Sex on Flamingo Beach (18 page)

“It's the fastest set of permits to build anything I've ever seen granted. Had to be something in it for the mayor.”

And so it went for the next hour with citizens spouting their opinions all over the place. It did make Emilie wonder how the mayor had amassed that much money and where it had come from.

Emilie was about to pack it all in and take a book to bed when Joya called.

“Hey, I'm thinking of going out for ice cream. Want to join me?”

“You're going to abandon your husband in favor of me?'

“Derek's out of town on business. I'm alone and wide-awake and there's something I want to run by you. Meet me in twenty minutes at that new place on the boardwalk. Ocean Café I think it's called.”

Emilie didn't even bother changing clothes. She was comfortably dressed in cool cotton drawstring pants and a T-shirt—clothing she'd planned on wearing to bed, but that didn't shout pajamas.

She arrived on time for once, bought the early edition of the next day's
Chronicle
and found a table in the cool interior. Few people were out and about at that hour. On a weeknight the sidewalks of Flamingo Beach rolled up fairly early.

The new casino had made front-page news as usual, as it had for several days. The speculation now was that Landsdale executives would soon be cleaning house, and bringing in their own management team.

More to worry about, and keep her up at night. Emilie flipped the pages, turning to another article. More speculation again. This time about Rowan and the Seminole group. This reporter claimed to have gotten word from a good source that there was a falling out between him and the Seminole chairperson, Keith Lightfoot. Divisiveness in the ranks, it had been called, over an unclear vision for the casino. She wondered what was behind that mumbo jumbo.

Needing to find something much more lighthearted, Emilie turned to the Dear Jenna column. She was in the midst of reading a saga written by a brokenhearted woman abandoned at the altar, when Joya came racing in.

“Sorry I'm late,” she teased. “Usually that's your line.”

Emilie playfully wrinkled her nose. “You're such a bitch. Let me buy,” she said, standing. “What are you having?”

Joya chose a concoction loaded with calories. Petite and slender as she was, she could well afford it. When Emilie returned with two bowls in hand, Joya's head was stuck in the newspaper.

“Did Derek mention there were problems between Keith and Rowan?” Emilie asked carefully, while setting down their ice creams.

“He mentioned some friction. That's why I wanted to talk to you. Derek thinks Rowan's up to here with the politicking, and he thinks the Seminole group's not being straight. He's not sure about Keith Lightfoot, but there are major concerns about Priddy, who seems to be running the show. Derek thinks Rowan might cut his losses and move on.”

“Move on as in leave town? He's never made any secret of pushing off as soon as his projects were done.”

“Derek thinks he's going to leave way before then. If you recall, one of the reasons Rowan entered into a partnership with Derek was so that he could have someone on-site while he traveled.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because if you're interested in him you need to move fast.”

“What would change if I got involved with Rowan? He wants out of Flamingo Beach. I'm the person who wants to stay.”

“You told me he offered you a job,” Joya reminded her patiently.

“He did. What's that got to do with anything?”

“Working for Rowan means you'll remain in contact. You can at least give the relationship a shot if that's what you want.”

“It could also get dicey when you're romantically linked with your boss.”

“True. Uh-oh, look who walked in.”

Joya's two eyebrows were commas. She stared at the entrance of the ice-cream shop as if in disbelief. Curiosity caused Emilie to look in the same direction. The ice cream she'd swallowed lodged in her throat.

Rowan had entered the building with the same woman he'd been with at the street fair. She had her arm linked through his.

“That's Maggie Smith,” Joya whispered, “a brand-new radio personality at WARP. She hosts that popular home repair show. She's a Martha Stewart type, a homemaking advocate and lifestyle expert rolled into one.”

So this was who he'd been committed to tonight.

“I need to get out of here,” Emilie said, feeling as if she were choking. “Is there a back door?”

“Not that I know of. Just sit here and brazen it out.”

Rowan, who'd spotted them, was already on his way over. His date remained at the counter making her selection.

“L
adies, how's the ice cream?” Rowan asked, approaching them.

“Delicious. That's why this establishment's so popular.”

Emilie left it to Joya to take the lead in the conversation. She nodded slightly in Rowan's direction while surreptitiously assessing the competition. Maggie Smith had a smooth chocolate complexion and hair worn in twists. She had a shapely figure and a wholesome look about her.

“Have you heard from Derek?” Rowan asked Joya, although he kept darting looks at Emilie.

“Yes, he called the moment he checked into the hotel. He always does.”

Emilie, not wanting to appear shaken up by seeing him with another woman, waved the paper at him. “Have you seen this article? Is there any truth to it?”

Rowan took the newspaper from her and looked it over. “I wonder how this got leaked,” he said after a while.

“It's a small town,” Joya, who'd grown up in Flamingo Beach, reminded him. “People like to talk.”

“Are you really at odds with the Seminoles?” Emilie asked. “I thought this was an important project for you.”

“It was. It is. I had hoped that significant profits from the casino would go to education.”

If he was telling the truth then he really was a remarkable man.

“Would you really cut your losses and walk away from it all?” Emilie asked, eyeing him carefully.

“Let's table this discussion for now. I'll come by your place tomorrow and make you dinner.”

Emilie was left with her head spinning as he returned to the counter and Maggie Smith.

“Well,” Joya said, “I guess we know where his heart is.”

“Do we now? Maybe he's just a major player.”

But deep down she felt otherwise. Only time would tell. The question was, did they have time?

All of the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort's management had been requested to attend an emergency meeting. In the front of the room stood three of Landsdale's executives; Owen Schwartz, the resort's general manager, and a couple of muckety-mucks from Knight, the original owners of the resort. Judging by the clearing of throats and the rustling of clothing around her, people were on edge.

The Landsdale executives had been on the premises for days now, looking around and asking questions. Emilie had had several one-on-one meetings with all three of the executives. She'd even been asked to show them the annual goals and objectives for the business development team. She'd shared with them her plans for getting the occupancy level up, and she'd told them about the difficult task of getting the city council and musicians to move the weekly jam session.

All of this in an effort to prove to the executives she was a valuable contributor and one they should keep on.

Owen Schwartz was waving his hands attempting to get everyone's attention. The room finally quieted. He stood before them wheezing and sucking in his gut.

“I've asked you here today so that I can tell you collectively that I am stepping down as the general manager of the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort.”

Loud gasps. Whispers.

“What?”

“Please settle down. I have accepted another position elsewhere and so have tendered my resignation. For weeks, ever since this acquisition was announced, rumors have been circulating. It was said the resort was going to be expanded and a casino built. There's been talk that the staff is going to be fired and replaced by an entirely new team. The anxiety level has been building for quite some time. Rather than have this uncertainty continue, the executive team is here today to answer your questions and address your fears.”

Owen sat down to a buzz of conversation. One of the female Landsdale executives took his place. She began talking about Landsdale's vision for the resort, their commitment to customer service and the employees. Blah! Blah! Blah!

Finally it was time for questions and answers. At the end of it Emilie still didn't like what she'd heard. There had been no assurances that any jobs would be saved although there was a vague reference to corporate restructuring.

Afterward, Selma, the guest relations manager, approached Emilie. New in the position, she was obviously worried about her fate.

“What do you think is going to happen?” she asked. “I just transferred here. I'm dreading moving again and I hate the idea of having to look for another job.”

“We're both in the same situation,” Emilie assured her. “Let's hope that senior management is at least decent enough to offer us positions at different properties in other states.”

“In some industries when something like this happens you're asked to reapply and interview for the same job you've held. It's awful.”

Emilie agreed with her and quickly hurried off to find Joya and Keanu. Another singles party was planned that week and she wanted to make sure there was an action plan in place to screen the attendees coming through the front door. Concertgoers had their purses checked these days so why not hotel guests? While she could not in any way be responsible for what had happened during the first party, she couldn't risk a repeat situation, especially with the Landsdale crowd running amok.

Keanu for some reason had not attended the meeting. When Emilie caught up with Joya she informed her that her boss had an appointment off the premises. Emilie thought that maybe Keanu was already interviewing. A convention manager would not have that hard a time finding another position, not with food, beverage and conference experience. Given the number of new restaurants opening up in the vicinity he most likely would not have to move.

They discussed security measures for the singles party and then took care of some other business. Emilie then headed off to Pelican Island for an off-site meeting with the advertising company she used. They needed a catchy slogan that would get everyone's attention and promote the jam session's new location. She discussed several ideas for an ad campaign with the owner and then asked her to get back to them in two days with something much more attention getting than “Jam at the Resort.”

Because it was after business hours Emilie decided to head home. She was so looking forward to stretching out on her couch. Then she remembered Rowan's promise to come over to make dinner. Would he actually show up?

She pulled into 411 Flamingo Place and walked into the lobby to find him already seated. The security guard behind the desk flashed an apologetic smile.

“He insisted on waiting, Ms. Woodward.”

“I'm sure he did.”

Rowan rose to greet her, balancing grocery bags in both hands.

“As usual you're on Flamingo Beach time,” he said, glancing at his watch.

“I don't remember discussing a time to get together,” she said, giving back as good as she got.

They rode the elevator in silence and got off on her floor.

A disgruntled Big Red greeted her at her door, hissing at the unexpected visitor.

“She's looking for dinner,” Emilie explained.

“So am I. Dinner and dessert.” Rowan bent over to scratch the suspicious cat behind the ear. “Maybe if I feed her she'll calm down.”

She ignored the dessert part and pointed to the cupboard. “Be my guest. Her food's to your left. I'll be right back.”

Emilie minced to her bedroom to get rid of the heels that were beginning to pinch and change into more comfortable attire. She returned to find salmon in the oven, rice on the stove and Rowan in the midst of creating a salad.

He handed her a glass of white wine.

“You look like you could use this.”

“Thanks, I can. It's been a rough day. The Landsdale executives gave us one of those rah-rah speeches but made no promises.”

“Did they say anything about their plans for expansion?”

“Not a word. Just a lot of mumbo jumbo about being team players and expecting that we continue to perform.”

“They're asking a lot without giving reassurances. I see corporate hasn't changed a bit. It's one of the reasons I enjoy working for myself.”

Emilie took a sip of wine and leaned a hip on the kitchen counter. “You used to be in corporate?”

“I used to work in real estate for one of the better-known agencies. I know all about backbiting and politically aligning yourself.”

“I hate it,” she admitted, this time taking a big gulp of wine.

Rowan wiped his hand on his faded jeans. “Do you have an apron?” She threw one at him, which he tied around his waist chef-style. “Like I said, you can always come to work for me.”

“Here in Flamingo Beach or elsewhere?”

“Wherever your little heart desires.”

“That's a very generous offer.”

“I mean it. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes. Want to set the table?”

“Sure.”

She got out her best china and the cutlery that she saved for special occasions and set the table for two.

The meal was one of the better ones she'd had. Her man knew how to cook. Where did that come from? He wasn't her man. In any case Rowan would have made his mother proud or whoever had taught him culinary skills. From the roasted almonds sprinkled liberally on the salmon, to the salad that was a meal in itself, the preparation and presentation was something any chef would be proud of.

She helped him clean up afterward and then they sat on the balcony looking out at the water.

“You still don't trust me, do you?” Rowan threw out.

In the shadows it was hard to see his eyes. Admittedly she was wary of a man unwilling to share elements of his past. And then there were rumors about the casino and bribes.

“To a point,” she answered honestly. “But it's hard to get past the marriage you don't want to talk about.” She'd decided it was better to stay off the topic of kickbacks. It was hearsay and pure speculation.

“What is it you're getting at?” he asked, astute as ever.

“You told me how you and your wife met, but then you said you really didn't date.”

“We didn't. Not date in the traditional sense of the word.”

“But isn't dating a natural progression to marriage?” she asked, wishing she could see his expression. “How could you marry someone you didn't date?”

“Because I had to,” he admitted.

“Had to? What does that mean?”

“She told me she was pregnant and there was no way I was walking away from my child.”

“You have a child?”

She waited to hear what he would say. She couldn't let on that Gisele, Brian Lanterman's girlfriend, had filled her in.

Rowan stood abruptly, gripping the railing as he looked down on the bay.

“No, I do not have a child. That was the story she created.”

“Does she have a name?” Emilie asked.

“My ex-wife's name is Nija.”

“And you think she deceived you?”

“Think? I know.”

He sounded bitter. And she'd never heard him sound bitter before.

“You divorced her after you discovered there was no child,” she probed.

“I divorced her when I discovered she'd deliberately targeted me. I was the white foreigner and her ticket out of poverty. I was an easy way to get a visa. It had been Nija's plan all along to find a wealthy foreigner and get him into bed, and gullible me bit.”

“Was the divorce ugly?” Emilie asked, going to stand beside him.

“As ugly as these things get. I ignored my lawyer's advice and gave Nija a hefty settlement. I just wanted out.”

“Thank you for telling me this. It helps to know.”

“Why?” Rowan placed an arm around her waist.

“It helps me to better understand you. It makes you less intimidating.”

“You've never been intimidated by a soul your whole life.” Rowan laughed, returning light to the darkness.

“You intimidate me.”

“Why, because I'm white?”

“No, because you're confident, pushy and street-smart. You don't take no for an answer.”

“Tell me you don't like a confident man? I didn't become successful by being timid. I was a badass and a risk taker, or I would never have made it out of East New York.”

“Okay, so the question is, can two overachievers make it?”

Rowan wiggled his eyebrows. “Is that an invitation to try?”

She found herself laughing with him, and then they were kissing, and as always seemed to happen, ten minutes later they were in bed making the most passionate love. She was zinging all over as he took her on the ride of her life.

And later when he left her, she realized that in the whole time they'd been together she'd never once noticed the color of his skin. What she'd noticed was his incredible integrity. And that was the true measure of a man.