Love on the Rocks

by Pamela Yaye

  “You can see a future with someone like Leonard Butkiss, but not with me?” He looked sad, confused. “We dated for seven years and even lived together. Didn’t the time we spent together mean anything to you?”

  “Of course it did! How can you even ask me something like that?”

  “Because from the day you packed up your stuff and skipped town, I’ve been doubting everything you ever said.”

  Tears stung her eyes, and her ears were ringing. His words hurt, pierced, cut with the accuracy of a double-edged knife. From the second they’d met, they’d clicked and even after all these years she still cared about him. There was no magic pill to make her doubts go away, so this time around she had to be smart. God, what was the matter with her? Why was she even considering dating him again? Hadn’t he hurt her enough? Although she was open to them seeing each other, Tangela wasn’t going to end her search for Mr. Right. “I paid Love Match a thousand dollars and I intend to get my money’s worth. So, let’s just keep things casual.”

  “I can accept that.” He wouldn’t, of course, but until Tangela was his woman again, he had no choice but to go along with it. Taking her hand, he lowered his mouth and kissed her palm. As he listened to Tangela discuss her plans for the next two weeks, Warrick decided it was time to implement the next phase of his plan, and not a moment too soon.

  An hour after arriving in New Orleans, Warrick met Bernard Robinson at the Urban Development office. On the drive over to the construction site, the project manager brought him up to speed on the six housing properties. As they drove through downtown, Warrick found his thoughts straying to Tangela and the conversation they’d had on the flight.

  Was he finally ready for marriage? The question circled his mind, deepening his fears and anxiety. Warrick took marriage very seriously, and, as much as he loved Tangela, he didn’t want to rush into anything. His parents had divorced when he was nine and in the subsequent years his father had married twice and lived with a fleet of younger women. As a child, he’d decided he was only going to get married once. He’d thought Tangela was the one, but when they got engaged everything changed. Suffocated by her constant attention, he’d looked for excuses not to come home and stayed out late on the weekends. But now Tangela was back, sporting a new look and a sexy, confident vibe. One that turned him on big-time.

  “The community has come a long way since the last time you were here.”

  Surfacing from his thoughts, he nodded his head in agreement. “You’re right, Bernard, it has. I hardly recognize this place.” The Lower Ninth Ward had once been a wasteland of abandoned homes, graffiti and small-time hoods, but with the financial support of several major corporations, the community was being transformed.

  On the corner of the littered block, a band of teenage boys sporting jeans, boots and braids smoked cigarettes and whistled at girls. “Your ride’s tight,” a teen in a baseball cap said as Warrick emerged from the truck. “Are you a music producer?”

  Warrick chuckled. “No, I’m an architect.”

  “How much you makin’ at your job?”

  “I do okay. You know, boys, we could use some more volunteers to help paint.”

  “I’ll paint if you let me take your whip for a spin around the block.”

  “Do you have a license?” The kid nodded and produced his permit. “All right, you paint and I’ll take you out to lunch,” Warrick proposed. “I might even let you drive on the way back.”

  The teen stuck out his hand. “Dude, you’ve got yourself a deal!”

  The joviality Warrick felt chatting with the teens eroded the minute he stepped into the house on Lamanche Street. To the naked eye, the twelve-hundred-square-foot home was a sleek, contemporary bungalow furnished with leather couches, lively paint and sunlight. But as he inspected the main floor, he spotted scratches on the hardwood floor, crumbling concrete in a corner of the bathroom and mold behind the bookshelves.

  Inside the kitchen, he found evidence of shoddy framing. Smoothing his hand over the wall, he found dozens of cracks originating from the baseboard and spreading up toward the ceiling. “This place won’t be ready by Friday. We’re looking at another week of work.”

  Shaking his head, Bernard smoothed a hand over his mustache. “Warrick, you’re just like your old man. A hard-nosed perfectionist who’s rarely satisfied.”

  “Thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.” Annoyed that Bernard was taking the matter lightly, but remaining calm, he said, “What is worth doing is worth doing well.”

  “After Katrina, more than half of the workforce relocated and never came back. Prices skyrocketed, businesses closed and it’s been hard to find skilled, competent workers anywhere. The construction industry is under pressure to keep costs down and Lyndon’s feeling the heat.”

  Lyndon Siegel was the owner of the construction agency Bernard had insisted on using, and although the New Orleans native was popular and well-connected, he had a terrible work ethic. “I wish you would have listened to me from the beginning and hired Elite Construction,” Warrick said. “I’ve worked with them on other projects and not only do they use the highest-quality materials, they’re meticulous to a fault.”

  “What’s done is done. We can’t start second-guessing ourselves now.” Scratching the top of his head, a concerned expression on his face, Bernard released a deep, troubled sigh. “Do you want to tell Lyndon or should I?”

  “I’ll handle it. You have enough on your plate without having to worry about confronting Lyndon. Now, show me what’s wrong with the wiring.”

  Warrick and Bernard were inspecting the fireplace when the front door swung open and Lyndon Siegel stepped over the threshold. “How are y’all doing?”

  “Lyndon, I’m glad you could make it. I was just showing Warrick around,” Bernard said, walking over and clapping the construction foreman on the shoulder. “I have to stop in at the community center, but I’ll be back in fifteen minutes. I have my cell with me, so call if you boys need anything.”

  Bernard left, and Lyndon closed the door behind him.

  “Isn’t this place incredible? You had reservations about hiring us, but we stayed within the budget, finished on time and did the landscaping, too,” Lyndon boasted, his eyes filled with pride. “I don’t want to blow my own horn, but my boys did a damn good job.”

  “The deck looks good, and I think Mrs. Porter will appreciate the extra cupboard space, but—” Warrick didn’t want to clip anyone’s heels, but he couldn’t stand back and say nothing, either. The work was poor, mediocre at best, but instead of rattling off a list of complaints, he asked Lyndon to follow him through the house. He showed him what needed to be done and told him what materials he wanted used. “How soon can you get some men over here?” Warrick asked. “Bernard’s pretty adamant about staying on schedule. The mayor will be here for the dedication ceremony next Friday and—”

  “My men and I have jobs lined up through to the summer.”

  Warrick curbed his anger. Butting heads with Lyndon would make for an acrimonious relationship, and he didn’t want to make trouble for Bernard. Worried the other houses were in the same shape, he asked when the building inspector would be out to assess the property.

  “The city sent someone two weeks ago.”

  “This place passed inspection?”

  The construction foreman chuckled, revealing a mouth full of cavities. “Don’t look so surprised. I have a lady friend who works downtown. I take her out for nice dinners and she overlooks a few minor details when she writes her reports.”

  “Do you have the paperwork? I’d like to see it for myself.”

  Lyndon looked at Warrick as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “Don’t go stirring up trouble, Carver. Faye Smith and I have a sweet thing going on and I don’t need you poking your nose around our arrangement.”

  “I’m not satisfied with the work your men did, and I want it redone.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with this house and I won’t have you runnin
g my reputation into the ground, either.” Spit shot out of his mouth and his dark eyes were filled with hate. As he cracked his knuckles, he issued a warning. “Leave it be, Warrick. Just leave it be.”

  Arms crossed, Lyndon mumbled feverishly under his breath. His behavior was almost laughable, but Warrick didn’t find anything funny about the condition of the house. Realizing Lyndon couldn’t be reasoned with, he pointed with his chin, hoping to draw his attention to the cracks. “Would you move into a house with uneven floors, crumbling walls and mold?”

  “These families are from low-income neighborhoods,” Lyndon explained. “They’d never dreamed of owning a house as nice as this, and they won’t care if there are a few kinks. It’s taken six months and hundreds of hours of overtime to bring everything together. I ain’t fixin’ shit. If you don’t like it, that’s your problem.”

  The two men stared each other down.

  “We wouldn’t be having this conversation if you’d done your job right.” It felt good knocking the construction foreman down a few pegs. Warrick knew careless work when he saw it. “Are you going to do what I paid you to do, or do I need to find someone else?”

  His eyes filled with disdain, and Lyndon Siegel’s lips stretched into a sneerlike grin. “While you were in Las Vegas, sipping merlot in your plush, air-conditioned office, I was here, with my men, working my ass off in harsh ninety-five-degree temperatures.”

  “This wasn’t a labor of love,” Warrick said, keeping his tone even. Talking to Lyndon tested his nerves to the fullest, but he wasn’t going to lose his cool. “You were paid very well to build four homes and restore the community center, but you dropped the ball. You’re lucky I’m not suing you. Or reporting you to the Construction Workers’ Association.”

  Lyndon coughed out a harsh, raspy laugh. “Are you forgetting who I am? I’m warning you, Carver. Back off or you’ll regret the day you were born.”

  “You don’t scare me, Lyndon, and if you don’t want to lose your business, I suggest you get a team of men over here, now.”

  The front door swung open. “What’s going on here?” Bernard asked, confused. “This is my city,” Lyndon spat. “I run things here, not you. I practically built this neighborhood with my bare hands. The house passed inspection and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m not calling my men back over here because you’re on one of your power trips, so get that stupid notion out of your head.”

  “Then our contract is null and void.”

  “Let’s not act in haste, fellas. This house is for a single mother and her three kids, remember?” Bernard waited expectantly. When nothing happened, he appealed to the younger of the two men. Eyes filled with trepidation, he turned to Warrick. “The dedication ceremony will go on as planned, but we won’t let the Porter family move in until all of the changes are done to our satisfaction. Agreed?”

  Chapter Twelve

  New Orleans wasn’t the romantic getaway Warrick had hoped it would be. He left his Bay Shore home every morning at sunrise, put in a full day at the Urban Development site and, much to his disappointment, only saw Tangela in passing. With all the work that needed to be done at the recreation center, they didn’t have time to talk or even have a quick lunch together.

  On Thursday afternoon, Warrick told Bernard he had a meeting downtown and left the construction site at four o’clock. It was a lie, but he wanted to take Tangela out for dinner and he couldn’t risk her leaving the center before he got there.

  Warrick turned onto Franklin Avenue, parked his rental car in front of the Urban Development center and strode up the driveway. “Hey, boss, how’s it going?” Payton greeted when he approached. “You ready for the big day?”

  “Yeah. Everything’s finally coming together.”

  “Was there ever any doubt? You’re far too controlling to let anything go wrong.”

  Warrick chuckled. He peered into the backyard and when he didn’t find Tangela, asked where she was. “Let me guess, she did another ice-cream run with the kids, right?”

  “You didn’t hear what happened?” Payton asked, her eyes wide. “I thought she would’ve called you from the hospital.”

  “Hospital?” His voice carried around the yard. “What happened?”

  “She tripped on one of the workers’ tool belts.”

  Like a pit bull on the verge of attack, Warrick’s hands clenched and his lips curled. “How serious are her injuries?”

  “Tangela has a small gash on her forehead, but she’ll be all right. I think she was just shaken up. One minute she was painting, and the next she was flat on her face.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “Lyndon took her to the hospital to get checked out.”

  “Which one?”

  Payton answered with a shrug. “I don’t know. I went inside to get her some ice and when I came out, they were gone. Do you want me to—” She broke off when Warrick threw open the iron gate and disappeared around the corner.

  An hour later, Warrick plopped down on an armchair at the Drury Inn and Suites Hotel. Dropping his head in his hands, his mind racing, he blew the air out of his cheeks. Where was she? After leaving several messages on Tangela’s cell phone, he’d driven to three area hospitals and even phoned Payton to see if she’d heard from her. He’d been at the hotel for the last ten minutes and there was still no sign of her.

  His thoughts tormented him. What if she was badly injured? He considered calling Payton again to find out more about the accident, but changed his mind. Tangela was fine. She had to be. His feelings for her were stronger than ever before and these days she was all he could think of. Tangela was the kindest, most selfless woman he knew and he didn’t know how he’d lived without her for two years. He could date a hundred women and he’d never find someone with her class, charm or inherent grace.

  Warrick leaned back in his chair as his eyes wandered aimlessly around the room. Perched on one of the French Quarter’s busiest quarters, the Drury Inn and Suites was one of the largest and flashiest hotels in all of Louisiana. Accentuated by dark wood, contemporary art and showy lights, the elegantly decorated hotel captured the essence of old New Orleans.

  Wild, frenzied laughter drew his attention to the entrance. A dashing European couple strolled through the sliding-glass doors, and a cool breeze swept inside. The air was still and the sky was a deep, soothing blue. As he turned away, he spotted a black truck idling at the curb. Eyes tapered, he scrutinized the vehicle. The female passenger lifted her head, affording him a quick glance at her face.

  Tangela! Warrick bolted upright. Gripping the sides of the chair, he stared at her striking side profile. Jealousy was a useless emotion. It was foreign to his nature and he’d never envied anyone in his life, but every time he saw Tangela with another man, resentment flared in his belly. How long had she been sitting in Lyndon’s truck? And what were they talking about?

  Warrick was outside, knocking on the passenger window, before either of them saw him coming. “Tangela, open up, it’s me.”

  Not wanting to argue or cause a scene, she reluctantly obliged. Resting her weight on his shoulders, she allowed him to help her out of the truck. “Warrick, what are you doing here?”

  “I heard what happened,” he said, angling his body toward her. How could he tell Tangela he was worried about her without sounding sappy? Taking a few seconds to sort out his thoughts, he pretended not to notice Lyndon hovering nearby, glowering. “I came by to make sure you were okay.”

  “I’m fine, really. It was nothing.”

  “What did the doctors say?”

  Tilting her head sideways, she gingerly touched the bandage on her forehead. “They stitched up the gash, gave me a prescription and sent me on my way.”

  “But you’re favoring your ankle.”

  Lyndon spoke up. “She tweaked it. A couple of painkillers and she’ll be as good as new.”

  Acknowledging Lyndon’s presence with a flick of the head, Warrick said, “I hope you’ve given your me
n a stern talking-to about leaving their equipment lying around.”

  “You heard the little lady. It was an accident.” A smug, self-satisfied expression was on his face. “None of my men are careless or—”

  “Then why was there a tool belt lying in the middle of the yard?”

  “It was my fault,” Tangela explained. Dividing her gaze between both men, she prayed they wouldn’t come to blows. Glowering at each other, they stood with their legs apart and their hands propped on their hips. They reminded her of Old West gunslingers, but without the cowboy hats and pistols. “Warrick, you of all people should know how clumsy I am.”

  He wasn’t buying it. “It shouldn’t have been on the ground in the first place. Anyone could have tripped over it. A kid or a volunteer. We’d be looking at a lawsuit if—”

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to come up?” Lyndon asked, facing Tangela. “We can sit in the lounge and finish our conversation—”

  Warrick stuck his fists into his pocket. Was Lyndon making a pass at Tangela right in front of him? Was he out of his mind or spoiling for a fight? Nostrils flaring, he stepped forward, shielding Tangela with his body. “She’ll be fine. I’m here now.”

  Their eyes lined up. After several seconds, Lyndon’s face broke into a sly smirk. “Tangela, I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe we can do lunch or something.”

  “Thanks for the lift, Lyndon. I really appreciate it.”

  “It was my pleasure.” He shot her a wink. “Sleep well, gorgeous.”

  Warrick wished Lyndon would drop dead. Where did he get off flirting with Tangela? Taking her gently by the elbow, he hustled her through the luxury hotel.

  “What was that all about?” Tangela asked, motioning with her head toward the entrance. “Why were you such a jerk to him? I told you what happened.”