by Mason Dixon
*
Simone Bailey watched the most intriguing woman she had ever met walk out of her life just as quickly as she had walked into it. And she had no choice but to let her go. The crowd in front of the bar was growing by the minute and there was no relief in sight.
“Struck out, huh?”
Amanda Chun, one of the three other bartenders sharing Simone’s shift, barely waited until Kenya was out of earshot before she tried to break Simone’s balls. Simone and Amanda competed for everything from who could snag the most tips during a shift to who could down the most vodka shots at one sitting, so Simone wasn’t the least bit surprised Amanda tried to rub her spectacular failure in her face as quickly as she could.
“She doesn’t know what she’s missing,” Simone said, trying to downplay her disappointment. She sneaked another peek across the room. Kenya was well put together. From her navy skirt and pink silk blouse to her low heels and bobbed black hair. Simone sensed something lay hidden under the professional exterior, however, and she wanted to feel the heat beneath the cool surface.
“I doubt she’s missing much.” Amanda gave Simone a friendly punch on the shoulder, being careful to avoid the metal bottle opener strapped to Simone’s arm so she wouldn’t bruise her knuckles while she dented Simone’s ego. “Don’t look now, but the boss is taking up your slack.”
Simone turned to see Mackenzie Richardson slap on a name tag and take a seat opposite Kenya like she was just another schlub looking for love instead of a millionaire entrepreneur who could get any woman she wanted—and often did. Mackenzie owned Azure, as well as Azul, the high-end restaurant across the street, along with Azul’s counterparts in New York, Chicago, Los Angeles, and San Francisco.
What was Mackenzie doing participating in tonight’s event? She hadn’t signed up beforehand, and her presence would skew the numbers unless someone else joined the party to even things out. Besides that, Simone knew for a fact Mackenzie didn’t lack for bedmates. She had served drinks to way too many women crying in their champagne cocktails over how easily they had been replaced. Was Kenya about to join the crowd?
“Sorry, girl,” Amanda said, “but there’s no way you can compete. You party too much, you drink too much, and you spend every penny you make as soon as you get your hands on it. A woman like that isn’t looking for a good time. She’s looking for forever.” She poured a shot of vodka and slapped it on the counter. “Guess which one you could give her.”
Azure’s management had decreed that employees weren’t allowed to drink during a shift unless a customer was footing the bill. Some rules, however, were made to be broken, especially in a situation like this.
Simone tried to think of a snappy comeback as she downed the shot, but she couldn’t come up with one. Mackenzie had style, sophistication, and more money than God. Everything a woman like Kenya would want. Logic said she didn’t have a chance, especially after Kenya had shut her down on her first attempt to bring them together, but she wasn’t willing to concede defeat.
“I’m going to make her mine, Amanda. Just wait and see.”
Amanda snorted as she added hot sauce to a Bloody Mary. “How do you plan to do that?”
Simone thought about how hard it had been to drag information out of Kenya and how much fun she’d had making the attempt. She had read an article once about a psychologist who created a list of questions designed to make sure two people fell in love by the time they answered them all. She didn’t know if the results were guaranteed, but it couldn’t hurt to put the list to the test.
“I plan to do it one question at a time.”
Chapter Two
Kenya couldn’t believe her eyes. Mackenzie Richardson, the most eligible bachelorette in south Florida, was looking at her like she was a perfectly cooked prime rib and Mackenzie hadn’t eaten in a week.
“Welcome to Azure. I’m Mackenzie Richardson. Are you having a good time?”
Mackenzie’s slight Italian accent made every word she uttered sound like it ended in a vowel, even when it wasn’t meant to. Kenya wanted to hear more. Much more.
“Yes, thank you.”
“I’m new at this speed dating thing,” Mackenzie said with a modest smile, “and it’s probably against the rules for me to be sitting here with you like this without a timer counting down every second, but I wanted a chance to talk to you before the event begins. You’re Kenya Davis, aren’t you?”
“I am.” Kenya was taken aback. She had seen Mackenzie’s picture splashed on the pages of the Society and Business sections of the Miami Herald more times than she could count, but as far as she knew, she and the jet-setting thirty-eight-year-old entrepreneur had never crossed paths. Because that would have been an encounter she wasn’t likely to forget. “How did you know?”
Mackenzie’s smile broadened, her straight white teeth providing a brilliant contrast to her olive-hued skin. “I make it a point to know the names of most beautiful women I hope to meet. In your case, I saw you at a charity event last fall, but the room was so crowded I never got a chance to make my way over to you and introduce myself. Then you disappeared before the main event began.”
Kenya wracked her brain to try to pinpoint the event to which Mackenzie was referring. The only thing that came to mind was a fundraiser for a local homeless shelter that housed mostly LGBTQIAA teens. The headline event that night had been a charity date auction, but she hadn’t wanted to take part in or witness an auction featuring people as the objects being purchased. Despite the lighthearted mood and the philanthropic intent, the scene had turned her off, reminding her too much of the humiliation her ancestors had endured centuries ago when they were paraded across similar stages wearing chains instead of tuxedoes.
“I’m sorry I missed you that evening,” she said, “but I had a prior engagement.” Namely with a Sanaa Lathan romantic comedy and a bowl of caramel popcorn.
“I hope you don’t have anything on your agenda tonight. If you’re free, perhaps we can make up for lost time.”
Kenya tried to sound noncommittal even though she felt like turning backflips like a gymnast on espresso. “Perhaps.”
Mackenzie took a sip of her caipirinha, giving Kenya time to admire her jaw-dropping beauty. Mackenzie’s father was African-American and her mother was Italian. As a result, she looked like a cross between Lena Horne and Sophia Loren. Kenya imagined tracing a finger across Mackenzie’s full lips, then running her hands through Mackenzie’s short, wavy brown hair as their mouths met in a kiss. The glint in Mackenzie’s hazel eyes said she knew exactly what Kenya was thinking, though she didn’t comment on it.
“Pierce, Jackson, and Smith is one of the best PR firms in Miami,” Mackenzie said instead. “I admire your work.”
Kenya made a concerted effort to keep the nervous quaver out of her voice. Making a good first impression was always important, but never more so than now. She felt like Cinderella meeting Princess Charming for the first time—and praying the clock wouldn’t strike midnight. “I wish I could take credit for the company’s success, but the art department is more responsible for that than I am.”
Mackenzie started shaking her head well before Kenya finished her sentence. “I beg to differ. Where would the firm be if you didn’t select the right personnel? Success begins with the right hire. And that starts with you.” She leaned forward. “I could use someone like you on my team.”
Kenya’s spirits flagged at the prospect Mackenzie had sought her out for professional reasons rather than personal ones. “Are you planning to make me an offer?”
Mackenzie leaned even closer. “I’m planning to do a lot of things to you. If you’ll let me, that is.”
Kenya felt her face flush, along with other body parts slightly farther south.
The emcee called out a five-minute warning for the speed dating to begin. Nearly a dozen women—some eager, some nervous—began to take their seats at the long, conference-style table that had been set up on what was normally the dance floor.
> “We don’t have much time,” Mackenzie said. “I’d better say what’s on my mind before someone has a chance to steal you away from me. Safe Space’s spring fundraiser is right around the corner. This year, they’re holding a ballroom dancing contest instead of their usual boring sit-down dinner. I signed up ages ago, but I still don’t have a partner. Are you interested?”
“In more ways than you know.”
Mackenzie arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “But?”
“I have two left feet.” Kenya had sneaked an occasional peek at a popular TV show that paired B-list celebrities with professional dancers, but she had never felt skilled—or brave—enough to try to replicate their moves. “I’m better at the Electric Slide than the Viennese waltz. If you want to win the contest, I suggest you choose someone else.”
Mackenzie reached across the table. “Winning the dance competition would be nice, but right now, I’m more interested in winning you.” She drew circles on the back of Kenya’s hand with her thumb. The sensation made Kenya’s heart rate quadruple. “I’d like to spend more time with you. Someplace quieter so I can get to know all the things you won’t have time to tell me in ten minutes or less. Would that be okay with you?”
Kenya tried to keep from nodding like a bobblehead doll. Mackenzie seemed like a great catch. The perfect catch, in fact. She was smart, gorgeous, and wildly successful. What was there not to like? But Kenya didn’t want to agree to her proposal without thinking it over first. Mackenzie had been quoted more than once as saying she didn’t plan to settle down anytime soon, if ever. Tonight, it seemed that not only had she had a change of heart, but her heart was set on Kenya. But that had to be too good to be true. Mackenzie had been on the prowl for years. Kenya doubted she could ever truly be tamed. Making the attempt might be a heartache waiting to happen. But if Mackenzie was as sincere as she seemed to be, she could very well be the woman of Kenya’s dreams. And if she wasn’t, agreeing to spend time with her could be the stuff of nightmares.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss,” the emcee said when she came over to them, “but we’re two minutes away from show time and we’re now short a person.”
“That’s my fault.” Mackenzie ran her free hand over her paper name tag, which looked like a last-minute addition to her carefully accessorized outfit—suede Gucci loafers, a black Prada suit, and a Patek Philippe watch even more expensive than a tricked-out sports car. “You guys did such a good job advertising the event that I decided to join in rather than observe. See if one of the staff members will volunteer to help fill out the field.”
“Someone already did.”
Kenya turned to see Simone standing behind her. Simone had ditched her work clothes in favor of a white button-down shirt, a pair of fashionably distressed jeans, and a set of well-worn black motorcycle boots. It was the kind of outfit celebrities wore when they wanted to seem approachable. But Simone didn’t have to pretend to be down-to-earth. She already was.
“Is there room at the table for one more?” Simone asked.
“Sure,” Mackenzie said, finally letting go of Kenya’s hand. “Have a seat.”
As Simone grabbed a chair and altered the seating arrangement, Kenya could already feel herself being forced into a decision she didn’t want to make. Mackenzie—beautiful, intelligent, and financially stable—was the kind of woman she was looking for, but Simone—charming, sexy, and so wrong for her in so many ways—was the kind of woman she craved. The kind she had tried to avoid ever since her last relationship had ended so acrimoniously. Simone was sweet at the center but rough around the edges. Hungry for everything life had to offer but not blessed with the means to make her dreams come true. Was she willing to work for what she wanted, or was she looking for someone to hand it to her? Kenya wasn’t looking to be anyone’s sugar mama. She had done it before, but that was a mistake she had vowed not to repeat. No matter how tempting the prospect.
“Are you ready?” Mackenzie asked as the emcee announced the start of the event.
Kenya tried to muster a smile. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
*
Promptly at eight o’clock, club DJ Crystal cut the music and held an upraised finger between her mouth and the microphone to amplify her voice, a trick, Simone noted, Crystal had picked up from watching too many of Jay-Z’s performances. Her outfit had been cribbed from Hova, too: baggy jeans, a plain white T-shirt, a puffy down vest, and an oversized medallion dangling from a white gold chain around her neck. That was the difference between her and Crystal. Simone didn’t want to be the headlining act. She wanted to be the producer behind the scenes. The one who created the music, not the one who performed it. The initial paycheck wasn’t as good, but the shelf life was a whole lot longer and the influence extended far beyond a photo on an extra-large T-shirt or a poster on a wall.
“I can see you’re anxious to get started, ladies,” Crystal said, “so I’m not going to stand in your way. Not for long, anyway.” The diamonds in her blinged-out necklace reflected the bright lights trained in her direction. “After I remind you of the rules, the floor is yours. For you brave souls who have decided to participate, you have ten minutes to get to know the lovely lady sitting across from you. When the buzzer sounds, that will be your cue to play musical chairs. The ladies seated to my left will shift to their right until they’ve spent time with all ten—excuse me, twelve—women who have signed up to meet them.”
Simone had positioned herself so she would be the last woman seated in front of Kenya when the final buzzer sounded. Mackenzie would have the chance to make the first impression, but she wanted the opportunity to make the one that counted the most. When it came time for Kenya to decide who she wanted to spend more time with after the mini-dates were concluded, her encounter with Simone would be freshest on her mind.
“Good luck, ladies,” Crystal said. “Your search for love begins now.”
Simone felt her adrenaline surge. There were a lot of attractive women seated at the table. On any other night, she would have asked at least four for their phone numbers. Tonight, though, only one woman truly piqued her interest.
As she spoke with a legal secretary from Hialeah, she kept one ear tuned to the conversation Kenya and Mackenzie were having a short distance away. Mackenzie’s questions almost made her roll her eyes. The whole what’s your sign, what’s your favorite color thing was so played out. Was Mackenzie trying to get to know Kenya or put her to sleep? She perked up when Mackenzie asked what was the one place Kenya most wanted to visit. Because the answer told her how large an obstacle she would have to face if she hoped to win Kenya’s heart.
“There’s a restaurant on the outskirts of Venice called Per Due,” Kenya said. “It’s the most exclusive restaurant in the world. Like its name suggests, it seats only two people. A private car picks you up from your hotel, drives you into the mountains, and drops you off at an intimate restaurant reserved exclusively for you and your dining companion. The price is astronomical, the food is extraordinary, and the experience is one you’re bound to remember for the rest of your life. Or so I’ve heard.”
Simone could work until she was a hundred years old and never be able to afford to take Kenya on a trip like that, but Mackenzie didn’t bat an eye before she said, “I’m all about making dreams come true. Tell me when you want to go and I’ll make it happen. We could stay at my villa in Milan and make a day trip to Venice. How does next weekend sound?”
“Are you allergic to cats?” Barbara the legal secretary’s question forced Simone to focus on her own conversation instead of someone else’s. “Because I have three.”
“I prefer dogs.” Simone thought of the stray she had taken in when she was younger. The mutt was a mixture of so many breeds she didn’t know what to call him, but he had been unfailingly loyal and obviously grateful to finally have a home of his own. “Cats love you only as long as they need something from you. Dogs love you no matter what.”
“Oh.” Barbara wrinkled her nose as i
f she smelled something unpleasant. “So you’re one of those.”
“Yeah,” Simone said with an apologetic shrug, “I guess I am.”
“Then I don’t think this is going to work out.” Barbara reached across the table to give her a limp handshake. “It was nice meeting you,” she said, though her tone hinted the opposite was true.
Kicked to the curb in less than two minutes, Simone thought as she waited for the buzzer to sound. This might be harder than I imagined.
*
Kenya couldn’t help but smile at the awkward exchange between Simone and the first of her mini-dates. It was the kind of encounter one could expect to have with a complete stranger, even in a setting as faux intimate as this one. Fortunately, she wasn’t having the same experience. Mackenzie didn’t feel like someone she had just met. She felt like someone Kenya had known all her life. Someone she wanted to know for the rest of her life.
“I’m having a White Party on my yacht tomorrow and I’d love it if you could come,” Mackenzie said as the ringing buzzer signaled the end of their allotted time. Surely their ten minutes weren’t up already. Not with so much still to be said. “Can I count on seeing you there? I promise not to twist your arm about pairing up with me for the Safe Space event, but I can’t guarantee the subject won’t come up at least once.”
Despite her reluctance to pour herself into a ball gown and step well outside her comfort zone, Kenya didn’t hesitate to accept Mackenzie’s invitation. She wanted to get to know Mackenzie better, and attending a party on a luxury yacht sounded a whole lot better than her normal Saturday afternoon routine of doing laundry. “It’s a date.”