, but some women liked pretty-boy types and Marc Solomon looked like the Latin version of Brad Pitt.
“Did you get your car fixed yet?” Marc asked, wearing an innocent smile.
Warrick’s jaw tightened. Last month, Marc had scratched his Aston Martin DBS, but when the repair bill arrived, had refused to pay. The damage was minuscule, but a dent on a luxury sports car was a very serious matter—at least to him. “I took care of it.”
“Next time, don’t park so close to my truck,” Marc advised.
“I’m late for a meeting. See you around,” Warrick said, stepping past Marc, almost knocking him down as he strolled through the restaurant doors.
“I ran into Tangela at the mall a few weeks back.” Marc sneered.
Warrick stopped. Marc had whetted his curiosity and despite himself, he wanted to hear more. “And? So what?”
“Back when the two of you were dating, I thought she was all right for a chubby girl, but now she’s a babe.” Pushing a hand through his dark wavy hair, Marc licked his lips lasciviously. “We exchanged numbers. We’re going out tomorrow night.”
Cautioning himself to remain cool, Warrick turned around and faced the arrogant physician. The idea of Tangela with the slick-talking creep was sickening, but he didn’t let his disgust show. “We’re not together anymore. I don’t care what she does.”
“Good. I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t stepping on your toes.” Marc flipped open his cell phone and when he realized Warrick was still there, smirked. “Don’t worry, Carter,” he chided. “I’m not trying to steal your girl.”
Warrick sighed inwardly.
“I just want to bang her.”
He reached out to snatch Marc up by the collar, but reason seeped in. Now wasn’t the time and the Truman Enterprises building was certainly not the place. Later, when there were less witnesses and no one to intervene for the good doctor, he’d teach the jerk a lesson. “Hurt Tangela and you’ll have me to deal with.” His voice rose slightly, drawing the attention of the customers in the waiting area. “And this time, I won’t let you off the hook, pretty boy.”
Marc held up his palms. “Relax, tough guy. I’m a lover, not a fighter.”
A woman wearing heavy eye makeup approached. “Hi, Marcello,” she purred, sticking out her chest. “Have you eaten already?” “No, mi amore, I was waiting for you.”
Warrick frowned. “Marcello?”
“The ladies find it sexy, and I like to give the ladies what they want.” Grinning from ear to ear, he slipped an arm around his date’s shoulder and disappeared into the restaurant.
Scratching his head, Warrick tried to remember where he’d heard that name before. Inside the elevator, it came to him. The other night at SushiSamba, Tangela had spent twenty minutes on the phone with some guy named Marcello. Marc was posing as a gentleman and by the looks of things it was working.
Flying down the hall toward his office, Warrick decided he couldn’t wait until tomorrow to speak to Tangela. He’d call her, order her to stop seeing Marcello and if that didn’t work, he’d have to take matters into his own hands.
“That concludes the agenda for today.” Arms folded, Warrick sat down on the edge of the square glass table. “Does anyone have anything else they wish to add?”
His gaze circled the room, and when no one answered, he ended the meeting. “All right, everyone. That’s it. Have a good day.” He turned to one of the junior draftsmen. “Can you have the preliminary designs for the Mega Mall Tokyo site on my desk by noon?”
The man nodded. “Sure thing, boss.”
As his employees packed up and filed out of the room, he caught sight of his dad in the reception area, chatting with the Human Resources manager. Warrick’s shoulders sagged. Normally, he loved seeing his dad, especially when he had a problem and needed his ear, but this wasn’t one of those times. He had a deadline to meet, a business lunch with a prospective client and a stubborn ex-girlfriend to deal with. Tangela hadn’t returned his call. There was a good chance she was out of town, but he knew she checked her voice mail regularly. He was trying to save her from Marcello-the-Latin-playboy, but she obviously didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Fine, he decided, shrugging on his suit jacket. If she wanted to be another notch on the good doctor’s belt, then he wouldn’t intervene.
Why was he sweating her, anyway? She might be a beauty, but she wasn’t the right woman for him. At least not anymore. It wasn’t until their breakup that he’d realized how heartless Tangela could be. She didn’t even have the decency to leave him a Dear John note or send him a crummy text message to break up with him, she just up and left like a thief in the night. Never to be seen or heard from again. She’d left the country without giving him a second thought, and he’d never forgive her for that.
Warrick pushed himself to his feet. Remembering he needed Payton to make copies of the Mega Mall Tokyo design, he popped open his briefcase and retrieved the file. At the bottom of his attaché case, underneath his sketch pad, was the November issue of People magazine. Taking it up, he noted Tangela’s blinding smile and her firm, mile-long legs.
Full of longing and regret, he thought back to the night they’d made love for the very first time. Caught up in a sexual trance, Warrick didn’t hear the phone buzz or the whirl of voices outside the conference-room door. His eyelids grew heavy and his eyes closed, taking him back to that sweltering August night. Inside his master bedroom, they’d kissed and groped each other, more desperate than they’d ever been before. Resplendent in a white lace gown, Tangela had stretched out on the bed, waiting for him, hungry for him, begging him to join her. At ease with herself and her body, she’d pulled the flimsy material over her head and giggled when it sailed to the floor. When he’d stretched out on top of her, her perfume had surrounded him, subduing him with its enticing sent. Rolling her hips as though she was spinning a hoola hoop, she’d clamped her legs around his waist and ridden him so hard he’d seen the sun, the moon and the stars.
“Not reading one of those girlie magazines are you, son?”
Warrick swallowed hard. “Hey, Pops.”
“What you got there?” Jacob Carver asked, motioning with his head to the open briefcase. “Playboy, maybe?”
“Dad, this is a place of business. I’d never bring something like that here.”
“Too bad.” Chuckling, Jacob walked inside the office. “I’m all out of my little blue pills and my new girlfriend is on my ass literally. I need something to get the black stallion up—quick.”
Warrick rubbed a hand over his stomach. The picture his dad has just painted made him queasy. Ever since his old man had gotten a prescription for Viagra pills, he’d been acting like a sex-crazed fiend. Warrick was happy his dad was dating someone, but he didn’t want to hear what they did in bed. “What are you doing here so early? I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon.”
“Our meeting with Mr. Uchiyama and his associates has been bumped up to ten o’clock, so I thought we’d run through the presentation one more time before they arrive.”
Jacob Carver took a seat, and Warrick poured two cups of coffee. Initially, he’d thought his dad was coming by the office to check up on him, but after talking to Rachael, he realized how much his father missed going to work every day. Eight months ago, his doctors had given him a clean bill of health, but he still didn’t have the energy to return to work full-time.
“You’re going to nail this presentation. Just like all the others.”
/> “It’s been a team effort, Dad. You should see what one of the structural engineers added to the 3-D model. It’s a hundred times better than the last time you saw it.”
“My son the humble leader.”
“The quality of the people you hire determines how successful the business is. Isn’t that what you used to tell me?” He took the chair across from his dad. “Everyone’s been working their butts off around here and it shows.”
Mr. Carver tasted his coffee. Gesturing to one of the plaques displayed on the far wall, he said, “Win three more of those Architect of the Year awards and we’ll be tied.”
Warrick grinned. “Is that a challenge, old man?”
“I’m proud of you, son. You’ve stepped into the CEO position so smoothly it feels like you were born to chair the company.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’m enjoying it, but it’s a ton of work.”
“Now you understand what it takes to be number one.”
Warrick worked seventy hours a week, but he liked the prestige and respect that came with spearheading the most successful architecture firm in the country. His father was the heart and soul of the company, but in just six years he’d built a reputation of being an innovative designer. Initially, he’d balked at the idea of taking over for his dad. He didn’t have enough experience to run the company, but when the board of directors had backed his father’s decision, he’d proudly accepted the interim-president position.
It had been an uphill battle earning his employees’ respect, but he’d refused to crumble under the pressure. New to the game and eager to learn, he’d asked questions, worked late and read everything he could get his hands on about architecture and design. Being president definitely had its perks, but Warrick missed sketching on Sunday afternoons and taking his nephews to Game Zone. These days, free time was a luxury he just didn’t have.
