Sex on Flamingo Beach

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “You got another one of those e-mails,” Zoe said, the moment Emilie came sailing in.

  “E-mails? What are we talking about?”

  “The ones dissing you for being involved with a white man.”

  After speaking with Chere, Emilie had shoved the whole unpleasant episode to the back of her mind. She recalled Zoe had insisted on printing out the silly things and saving them in her folder.

  “What does this e-mail say?” she asked distractedly. “Is it more of the same?”

  She hadn’t been publicly seen with Rowan in a while. How would anyone know he’d been over last night, made her dinner, and then they’d made love, unless they were stalking her? Right now she had more important things to worry about, such as the logistics for moving the jam. In a few minutes she had a planning session with the advisory board.

  “Sure you want me to read it?” Zoe asked.

  “Go ahead. If it’s threatening then maybe it’s time to get the police involved.”

  Zoe opened her folder, took a deep breath and read from the paper.

  “It says, ‘Rowan James takes bribes just like the mayor. He’s using you for sex, girl. Did he tell you he was leaving on a flight to New York this afternoon and taking Maggie Smith with him? If you don’t believe me you should check.’”

  “I can’t imagine what this person would have to gain spewing all this junk,” Emilie mumbled although she was shaken up. Was Rowan really taking Maggie to New York? He hadn’t mentioned a word about this trip.

  “If you want my opinion she’s trying to create problems between you and Mr. James,” Zoe said wisely, placing a hand on her hip. “I’d have to wonder why.”

  “How do you know it’s a she?”

  “Because no man’s going to do this. This is a jealous woman talking.”

  “Stalking,” Emilie corrected with a false laugh.

  But the seed of doubt had already been planted. There was too much talk about bribery and corruption surrounding the casino to fluff this off. And much as she hated to believe it, Rowan would have to be involved. He’d brokered the deal and helped get funding.

  “I really have to run,” she said, grabbing a manila folder from her desk and taking off for one of the meeting rooms.

  Emilie tried her best to concentrate as the planning committee, consisting of Larry Moorehouse, a couple of the musicians, Isabella Fuentes and two of the city council, Keanu, three of the resort’s managers and Tre, worked out the details. Camille Lewis had somehow managed to wangle a place on board.

  Larry volunteered to prescreen the hopefuls by holding auditions on the beach for the next couple of weeks. He and some of the musicians who weren’t competing would make their selections, and at the end of those two weeks, twenty-five people would be finalists. The actual finals would be held at the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort. Each week the judges and audience would eliminate two people until finally there was a winner.

  “What’s the grand prize?” Larry Moorehouse asked, turning to Tre expectantly.

  “I’ll be taping the auditions so the winner is guaranteed airtime. I’ll play his or her CD every chance I get.

  “Awesome. That’s great exposure.” Larry was clearly excited.

  “We’d better get busy advertising.” This came from Isabella.

  “Is the city able to absorb some of the cost?” Emilie quickly asked. “We could make a really big splash if that was the case.”

  After some hesitation one of the city councilwomen said, “We’ll look into it and get back to you.”

  That was all she could ask. Emilie outlined the resort’s plans for advertising, explaining that she’d gone ahead and paid for radio and television spots and taken out huge classifieds in the papers.

  “Who’ll be judging the finals?” Camille Lewis sneered, shooting a knowing look Emilie’s way. “Let me guess, you’ve already asked the developer.”

  Why was everyone so obsessed with her nonrelationship with Rowan? Rather than getting bent out of shape, Emilie pasted a pleasant smile on her face. She’d like nothing better than to wring the old gossip’s neck but what good would that do?

  “I’m glad you brought that up, Camille. I’ve gotten commitments from two celebrity judges. I’m sure you’ve heard of Ice Cube and Twenty Cents.”

  The group’s expressions said it all. They were saucer eyed. And for once Camille was speechless.

  “How did you pull that off?” Larry Moorehouse asked, looking at Emilie with some admiration.

  “I have my ways.”

  More discussion followed and committee heads were elected. Finally the meeting adjourned, with the understanding that there would be a follow-up session in the next few days.

  As Emilie headed out, Tre caught up with her.

  “That went surprisingly well.”

  “I suppose, especially given some of the personalities.” She rolled her eyes in Camille’s direction.

  Tre hid a smile.

  “I haven’t seen Jen around in a while. Things must be busy at the Chronicle.”

  “Actually she’s been prepping to take over for Maggie Smith while she’s absent.”

  There was an empty feeling in the pit of Emilie’s stomach. She had a premonition she already knew the answer to her next question.

  “Where’s Maggie going?”

  “She left for New York this afternoon for three or four days. The station managers are really pleased with the Tre and Jenna ratings so they asked Jen to cover for Maggie.”

  Emilie hoped she was not coming off as bitchy but she just had to say it. “Jen didn’t strike me as the type to talk about crafts or homemaking.”

  “She isn’t. She’s handling the segment dedicated to relationships.”

  “I’ll be sure to listen then. Gotta go.”

  Emilie took off up the hallway at a run. Ignoring Zoe’s puzzled expression, she raced into her office and slammed shut her door. Picking up the telephone, she punched in Rowan’s number and immediately got voice mail. It meant his cell phone was off.

  Taking a deep breath, she found his business card amongst a collection of others and stabbed at the numbers.

  “James Morse,” a lilting voice answered.

  “Rowan James, please.”

  “Mr. James isn’t in. He left for New York.”

  Emilie inhaled a mouthful of air. “How long will he be gone?”

  “Who am I speaking to?”

  “Emilie Woodward.”

  “He’ll be back in three or four days. I can take a message or if it’s urgent Mr. Morse can help you.”

  “Not to worry, I’ll reach Rowan when he gets back.”

  Long after she’d hung up, Emilie sat at her desk taking deep, calming breaths trying to figure out exactly what she was dealing with. Rowan had practically spent the night at her house yet he’d never once mentioned a trip to New York. What made it even more suspicious was that a woman he’d been out with before was heading for the same destination, and for exactly the same number of days.

  On her way home that evening, Emilie impulsively stopped by Joya’s villa. Her friend was working in her garden when she arrived.

  “Hey, girl,” Joya said, looking up from her weeding. “What brings you by?”

  Emilie helped Joya tug out one particularly nasty weed. “I need a shoulder to cry on.”

  “What’s going on?”

  Emilie gave her friend the Cliff’s Notes version of what she’d found out about Rowan and Maggie.

  Joya listened, her face expressionless. She wiped her muddy hands on her cutoffs. “Let’s go inside, get some iced tea and talk about this?”

  “Is Derek home?”

  “He will be eventually.”

  Emilie sat in Joya’s cheerful kitchen sipping her tea and nibbling on chocolate-chip cookies. The television’s volume was turned down low and the evening news flickered across the screen.

  “It could be a coincidence that Maggie and Rowan are headed for the same destination,” Joya sai
d, taking a bite of her cookie.

  “If Rowan was on the up-and-up, why didn’t he mention going to New York last night?”

  “Maybe the trip came up at the last minute. Derek never mentioned Rowan was going out of town, and usually he does. Ever wonder who’s sending you these e-mails?”

  “I thought about it a time or two and figured it was one of the busybodies. Camille Lewis, maybe?”

  “I don’t think so. Camille’s a bitch but she’s not underhanded. She’d be the type to get in your face.”

  “I can’t imagine it would be the reporter from the Chronicle, the one Rowan took to the cocktail party,” Emilie said. “I don’t even know the woman.”

  “You don’t have to. If she thinks you’re a threat she’ll do what she can to eliminate the competition. What if it’s not a woman? What if it’s a man?”

  “I doubt it.”

  “It could be Mack Allen. He’s been trying to get your attention.”

  The front door opened and a tired-looking Derek crawled through. He leaned over to kiss his wife, growling softly in her ear. “What’s this about Mack Allen?”

  “Emilie’s been getting e-mails from an unknown source. Nasty stuff calling her a white lover.”

  Derek exhaled on a whoosh of air. “It’s amazing how much time folks in this town have on their hands.” He picked up one of the pot’s covers. “Dinner smells good. You staying, Emilie?”

  “No, I need to go home. I’ve got more packing to do.”

  She didn’t want to be a third wheel encroaching on their intimate dinner plans.

  “She’s staying,” Joya announced firmly. “I have enough food for six people. Emilie, help me set the table.”

  Joya pointed to the kitchen cabinets where the everyday plates were kept. Soon they were joining hands, saying grace and eating the fried chicken and macaroni and cheese that Joya had prepared.

  “Did you and Rowan have a lot of meetings today?” Joya asked her husband, who was wolfing down his meal as if this were the first time he’d eaten.

  “I was on-site at the mall. Rowan left for New York midafternoon.”

  “He went alone?” This came from Joya again.

  “Hell, I don’t keep track of his comings and goings. Why the third degree? What do you really want to know?”

  “What we want to know is if Maggie Smith was with him.”

  “Who’s she?”

  “Don’t give me that,” his wife said. “You know very well she’s WARP’s latest hire. Rowan’s taken her out a few times.”

  “You need to mind your own business.”

  “Not if he’s playing my friend.”

  Emilie rose and began collecting their dishes. It was time she headed home and licked her wounds in private.

  Joya’s loud intake of breath got her attention. “Turn the volume on the television up,” she called.

  Emilie, who was closest, fumbled with the knob. “Oh my God,” she said, “is that Mayor Rabinowitz being arrested?”

  “Judging by the ugly suit and the fringe of hair circling his head, I’d say it is.”

  Not wanting to miss a word, Emilie turned up the volume even more.

  A serious-faced reporter stood in front of City Hall.

  “Earlier today Mayor Rabinowitz was caught accepting a bribe from an undercover FBI officer. It’s alleged that the mayor has been accepting large sums of money in exchange for favorable recommendations to the Land Use Control Board. An anonymous caller tipped off the FBI. The mayor faces charges of…”

  “I can’t say I’m surprised,” Joya said, helping Emilie clear the table. She had a horrified expression on her face when she turned to her husband. “What does this mean for James Morse?”

  The lines around Derek’s mouth deepened. “I’m sure we’ll be investigated. Any company associated with the casino is going to come under scrutiny. I’d better see if I can reach Rowan.” Taking his cell phone with him he went off to the outside deck.

  “Coffee? Dessert?” Joya offered because it was the polite thing to do. Emilie could tell her friend was concerned for her husband and they needed to be alone.

  “It’s very sweet of you, but no. Dinner was great and I am full. Bring me some of that peach cobbler tomorrow.” The phone began ringing as she let herself out. “Don’t pick up,” Emilie admonished over her shoulder. “It’s probably reporters.”

  Chapter 20

  Rowan was feeling rather good about his earlier conversation with the attorneys at Fairchild and Billings when his cell phone played its musical jingle. He was in a taxi heading for a dinner appointment on the Upper East Side. Glancing at the dial, he recognized Derek’s number, and quickly picked up.

  “Hey, guy, what’s happening?”

  “Plenty.”

  Derek sounded as if he was being strangled.

  “Problems?”

  “Big ones. Mayor Rabinowitz was just arrested.”

  Rowan couldn’t stop the expletive from spewing out. “You are kidding me, right?”

  “No. I’m not kidding you. The old buzzard got caught taking a bribe from an undercover FBI agent.” Derek went on to explain what he knew.

  Rowan felt the tension creep into his shoulder blades. “This can only mean headaches for us,” he said. “When the Seminoles and Landsdale struck their deal, it was the mayor who put me in touch with Lightfoot.”

  “I get you. It’s going to be presumed that we paid off the mayor to get the job.”

  “Something like that. Listen, I’m on my way to a dinner appointment. I’ll get in touch with the attorneys with this update. Then I’m on a red-eye so that I can be in the office early tomorrow. The worst-case scenario is that I’ll have to catch the first flight out.”

  “Uh, off topic now, and frankly none of my business, your appointment wouldn’t be with Maggie Smith?”

  “What the hell does Maggie have to do with any of this?”

  Derek told Rowan about his wife’s grilling and the conversation that had ensued. “Emilie seemed really bent out of shape by the whole thing,” he explained. “Plus some busybody’s been sending her hate mail.”

  Rowan whistled. “You know this kind of thing is another reason I want to leave Flamingo Beach.”

  Derek groaned loudly. “Unfortunately, as long as my nana’s alive I can’t even consider moving. See you mañana.”

  The minute Derek disconnected, Rowan called the after-hours number his attorneys had given him. Mayor Rabinowitz’s arrest would definitely mean that he and his company would come under close scrutiny. After an extended conversation, one of the attorneys committed to being on a flight to Flamingo Beach with him.

  Very late that night, Emilie was at home seated in front of her computer updating her résumé. She’d pretty much made up her mind to start looking for positions in bigger cities. As much as she’d hoped to settle in Flamingo Beach, maybe it was time to move on and find an urban city where she would blend in. Besides the uncertainty of not knowing whether she had a job or not, she couldn’t bear the thought of having to watch Rowan and Maggie embark on an affair.

  Not being in the mood to speak to anyone, she’d put off returning phone calls, one being from Mack Allen.

  When Emilie’s phone rang she groaned. It was pushing eleven and she was praying that it wasn’t him. Nice as he was, she’d made up her mind that trying to force feelings that weren’t there was a waste of time.

  “Hey, girl,” Chere, on the other end, greeted. “Such drama in Flamingo Beach. Arresting that old crook was a long time coming.”

  “We’re talking about Mayor Rabinowitz I presume?”

  “Honey, I cracked up watching him being led away in handcuffs. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is to let you know you don’t have to move.”

  “How come?”

  “The buyer’s financing fell through.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  What Emilie actually felt was an overwhelming relief. Not that she was about to unpack her boxes an
ytime soon, but at least it bought her time to think.

  “Quen would really prefer to sell the place to you anyway,” Chere added. “I could help you find creative financing.”

  Emilie thanked Chere and told her she would think about it and then get back to her.

  She hung up thinking about how crazy her life had become. And all in just a few months. Her job was in jeopardy, the condo she lived in was up for sale, and because of the job situation she wasn’t sure she could afford to buy it. Some crazy woman was monitoring her actions and sending her hate mail. And the man she’d fallen in love with and started trusting was a player. What could possibly happen next?

  After finishing up her résumé she shut down the computer. Tomorrow was another day.

  The next morning, the minute Emilie walked into her office and saw Zoe’s face she knew there was a problem.

  “Tom and Owen want you upstairs in the executive office,” she said. “Better take your coffee with you.”

  Leaving her briefcase behind, Emilie grabbed a notepad and raced for the elevator.

  Owen and Tom were seated around a U-shaped desk when she entered. Tom pointed out a chair.

  “Right there’s good, Emilie.”

  She sat waiting for them to initiate the conversation.

  “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here?” Owen asked with a smile on his face.

  She nodded, waiting to find out her fate.

  Tom cleared his throat. “We wanted to talk to you about an opportunity at one of Knight’s other properties.”

  There was hope but she wasn’t about to get too excited.

  “Which state are we talking about?”

  “It won’t be a big move, just farther south. Miami,” Tom said, all benevolence.

  “What’s the position?”

  “Sales trainer.”

  A lesser position than she currently was holding. She would not let emotions overcome her.

  “Who’s replacing me?” Emilie asked, another sinking feeling in her stomach.

  “Landsdale is bringing in someone with more casino experience.”

  “And I’m being reduced to a sales trainer?”

  “It’s either that, something overseas or a severance package. I’m sure you’ll need time to think about what we’ve discussed,” Owen Schwarz said.