“But then who did it?” Geraldine asked.
“I don’t know. But Vince has people checking on it. It’ll come to light.”
There was a pause. “Who’s Vince?” Geraldine asked.
And as soon as she asked it, Ricki realized she had slipped. “Oh. Nobody. Just this guy I know.”
“I thought you were done with men. The way you were talking, I thought you was ready to go over on the other side and give the ladies a try.”
“Me? Give up men? Girl bye. But it’s not like that. He’s just a friend.”
“Ain’t no such thing as no man friend. Especially not one that’s all into women. Anywho,” Geraldine added, “that’s not why I called you anyway.”
“Then why did you call?”
“JoJo came by the shop today. He left four hundred bucks for you.”
“Are you serious?” Ricki was pleasantly surprised. “He actually paid me back.”
“I’m stunned you loaned his dope ass four hundred dollars when you can barely pay your rent.”
“Don’t judge. He was in a fix, Dean. For real.”
“Whatever,” Geraldine said. “I’ve got to go. Got me a hot date myself. Tell Vince, whoever he is, I said hello.”
And before Ricki could make clear there was nothing to it, Geraldine ended the call.
But when Geraldine saidwhoever he is, it got Ricki thinking. Who was Vince really? Did he have an online presence? If he was a billionaire like her father claimed, surely there were comments about him.
She quickly Googled him. Most of the articles were all about his company Fontaine-Bachman, but a few gave personal details about Vince. And none of it was flattering. He played hardball, they said, with everybody he came into contact with. He was unrelenting in his pursuit of more money. He and his public relations firm represented some of the most unsavory characters on the planet, and he rehabilitated all of their shattered reputations. They confirmed he was one of the most eligible billionaires in America.
But what got to Ricki the most was when they said he was thrice married and thrice divorced. All three were under prenups, but the third wife still got fifty-plus million dollars. The other two ex-wives only got a few million because their divorces was early in his rise to super-money. And his third divorce was final only three months ago.
Ricki couldn’t believe it. It was bad enough she was falling for a man with little or nothing in common with her, buthe was also a man who had just gotten divorced three months ago. Just three months ago!
She put her phone away, closed her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose. It was as sad as it was distressful. Because she knew it for a fact now. She knew that if there was ever a guynotto fall in love with, Vincent Fontaine was him!
She shook her head, and remembered that old line from that old television showHee Haw:If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
She gave up on any future with Vince Fontaine, turned over again, and cried herself to sleep.
But less than an hour later, as silence fell over the Richardson home and the seventeen acres of land that surrounded that home, a car drove up and parked just before the long driveway that led up to the quiet, ranch-style house. It was the security detail Vince had ordered to watch that home as long as Rasheda Richardson was on that property. They had just arrived in town and got on it.
It seemed like a wholly unnecessary assignment, and they both commented about it, asking each other who was this girl that had the boss so worried about her? “I was supposed to be on a hot date tonight,” said one member of the detail, “but I get this nothing assignment.”
But that nothingness completely changed less than two hours later when what sounded like a massive sparkle being lit, and then a big pop sound being heard, and then, to the shock of the security detail in that car, a massive explosion that ripped through the entire front side of that ranch-style house and blew it apart.
And it burst into a fireball of flames and ashes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
An hour ago, when sleep still wouldn’t come, Vince made his way downstairs to the hotel’s lobby for a drink at the bar. But instead of sitting at the bar like some hapless old man looking to pour out his soul to the poor soul behind the bar counter who had to listen to it, he took his drink and sat at a table.
A few ladies came by, all hoping he wanted company, but he didn’t. He ignored their advances. His lady friend Cecily, whom he’d been fooling around with, off and on since his divorce, phoned him a few times. But he didn’t answer. Which she knew meant he didn’t want to be bothered. But she kept calling anyway as if she didn’t understand that he could dump her as easily as he dumped his three ex-wives. But for some reason, gorgeous girls always thought there was no way a man wouldn’t want them.
Which brought his mind right back to Ricki. He’d never known anybody like her. All of the women he’d been with were the kind of pretentious ladies who wanted him to believe the sun didn’t shine until he got up. They were respectful. They were kind. They kept themselves beautiful and magnificently put out every single time he saw them. They were determined to do everything in their power to stay in his good graces and, even more so, to stay in the good graces of his wallet, power, and prestige.
But Ricki was the exact opposite. He annoyed her as much as she annoyed him. They argued as many times as they held conversations. She didn’t give a damn about her looks even though she had that special something that could run circlesaround every woman he knew. He had to all but beg her to accept his money and his help, even though she was struggling far more than any woman he’d ever been with in his life. And every one of those ladies gladly accepted his coins.
