21 Questions

by Mason Dixon

  “The thought never crossed my mind. I’ve had to cancel plans under similar circumstances. Believe me, I understand.”

  Mackenzie looked relieved. As if she had been expecting a scene that hadn’t materialized. Was she already that invested? Perhaps Kenya should buy stock as well.

  “So I can cancel the order for a dozen roses I planned to have sent to your office?” Mackenzie asked.

  “I didn’t say that. Receiving flowers at work is always a pleasant surprise. Even if, as in this case, I’ll already know they’re coming.”

  “I thought you were bringing a friend.” Mackenzie rested her hand on Kenya’s arm. Her skin was cool, but Kenya felt her own begin to warm. “Is she with you, or do I have you all to myself today?”

  “She went to grab a drink from the bar. I’ll catch up to her later.”

  Mackenzie’s all-white ensemble perfectly complemented her olive skin. The material of her silk blouse begged to be touched, but Kenya forced herself to keep her free hand in her lap.

  “Tell me something about you I wouldn’t find in your business bio,” Mackenzie said.

  Kenya tried to think of something that wasn’t common knowledge and was interesting enough to share. “I find Italian accents unbelievably sexy.”

  “Fortunately for me, I happen to have one of those. What else?”

  “In high school, I was voted Most Likely to Succeed.”

  “No surprise there. I think I was voted Most Likely to End up on the Front Page of a Scandal Rag. Mission accomplished on both our parts.”

  Kenya couldn’t imagine having her mistakes chronicled for the public’s entertainment. “What’s it like living your life in the public eye?”

  “Public,” Mackenzie said with a world-weary sigh. “That’s why I enjoy moments like this. Spending time one-on-one with someone who doesn’t want anything from me and only wants to be with me.”

  “How do you know I’m not a gold digger in disguise?”

  “Because you don’t have the right amount of desperation in your eyes. When I look at you, I don’t see dollar signs reflecting back at me.”

  “What do you see?”

  “An intelligent, successful woman who has never been truly appreciated. But I intend to change that.”

  The idea thrilled Kenya, but it was too new to sink in. She and Mackenzie had met less than twenty-four hours ago and hadn’t even had an official date yet. They hadn’t covered enough ground for either of them to stake a claim on the other. But she couldn’t deny the idea held tremendous appeal. “You move fast, don’t you?”

  “I’m a businesswoman,” Mackenzie said matter-of-factly. “When I see what I want, I don’t stop until I get it. And I want you. I’ve wanted you for months. And I’m not going to stop until I get you.”

  Mackenzie moved closer. Kenya’s breath hitched in anticipation as Mackenzie’s mouth moved toward hers. It had been so long since she’d been touched by someone other than herself, one kiss was probably all it would take to send her over the edge. Her body gave her the green light to continue, but her head flashed a warning sign. Everything was happening too fast. She needed to slow down.

  “Wait.” She held out a hand to hold Mackenzie at bay.

  Mackenzie frowned. “Is something wrong?”

  “I haven’t been in a relationship in a while and I’m woefully out of practice. Can we—”

  “Take things slow? Of course we can.” Mackenzie skimmed her knuckles along the line of Kenya’s jaw, sending shivers down her spine. “Take as much time as you need. When you’re ready, I’ll be waiting for you.”

  Kenya leaned into the pressure of Mackenzie’s hand. “It’s been my experience that most people who seem too good to be true usually are.”

  “That’s because you hadn’t met me.”

  And now that she had, Kenya doubted her life would ever be the same.

  *

  After Kenya went downstairs, presumably to meet up with Mackenzie, the woman she had arrived with made her way over to Simone.

  “I hear you mix a mean drink,” the woman said in a slight Cuban accent. “May I have one?”

  “Sure. What would you like?”

  The woman put a hand on her hip. “You tell me. That’s your specialty, isn’t it?”

  Simone did a double take. Her ability to guess someone’s favorite drink wasn’t exactly common knowledge. “Have you and Kenya been talking about me?”

  “What would you do if I said yes?”

  The needle on Simone’s gaydar hovered in the Curious zone, but she didn’t think the woman was flirting with her. More like running reconnaissance, which meant she must have made an impression on Kenya after all. She felt a flicker of hope take hold. “If you say yes, I’ll make you the best white wine spritzer you’ve ever had.”

  The woman’s full lips quirked into a smile. “Damn. You are good.”

  “How do you and Kenya know each other?” Simone asked as she added lemon-lime soda and a dash of peach schnapps to a glass of sauvignon blanc.

  “She’s my boss.”

  “Are you often your boss’s plus-one at parties?”

  “Only when no one else is available. I’m the proverbial stick in the mud no one wants to have around.”

  “I somehow doubt that.” Simone set the finished drink on the bar. “Everything about you screams life of the party, not wallflower.”

  “Your tip is getting bigger by the second.” The woman smiled as she sipped her drink, then stuck out a manicured hand. “Celia Torres. Nice to meet you.”

  “I’m—”

  “The woman who’s got Kenya’s panties in a bunch.”

  “You must have me mistaken for someone else.” Simone adjusted the fit of her hat, lifting and resetting the flat bill until it achieved the desired angle. “My name’s Simone Bailey, not Mackenzie Richardson.”

  “I know exactly who you are.”

  “Yeah? Who might that be?”

  “The woman who’s going to be waking up next to Kenya for the foreseeable future.”

  “Do you know something I don’t?” Simone’s heart skittered at the thought, but she couldn’t afford to get too far ahead of herself. Hearing Kenya might be interested in her was all well and good, but it didn’t really count unless she heard it from Kenya.

  “No, but I do know Kenya. Better than she knows herself sometimes. That’s the mark of a good assistant. Now tell me what I can do to help.”

  Simone mixed an old-fashioned, wrote a note on a cocktail napkin, and handed both to Celia.

  “You can start by giving her these.”

  *

  La dolce vita meant “the sweet life” in Italian. As Kenya sat on the sundeck listening to Mackenzie describe her idyllic if nomadic childhood—boarding school in Switzerland, summers in the Italian countryside or on the beaches of south Florida—she realized she was living a very sweet life indeed.

  “You grew up in Tallahassee, didn’t you?” Mackenzie asked.

  “Wow. You’ve really done your homework. Did you have your assistant run a background check on me?”

  “Nothing quite so drastic. Like I said last night, I make it a point to know something about all the beautiful women in my orbit. That includes you. What brought you here?”

  “I received a scholarship to the University of Miami, fell in love with the area, and never left. My parents are Seminole fans, so they’ve never forgiven me for picking the Hurricanes, a fact they remind me of every time Florida State defeats them. You went to Harvard, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. My father’s alma mater. I initially resisted the idea of following in his footsteps.”

  “Why?”

  “For two reasons. I wanted to blaze my own path, and I wasn’t looking forward to the brutal New England winters. Swallowing my pride turned out to be a wise move. My father’s name might open doors for me, but all the things I learned in the Ivy League keeps me sitting at the table.”

  Mackenzie’s father, Michael Richardson, was
a Donald Trump-style real estate mogul with a similar financial profile but better hair. His investment had allowed Mackenzie to open her first restaurant, but she had made it a success all on her own. Eventually, one restaurant had become two. Now she owned properties from coast to coast.

  “Have you thought about going international?” Kenya asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I’m drawing up plans to open my first resort property, but I haven’t decided on the ideal location. Mexico and the Caribbean are on the verge of becoming overdeveloped, but I think there’s room for—” Mackenzie scowled as she looked over Kenya’s shoulder. “Don’t look now, but I think someone is trying to get your attention.”

  Kenya looked out the window and saw Celia waving at her like a flagman signaling a jumbo jet.

  “Is that your friend?” Mackenzie asked. “If so, invite her up.”

  Kenya beckoned for Celia to join them. A few minutes later, Celia walked into the room with a drink in each hand. She gave Kenya the old-fashioned and kept the white wine spritzer for herself.

  “I thought you might be thirsty after all that…talking,” Celia said. She turned to Mackenzie. “I would have brought you one, too, but I only have two hands.”

  “That’s quite all right,” Mackenzie said. “I think I know the way to the bar.”

  Kenya provided introductions. “Mackenzie Richardson, I’d like you to meet Celia Torres. Celia and I work together.”

  “I actually work for her, not with her,” Celia said, “though she’s much too modest to point that out.” She tossed a wink in Kenya’s direction. “Drink up. Mackenzie and I can handle it from here.”

  Celia handed Kenya a cocktail napkin before she drew Mackenzie aside and began peppering her with questions about the restaurant business. When Kenya unfolded the napkin so she could place it under her drink to soak up the condensation dripping down the side of the glass, she saw something written on the thin paper.

  “Question #2,” the note read. “What would you consider a perfect day?”

  Kenya folded the napkin inside out so the words were no longer visible. The note could only have come from Simone. The question was, had Simone asked Celia to do her bidding, or had Celia volunteered? Either way, Celia was thoroughly enjoying watching her squirm.

  “I think you’ve had too many wine spritzers,” she said after Mackenzie excused herself to check on the party preparations.

  “Actually, I’m just getting started,” Celia said. “This party is even more fun than I thought it would be. So what did Simone ask you?”

  “Like you don’t already know.”

  “Okay, I admit I may have sneaked a peek.” Celia’s eyes glittered with excitement. “What’s your answer? What do you want me to tell her?”

  “I thought you were on Mackenzie’s side. Why did you switch allegiances?”

  “I’m not on anyone’s side. I just want you to be happy.”

  “And you think Simone can make me happy?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Then why are you passing messages for her like she’s double-oh seven and you’re auditioning to be a Bond girl?”

  “Because it’s fun. Look, I hate to get all Dr. Phil on you, but since this is my second glass of wine on an empty stomach, I will. No, I don’t think Simone can make you happy. I don’t think Mackenzie can, either. Because only you can make you happy, Kenya. Happiness begins and ends in here.” Celia placed a hand over her heart. “No one else should be tasked with the responsibility of providing it for you. Sharing it? Yes. Providing it? No, that’s on you. And to be frank, you’ve done a piss poor job of it the past few years. Yes, Ellis hurt you, but there are plenty of women out there who won’t. Get off your ass and take a chance on one. Falling in love is like a trust exercise. At some point, you have to let go of your fears and trust the other person to catch you before you hit the ground.”

  Kenya felt her temper flare. She wasn’t used to being upbraided, in her professional life or her personal one. Even though Celia meant well, her words had bite. Unfortunately, they also held a hint of truth. She had been holding back for so long she didn’t know how to let go. Mackenzie had promised to take things slow. To let her set the pace. What more incentive did she need?

  “As much as it pains me to admit it,” she said, “you’re right.”

  Celia blew out a sigh of relief. “So I’ll still have a job come Monday?”

  “For the moment. If you have one more glass of wine, though, we might need to reevaluate your employment status.”

  “Point taken. Now what do you want me to tell Simone?”

  Even though Simone had managed to earn Celia’s seal of approval, that wasn’t enough to convince Kenya to start seeing her behind Mackenzie’s back. That would feel too much like cheating and she knew from experience how devastating that sensation could be.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I’ll tell her myself.”

  *

  “Uh oh,” Simone said when she saw Kenya marching toward her like she was Oprah Winfrey preparing to give Whoopi Goldberg the infamous You Told Harpo to Beat Me speech in The Color Purple. “This can’t be good.”

  “Good luck,” Amanda said, beating a hasty retreat. “I’m going to return to my station before I get caught in the crossfire.”

  Kenya waited until Simone served a hurricane and a tequila sunrise to a couple of Mackenzie’s friends before she brandished the note Simone had asked Celia to give her. “Are you soliciting my friends to help you now?”

  “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to get your attention.”

  “You’ve got it. Now what?”

  God, Kenya was sexy when she was angry, but Simone needed to chill her out before the smoke coming from her ears erupted into flame.

  “Simple. Tell me what constitutes your perfect day.”

  Kenya crossed her arms across her chest as she tapped a sandal-clad foot. “I’m here to see Mackenzie, not you. You know that, right?”

  “You’ve made it very clear how you feel,” Simone said, keeping her voice steady like a professional negotiator in the middle of a crisis, “but you also promised to answer my questions. All of my questions.”

  “What do you expect to accomplish?”

  “I’m not expecting anything, but I am hoping to get to know you.”

  “That’s all?” Kenya asked skeptically.

  “No strings, remember?” Simone spread her arms to indicate she didn’t have a hidden agenda. “Now tell me. What’s your perfect day?”

  Kenya still looked dubious, but she dutifully answered the question. “It would begin with breakfast in bed and end with a moonlit stroll on the beach.”

  “And in between?”

  Kenya unfolded her arms as her voice took on a dreamlike tone. “I would shut off my phone, tune out the world, and get lost in the woman I love.”

  “I feel you.”

  Simone wanted to live the fantasy Kenya had just described. She wanted to wake up next to the woman she loved, spoil her madly, and spend an entire day showing her just how much she valued her. She wanted to live the life love songs and romance novels were written about. If only for twenty-four hours.

  “What would you do on your ideal day?” Kenya asked, seeming to warm to the subject.

  “I would spend it making music and making love. Both come from the same source of inspiration. When done right, it’s impossible to tell them apart.”

  Kenya’s expression softened. “Are you a musician or simply a music lover?”

  “Both. I play drums, guitar, and piano. And given sufficient time, I could name you every single Prince ever released, including the B-sides. Which brings me to question number three. When was the last time you sang to yourself or someone else?”

  “I sing to myself in the shower every morning,” Kenya said with a slightly embarrassed laugh, “but subjecting my lack of vocal skills on an unsuspecting victim would be tantamount to assault.”

  “A little Auto-Tune and you’ll be f
ine. Just ask Britney Spears or that blonde who used to be on Real Housewives of Atlanta.”

  Kenya’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “You watch that show?”

  “I know it’s not Masterpiece Theater, but I never miss an episode.” Simone figured the admission might cost her points with Kenya. Reality television was probably too lowbrow for her sophisticated tastes.

  “Neither do I. I’m glued to my TV every Sunday night to see what they’ll do or say next. Who’s your favorite cast member? If you say the wrong one, I will throw what’s left of my drink in your face.”

  “Don’t. That would be alcohol abuse of the highest order.” Simone held up her hands to prevent such a calamity from occurring. “I like Kandi. She’s the only one who keeps it real every week and doesn’t seem to be playing a part. Plus I love the songs she and her group sang back in the day.”

  “I like her, too. I especially like the fact she’s built an empire based on more than just music. She has her hands in everything from songwriting to Internet talk shows to clothing stores to sex toys.”

  “I’ve tried out a few products from her line and I can truly say I’m a satisfied customer.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “What other shows do you like?”

  “Thursday is my favorite night of the week.”

  “Shonda Rhimes night, right?”

  Kenya nodded. “Scandal sandwiched between Grey’s Anatomy and How to Get Away with Murder. The other networks might beg to differ, but that’s what I call must-see TV. Grey’s is a little long in the tooth but still capable of delivering an emotional punch, especially when Christina left and Derek died. The other two shows are just one OMG moment after another. I can’t get enough.”

  Simone could feel Kenya start to relax and open up. To trust her. She wanted to continue the conversation—to dig deeper and see what else they might have in common—but Mackenzie chose that moment to address the crowd.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mackenzie said into a cordless microphone, “I would like to welcome you aboard and thank you for agreeing to spend the afternoon with me and my crew. The agenda for today is simple. Captain Mendoza is going to take us for a spin around the harbor. Once we’re away from the marina, we’ll crank up the music and have a little fun. Does that sound good?”