Flamingo Place (Mills & Boon Kimani) (5 page)

“What did you have in mind?” Chet countered, focusing on his caller again.

“Come
be a guest on my show. You can plug your flower shop as much as you like.”

“Why?”

Oh, my Gawd! This was a dream come true. It was an opportunity no one in his right mind would pass up!

“I’m interested in your reaction to
Dear Jenna’
s advice. I want to know what the community thinks of her using the word
queer.
And I want to know what your group would like to see happen.”

“The word
queer
is—”

“Yeah, I know. Offensive. You’re gay. You’ve worked hard to earn respect. You enjoy an alternative lifestyle. Use my show to straighten out the lady. She’s new in town. We can’t allow some upstart to get away with offending upstanding citizens.”

“Good point!” Chet was swept along with the excitement. Being asked on the D’Dawg show was an honor. He would be a fool to miss out on the opportunity to increase business for the flower shop.

He got the particulars and hung up after agreeing to be at the station half an hour before the start of the show.

Now he needed to center himself. Chet hurried in the direction of the bathroom. When he returned, Harley had completed his sales pitch. Rico bought his suggestions and Harley wrapped the huge Vanda
orchid in cellophane and added curled ribbons to the arrangement as a festive touch.

“There, Bianca will love it,” Harley said. “If she doesn’t she’s not the woman for you.”

Chet waited for Rico to leave the store before sinking onto the pink divan with the claw feet.

“I think I’m going to faint.”

“Please don’t. At least wait until we’re sure no customers are around. I’ll get you water and a cold cloth for your beet-red face.”

“I’m hyperventilating,” Chet said, now prostrate on the seat.

Harley was back with a chilled bottle of water. “Here, take deep breaths. What did Tre Monroe want with you?”

Chet fanned his heated cheeks with his open palm. “He asked me on the show. Me, Harley. He wanted my opinion on missy, you know that Jenna woman, the advice columnist.”

“You don’t say. Work it, boy. This is a good opportunity to promote All About Flowers.”

“So you approve? You think I should go?”

“Of course. You’ll be supported by every gay person in this town. Your appearing on the show will increase our visibility and will let these uptight folks know that we are a force to be reckoned with.” Harley’s
fingers cupped Chet’s chin. “You don’t think you’re being set up, do you?”

Chet frowned. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. “What would be the point? Tre is not a stupid man. He knows who my father is. While Dad may not agree with my choices he would never publicly say it. He would defend me to the core. We are after all part of his constitution. My mother would leave him if he turned against me, his own child.”

“Okay, if you say so, but I smell a rat. You know what I think?” Harley didn’t wait for an answer. “I think he’s also invited Dear Jenna on the show.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“I bet you dinner he did.”

“I
t’s for you,” Chere
said, waving the phone at Jen. Her voice was loud enough that many of the staff in the surrounding cubicles stuck their heads over the partitions.

Jen, busily banging away, was more preoccupied with meeting the deadline for this Sunday’s paper than taking calls from Flamingo Beach’s ticked citizens. Words were not coming easily today, largely because she was censoring herself. She’d never had to pick and choose her words before. Now because of that disconcerting conversation with Luis she was being careful.

She
looked up, pen clenched between her teeth and said, “Find out who it is and take a message.”

“Maybe you don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

Chere came closer, one large hand clamped over the mouthpiece. “It sounds important.”

Exasperated, Jen huffed out a sigh. “Whatever. Deal with it, Chere. Just take a message and I’ll return the call.”

Trestin had beaten her to it. He’d taken the initiative to invite her to lunch today. She’d accepted only because she felt guilty. With a tight deadline hovering, she should have pushed him off until the following week. But he’d been both insistent and persistent. He’d even stopped by her apartment again.

Thankfully she’d been out, so he’d slid a note under her door. Jen’s guilt had kicked in. She’d felt obligated to accept. She was the one who’d initially offered. She’d go just to keep the peace. After all, she lived next door to the man. It might pay to be civil.

Chere returned the receiver to her ear. She fumbled for her high school English. “
Dear Jenna
isn’t here. Who’d you say this is again? Oh, my God! You gotta be kidding. What does he want with
Dear Jenna?
” Picking up a pencil, she began scribbling,
then shoved the note in Jen’s direction. “Sure you don’t want to pick up. No not you,” she said back into the receiver. Chere was breathing heavily when she hung up.

“That phone call has you that worked up?” Jen said, her fingers flying.

“That was that DJ from WARP. He wants you to come on the show.” Chere was now hopping up and down on those ridiculous platform heels, double chins bouncing. Every piece of loose flesh jiggling.

The pen Jen still clenched between her teeth, escaped her grip, falling on the Formica desk and rolling across the floor.

“Why would he think I’d want to be on his show?”

Chere’s massive quarterback’s shoulders rose. “Luis would want you to step up to the challenge. You said you were interested in growing readership. This is one way to do it. I’m so excited I have to go to the loo.” She tottered from the room and headed for the bathroom. Jen suspected she was off to fill in her buddies who made up most of the clerical staff.

Chere was back in twenty minutes huffing and puffing. “You betcha call that radio station,” she threatened.

Jen rolled her eyes. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“You have to,” Chere said advancing. “My girls
listen to WARP all day long. Tonight’s broadcast is hot. They got the mayor’s son coming to talk about you.”

“They do not. And even if they did I’m not being baited into responding.” Jen’s attention returned to her column. She muttered, “The mayor’s son can get on the radio and say whatever he wants. If I leave it alone and not take a defensive mode this whole thing will eventually blow over.”

“That’s what you think.” Chere snorted. “You haven’t lived in this town long enough.”

Jen glanced at her watch. If she didn’t leave right away she would be late for her lunch appointment. She’d insisted she make the reservations. She’d chosen home turf. They would be lunching at the Pink Flamingo restaurant. Out in the open and relatively safe.

“Save whatever else you have to say for later. I have to go,” Jen said, picking up her purse. “Make sure to answer the phones.”

Chere mumbled something under her breath. It was probably a good thing Jen didn’t hear.

Fifteen minutes later she hurried into the Pink Flamingo. Considering it was a weekday, it was crowded. The same hostess from the other night seated her. Today she wore a flamingo pink miniskirt and midriff-baring top. No sign of Trestin as yet. Jen
followed the curvaceous young woman to a table in the center of the room, noticing the small butterfly tattooed on her lower back.

Ten minutes, and two glasses of water later, Jen was still waiting for her next-door neighbor to show up. Fifteen minutes later she was still waiting. Left with nothing else to do but people-watch, her eyes focused on the Pepto-Bismol pink walls and the fluttering flamingos. The décor in this part of the room had a distinctly beachy flavor to it. Old fishermen’s nets were artfully draped on the walls, filled with starfish, fake lobsters and other types of crustacean.

It was an interesting assortment of people gathered. There were a few from the complex Jen had a nodding acquaintance with, but the majority she didn’t recognize. She did spot Camille Lewis, the woman who lived on her floor, seated across from a pleasant-looking bald man who couldn’t seem to get a word in edgewise.

Jen also spotted Quen Abrahams, the health club manager with a blonde who looked like she might be someone he personally trained. There were business types, judging by their attire, huddled in a corner conducting a meeting, and a handful of sleek ladies with big hair who looked like they did lunch for a living.

Waiting was getting old and she had too much to do. She’d
give Trestin another five minutes and then she was out of here. He’d proven to be an inconsiderate person anyway, so it was no surprise if he stood her up.

Jen sipped her water and decided her energy was best channeled elsewhere. She should never have invited Trestin to lunch in the first place. Her peace offering was not appreciated. Taking her purse with her, she slid from the booth.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a deep, male voice with a timbre that actually made her shiver said. Jen’s lunch partner grasped her elbow.

She schooled herself not to react. “You’re late. I didn’t think you were showing up.”

Trestin looked cool, composed and strikingly handsome. He was wearing a beige linen shirt and black drawstring pants; the eighty-degree-plus weather outside was having no apparent effect on him. He made Jen feel wilted and wrinkled in the cotton sundress she’d chosen because it didn’t require ironing.

“I was held up because someone parked in my spot,” Tre said smoothly. “More time was wasted trying to get hold of the towing service. You should understand.”

“Not again.” The words slipped out before she could censor them.

Trestin’s
index finger stabbed the air. “Gotcha.”

“You…” Jen sputtered.

Trestin roared. Jen got a good glimpse of strong white teeth and healthy gums.

He was by far the most cocky and irreverent person she’d ever met. A while back he’d mentioned something about being in communications. Jen wondered what exactly that meant. She waited until they were seated and the waiter had taken their orders to ask.

“You said you were in communications. What does that mean?”

“Just that. I’m very good at what I do. That’s enough about me. Let me take a guess at what you do.”

Jen felt some trepidation build. Being in the advice business came with an awful stigma. Not that she particularly cared how she was perceived by him. But she did want to guard her privacy. It was better to be faceless when you did what she did.

“Hold on to that thought. Here comes our food,” she said. “We have to eat quickly—my lunchtime’s almost up.” What she didn’t say was that she’d allotted two hours to make this lunch happen.

They dug into their respective meals. Jen had chosen lobster salad, because she couldn’t afford
another pound on her hips and Trestin had ordered scallops on a bed of greens with sliced avocado on the side. They sipped sparkling water.

“Back to our original conversation,” Trestin said. “You’re an attorney.”

“Not exactly.”

“A doctor?”

She shook her head. “You’re way off base.” She was starting to enjoy this.

“You’re a professional of some sort. I can tell from the way you speak, hold yourself. You have this inner confidence. You could be a teacher although I don’t think so. Maybe you’re the principal of a high school.”

“Wrong on all counts.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re the one that wanted to take a shot at it.”

Silence descended as they returned to their entrées. Trestin ate with a certain amount of relish while Jen, conscious of the passing time, scarfed down the remainder of her lobster salad.

They were almost through with the meal when Camille and the man Jen assumed was her husband arrived.

Trestin brought the napkin to his lips. “Hello, Winston, Camille.” He nodded at the couple. “Good to see you.”

“That
was one brilliant move,” Winston said. “I’m looking forward—”

“You haven’t met Jen.” She was quickly introduced. Trestin flashed the older man a look Jen wasn’t sure how to interpret.

“I’m looking forward to tonight,” Winston said, his hand on his wife’s arm. “We wouldn’t disturb you further.”

Camille who’d so far remained mercifully quiet didn’t budge.

“You two have something going?” she asked boldly.

“Camille!” Winston sounded outraged. He was clearly the classier half. “Check yourself.”

“I am checking myself. I’m not going behind their backs. I’m asking them directly. Now I know why you were parked in his spot.” She eyed Jen knowingly.

Should she straighten the nosy woman out? No, that type of personality would believe what they wanted to believe.

“Come on, Camille,” Winston said, attempting to leave again.

“
Dear Jenna’
s up next,” Camille said, wagging a finger at Trestin. “I just know it.”

Winston tugged on his wife’s arm and they finally left.

After
they were out of earshot, Jen said, “What’s this about
Dear Jenna?
”

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about.”

She hated to be dismissed or patronized. He’d been pleasant company so far and he’d kept her entertained. They’d even managed not to insult each other. But Trestin was ruining it all by being dismissive. She hated when men did that to women, acting like they didn’t have a right to question them.

Jen signaled to the waiter for the check.

“It’s been taken care of,” Tre announced, stopping the man from coming over with a shake of his head.

“When? Why?”

“Because I wanted to and I have an open tab here. I arranged it on my way in.”

Jen searched through her purse. “I promised you lunch. I’m paying. It was my way of apologizing to you for being inconsiderate.”

“Apology accepted. You can pay for dinner this Saturday night?”

“What?” He was asking her out. She should be flattered. She could do far worse than this man with his to-die-for good looks. Admittedly in some bizarre way she was attracted to him. But he lived next door
and if it didn’t work out things would be awkward. Better to keep things on a neighborly basis.

“Lunch has been great. I enjoyed it,” Jen said honestly. “But Saturday night is out of the question. I’m on a tight deadline and will probably be working.”

“You never did say what it is you did.”

By divine intervention, Jen’s cell phone rang. She glanced at the screen, recognizing her own office number.

“Chere?”

“Yes, child. Luis is looking for you. You need to get back here on the double.”

“What’s wrong? Everyone that needed to know knew I had plans for an extended lunch.”

Jen glanced up to see Trestin’s arched eyebrows.

“Problem?” he mouthed.

She shook her head. “I’m on my way.” Jen tucked the flip phone back into her purse. “Thanks for lunch,” she said to Trestin. “Now I really have to get going.”

“I know,” he shouted at her back when the valet brought the Miata around and she was stepping into it. “High-class call girl.”

Jen took her time tipping the valet and putting the car into gear. She slid the window down stuck her hand out and gave him the finger.