Troy couldn’t have been happier for Quentin and Harper. The love the two shared was the sweetest thing. And with the two of them happy and content, both focused on the growth and success of their family business, it was now his chance to do something he’d wanted for himself. To follow one of his dreams.
Running for political office was the next step to what had already been a successful legal career and Troy was excited for the new challenge. He saw putting in a bid for Mayor of the city of Memphis as the beginning of a trek that would eventually lead him to a gubernatorial run or maybe even a senate seat in Washington. With no one and nothing to distract him, Troy imagined his political ambitions were limitless.
He smiled warmly. “Yeah,” he said. “Pop would have been proud of both of us.”
“What are you wearing?” Basil Salman asked, his gaze shooting from the top of his sister’s head to the bottom of her low heeled pumps.
Amina Salman cut an annoyed eye at her older brother. “I’m wearing clothes. What are you wearing?” she asked, her tone curt.
Basil’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Your attire is inappropriate, Amina. Father will not be happy.”
Amina looked down to the conservative Ann Taylor suit that fit her petite frame nicely. She blew a deep sigh. She’d barely been in Memphis one month and her family’s criticisms were already starting.
Her younger sister Rasheeda giggled, softly. The girl was covered from head to toe in a traditional Islamic hijab, befitting their strict Muslim upbringing. No one ever criticized what Rasheeda wore. She shook her head, unable to see her sister’s smiling face beneath the veil. She turned back to eye her brother.
“Basil, I appreciate the fashion advice, but after earning two college degrees and procuring my law license in three states, I think I’m more than qualified to pick out my own wardrobe.”
Basil skewed his mouth to give her a terse retort when their father, Nasser Salman entered the room. All three of his children stopped speaking as he crossed the room to take a seat behind his desk. He looked from one to the other, his gaze pausing on Amina.
“Daughter, we have had this conversation before. I cannot control what you do in your mother’s home, but you will respect my rules in my house.”
Amina took a deep breath. “Yes, Father.”
“So what are your plans today?”
“I’ve rented space to house your campaign headquarters. I need to pick up the keys and make sure all the utilities are turned on. By tomorrow I want to have most of the computers and equipment in place.”
Nasser nodded as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “I’m glad that you agreed to come run my campaign, Amina. It’s good to have all my children here working with me.”
Amina smiled. “So am I, Father. I actually need to get going. We need to have a press conference announcing your candidacy next week so I want to contact the press and get that scheduled.”
As she headed to the door Basil called after her. “You should change clothes before you leave, Amina.”
Turning back, she gave him a wide smile. “Whatever you say, Basil,” she answered as she met her father’s stern stare. As the door closed behind her, her smile dropped to a deep frown. “In another lifetime maybe,” she muttered under her breath as she exited the home and headed to her car.
Maneuvering her way toward downtown Memphis, Amina shook her head from side to side. Working for her father was going to be a bigger challenge than she’d fathomed, she thought to herself. Despite her proven track record with grassroots fundraising and success as a political game changer in Atlanta, running her father’s mayoral campaign was starting to feel like she’d bitten off more than she could chew.
Her mother had warned her and Amina had chosen not to listen. It had been some six years since she and her father had last seen each other. Amina had chosen to follow her mother after her parents’ divorce and her mother had chosen to leave their Muslim faith behind. Amina was slowly realizing that battling her father’s political agenda was not going to be the only fight she would have on her hands as she wrestled with his strict values and her own personal faith.
She blew a deep sigh. It was starting to feel like a chocolate donut kind of moment, she thought. Maybe even two! She suddenly smiled, a bright lift to her face as her full lips bent upward. Paused at a stoplight, she thought back to the Beale Street bakery she and her sister had found on one of their recent jaunts. There’d been a wedding reception taking place and the bakery storefront had been closed. The bride and groom had been beautiful as they’d danced together inside.
There’d been a very nice looking man who’d spoken to them as they stood outside, kindly inviting them in to share the wedding cake. He’d had the kindest eyes and the most welcoming smile. Amina had wanted to take him up on his invitation but Rasheeda pulling on her arm to leave had killed the mood. He’d invited them to come back the next day and had her father’s plans not interfered she would have gone. That had been three weeks ago and she still hadn’t found her way back.
Amina pointed her car in the direction of Beale Street and Just Desserts, that chocolate donut calling her name. And as she did she found herself hoping that she might run into that handsome stranger one more time.
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1
Audra Lane strode with manufactured confidence to the vacation rental cabins’ main desk and faced the man she thought was the registration clerk. She curled her bare toes against the warm polished wood flooring and took a deep breath.
“You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing this trash bag.”
“Yes.”
That was it. That single syllable delivered without inflection or emotion in a soft, bluesy baritone.
Audra’s swagger stalled. She tugged her right earlobe.
Maybe that was his way. His manner wasn’t unwelcoming. It was just spare. He’d been the same when she’d checked into the rental cabins in Where-the-Heck-Am-I, Ohio, less than an hour earlier.
In fact, the entire registration area was just as spartan as the clerk. Despite the large picture windows, the room seemed dark and cheerless in the middle of this bright summer morning. There weren’t chairs inviting guests to relax or corner tables with engaging information about the nearby town. It didn’t even offer a coffee station. Nothing about the room said, Welcome! We’re glad you’re here. There were only bare oak walls, bare oak floors, and a tight-lipped clerk.
What kind of vacation spot is this?
Audra pushed her questions about the room’s lack of ambiance to the back of her mind and addressed her primary concern.
She wiped her sweaty palms on her black plastic makeshift minidress. “I’d left some of my toiletries in my rental car. I thought I could just step into the attached garage to get them, but the door shut behind me. Luckily, I found a box of trash bags on a shelf.”
She stopped. Her face flamed. If he hadn’t suspected before, he now knew beyond a doubt that she was butt naked under this bag.
Oh. My. God.
She’d ripped a large hole on the bottom and smaller ones on either side of the bag for a crude little black dress, which on her five-seven frame was very little.
Audra gave him a hard look, but his almond-shaped onyx eyes remained steady on hers. He didn’t offer even a flicker of reaction. His eyes were really quite striking, and the only part of his face she could make out. When he’d checked her into the rental, she’d been too tired after her flight from California to notice his deep sienna features were half hidden by a thick, unkempt beard. His dark brown hair was twisted into tattered, uneven braids. They hung above broad shoulders clothed in a short-sleeved dark blue T-shirt. But his eyes . . . they were so dark, so direct, and so wounded. A poet’s eyes.
How could the cabins’ owner allow his staff to come to work looking so dishevel
ed, especially an employee who worked the front desk? Did the clerk think he looked intimidating? Well, she’d been born and raised in Los Angeles. He’d have to try harder.
Without a word, the clerk turned and unlocked the cabinet on the wall behind him. He chose a key from a multitude of options and pulled a document from the credenza.
“Sign this.” He handed the paper to her.
The form stated she acknowledged receipt of her cabin’s spare key and would return it promptly. Audra signed it with relief. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He gave her the key.
A smile spread across her mouth and chased away her discomfort. Audra closed her hand around the key and raised her gaze to his. “I don’t know your name.”
“Jack.”
“Hi, Jack. I’m Au . . . Penny. Penny Lane.” When he didn’t respond, she continued talking. “Thanks again for the spare key. I’ll bring it right back.”
“No rush.”
“Thank you.” Audra turned on her bare heels and hurried from the main cabin. That had been easy—relatively speaking. At times, she’d even forgotten she was wearing a garbage bag and nothing else. It helped that Jack hadn’t looked at her with mockery or scorn. He’d been very professional. Bless him!
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2014 by Deborah Fletcher Mello
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
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ISBN: 978-0-7582-9296-4
First Kensington Mass Market Edition: March 2014
eISBN-13: 978-0-7582-9297-1
eISBN-10: 0-7582-9297-X
First Kensington Electronic Edition: March 2014
The Sweetest Thing Page 26