Regardless of the reason for his return, I have no interest in moving backward. The sun streaming through the windows of the restaurant reflects on the crystal chandeliers overhead and the clear glass candle holder on the table, reminding me of the overly bright sparkle of the gaudy engagement ring I threw back at him years ago.
My life is so different now, and I’m perfectly satisfied. Happy. Dependent on no one. I have no desire to spend any additional time with George, or in this place that does nothing for me. Give me a fresh farm-to-table restaurant or a southern-style meal in an old coastalcottage. I definitely need to walk out of here before George does something sneaky like trying to stick me with the bill once he realizes I’m no longer interested in him.
I rustle up the fakest smile I can muster and look him directly in the eye.
“George, you actually did me a favor when you cheated on me. You gave me the greatest gift ever. I gotmeback. I’ve learned to love myself. And I’ll never go back to the person I was when I was with you.”
With all the confidence in the world, I rise from my chair, square my shoulders, and walk out. Once outside, I put on my Dolce & Gabbana sunglasses to shield my eyes from the bright Florida sun. I grin as I hear a whistle from down the block that I instinctively know is meant for me. As I strut to my car with the conviction of a woman who’s comfortable in her own skin, I silently repeat the body-positive and self-assurance affirmations I learned inThe Fat Girl’s Guide to Loving Your Bodyby K.L. Montgomery, a fierce and fabulous author and librarian, who I designed a dress for several years ago:
Don’t focus on how you look—focus on how you feel.
Worth lies in your heart, mind, and soul.
And perhaps the most important:
There is no such thing as a perfect person, body, or relationship.
CHAPTER 12
STONE
The wind is picking up outside, signaling an afternoon storm. It’s been an unusually long rainy season this year, but at least we’ve been spared from a hurricane so far. There’s nothing like reaching the finish line on a long-term construction project, only to have it completely blown away or ruined by flood in an instant. Every developer knows contingency planning is key. And my contingency plan for the Pelican Point project is leaning toward chucking the original idea in the garbage and starting over, especially after reviewing my team’s alternative development proposals that would preserve more of Pelican Point’s downtown historic area, but at a significant reduction to the bottom line.
Not only am I thinking a revamp of my legacy project is in order, the more time I spend in Pelican Point and with Desirae, the more I think an alternative life plan is in order.
How did I get here?I always envisioned by age forty, I’d be happily married, with two-point-five cute kids, andliving the dream. Instead, I’m divorced with no children, working twenty-four-seven, and trying to compensate for childhood poverty and abandonment issues by making all the money and buying all the possessions I can. When did amassing a fortune and building an empire become the most important things to me? What good is it when you don’t have anyone to share it with? Money can’t comfort me when I’m down. Money won’t warm my bed at night. And money doesn’t take the place of family.
The Golden Palm restaurant is buzzing with activity. It’s the weekly business happy hour, when South Florida’s corporate elite wheel and deal. I just finished an impromptu meeting with a potential new client, and now I’m savoring my Jameson’s just the way I like it, over crushed ice with a splash of lime. The contrast of the smoky warmth and the refreshing ice and citrus make for the perfect combination in the South Florida heat.
My enjoyment is interrupted by someone sitting in the recently vacated seat next to me and slapping down a business card on the smoothly polished wooden bar.
“George Payne. Payne Financial Group.”
I glance down at the card placed on the bar, making no move to pick it up or look at the intruder. I recognize that pompous voice, however. It belongs to the obnoxious prick who showed up at Desirae’s shop.
“Can I help you with something?” I barely sparehim a glance, but it’s enough to make out a fake grin, exposing pearly whites that are probably veneers.
“I’m the one who can help you. My firm manages the finances for some of the top businesses in southern Florida. We also help small businesses grow. I’ve done my homework on you. I understand you’re about to redevelop Pelican Point’s downtown area. Bold move, my man. That town certainly needs it. Take that dress shop, Coastal Couture, for example. With the right location and financial plan, the business could really take off. But Desirae Russell’s in over her head. She needs someone with business acumen to steer her in the right direction. She’ll never achieve success stuck in a no-name small town and without the right financial advisor.”
It’s taking everything in me to keep from punching this dick right here, right now. My fists are clenching open and closed, itching to show him just what I think of his insults of Desirae and her business sense. She’s way out of his league. Hell, she’s way out of mine. I better get out of here before I do something stupid and end up behind bars. And he’s definitely not worth that.
I finish my drink in one long swallow, slap a fifty on the bar, and stand. He’s probably no taller than five-eight and I’m a solid six-three. Even if he were standing next to me, I’d still tower over him.
I keep my voice low, menacing. “First of all, I’ve never heard of you, so I don’t see how you can help me with anything. Second, I am not ‘your man.’ And most significantly, Desirae Russell has established one of the most successful businesses in her industry, period.Speaking as a CEO with a thriving company of my own, I’d say she doesn’t need your financial advice. So, I suggest you stay away from her and keep away from Pelican Point.”
The coward throws up his hands and shrinks away from me, like a tiny balloon losing all its air. And suddenly, I can’t resist the urge to see Desirae.
I make it to her condo in record time, hoping she’s home. I knock on the door, and she opens it immediately, looking downright delicious in sweatpants and a sweatshirt with one bare brown shoulder exposed, her hair in a messy bun that makes me want to mess it up even more. Without a word, I pull her to me, enveloping her in my arms, letting myself feel the softness of her curves and breathing in her signature spicy vanilla scent as I taste those full sweet lips. At some point—I have no idea when—she walks us backward. She speaks without removing her mouth from mine. “Inside. Now.”
Her wish is my command. Once we’re in her foyer, I gently kick the door closed behind me, then plunge my tongue inside her mouth. I can’t get enough of this woman.
When I stepped over that threshold, I literally crossed a line that could complicate and compromise everything. For me, there’s no turning back. But I need to make sure she understands that.
I tear my mouth away from hers and take a deep breath. “Des, babe, look at me. If you want me to stop this, tell me now.”
She utters a single word. “No.”
My brain is sounding alarm bells.What does she mean? I need to understand.
