Shortly before retiring from the NFL, I had the good fortune to meet a businessman, Stavros Carmichael, who bought and sold casinos and nightclubs worldwide. Though I had no interest in entertainment real estate, he taught me the ins and outs of developing, managing, and selling commercial properties. I worked with him in my spare time, learning every aspect of the business from the ground up until I retired from the league and then went out on my own. Business was a lot like football. The team with the better players, the better strategy, and the better focus on the big picture won. It was highly competitive and every once in a while, you just had to go with your gut and gamble on the outcome. I loved it. More so than football, Parks Properties was challenging and satisfying. It also gave me the financial freedom, so my grandfather retired in comfort, my younger brother Chris didn’t worry about his college tuition, and allowed me to indulge my charitable foundation that aided young athletes needing a little help to get to the next level. I also set up small trusts for my mother and father, which paid out yearly. If they ran through their yearly allotment before the twelve months was up, that was just too damned bad. I’d learned the hard way that I was little more than an ATM to both of them. Even ATMs set a limit on withdrawals.
Earlier today, I had checked in on a shopping mall project I was working on in the Phoenix area and two office buildings in Toronto that I’d planned to sell, but decided to keep because I made more on the leases than I’d originally projected. I returned a few e-mails and instructed Shawn and Gina, my second in command, on how to handle things over the next couple of days before signing out.
After changing into shorts and a T-shirt, I followed my nose to the kitchen where Katrina and Sheryl put the finishing touches on dinner. We made small talk over fish, vegetables, and rice before Katrina disappeared back into her room. She was hiding. I decided to leave her be. We were here for at least four days and nights. She couldn’t hide forever.
That brought me to this tranquil moment. I raised the tumbler of spiced rum and soda to my lips and leaned back with another sigh. My peace and quiet was disturbed by the ringing of my cell phone. I flipped it open. “Carter Parks.”
“Chris Parks.” My younger brother’s voice came across the line. Chris was the result of my parents’ doomed attempt to reconcile shortly after I went to live with my grandfather. He was sixteen years younger than me and finishing up his senior year at LSU. Smarter in his classes and faster on the field, Chris was the best that the Parks DNA had to offer. He was graduating magna cum laude and as a four-time all-American middle linebacker. I was alternately proud of him and terrified for him. He was twenty-two years old with his whole life ahead of him and I was determined to make sure he got to wherever he wanted to go. He had been drafted first round by Dallas and also accepted into the Stanford MBA program.
“What’s up, bro?” I asked with a smile.
“You tell me! You’re the one cavorting about with hot models and whatnot.”
“How do you know that?” I wondered.
“Man, they already got pictures of you two all booed up next to some car on the beach somewhere.”
That damn photographer in Barbados. “Yeah, well . . . you know.”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m calling. It’s not like you to cut out in the middle of business deals to chase skirts.”
“I don’t chase skirts and you need to show some respect. Katrina is a lady,” I chastised.
“Is she ever!” He whistled in admiration. “You gonna get with that or what?”
“What did I just say about respect?” I repeated.
“Aw man, you serious about this one. Okay. Okay. When are you coming back?”
“A few days, a week tops.”
“Good, ’cuz I gotta make a decision and you gotta help me make it.”
Chris had to decide whether he was going to play professional football or go to business school. I could see the pros and cons of each, but ultimately it was his decision to make. “Which way are you leaning?”
“I’m not; I keep swinging back and forth. And Grandpa’s no help. Keeps telling me to pray on it and listen when—”
“—God whispers in your ear. Yeah, that’s one of his favorites.”
“What does that even mean?” Chris puzzled.
“It means you’ll know what to do when the time is right. But I’ll be back and we’ll talk it all out, okay?”
“Thanks, bro. And hey?”
“Hey?” I prompted.
“Don’t do nuthin’ I wouldn’t do. I mean, if you get in over your head handling a woman that fine, you can fly me in for reinforcements. Katrina’s only what—three or four years older than me?”
“Seven years. But don’t you worry your knuckleheaded self about it. I got this.” I hung up on his laughter and shook my head. Youngsters always had jokes. I switched the phone to vibrate and leaned back to relax once more. I had drifted into a peaceful state between sleep and wakefulness when Katrina stormed outside. I raised one eyelid. Oh hell, she had her mad on. I closed my eyes again.
“Why don’t you have a woman? What’s wrong with you?” she asked without preamble.
“Who says I don’t?” I teased.
“Oh, come on. I’ve heard you and Beau say it often enough. You may be a scoundrel, but you’re a gentleman. No way would you be hugged up on me if you had a woman at home.”
“That’s true. You might know me better than I thought you did.” I raised my glass to toast in her general direction.
“So what’s wrong with you? A man doesn’t get to be your age and unmarried unless he’s a dog or he’s damaged or both.”
My age? Ouch—that hurt. She and Chris had me fitted for a walker already. “Wow. You don’t know me. Generalize much?”
“Something’s holding you back. And please don’t tell me you haven’t met the right woman yet.” Her tone was snarky.
“I’m selective,” I explained.
“You mean picky.”
“I mean discerning,” I clarified, amused by her not-too-subtle attempts to get to know as much about me in the shortest time possible.
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
“What does it take to make the cut?”
“What do you care? You’re at the front of the line,” I countered.
“There’s a line?” She sounded offended.
“A short list,” I amended.
“Do tell. What magical powers must a woman possess to make it to Carter Parks’s short list?”
“Look in the mirror, diva. You’re the total package.”
She was silent for a minute. “Dammit.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I was trying to be mad and you had to go and say something sweet.”
I opened my eyes and took another sip of my drink. “You’re trying to be mad?”
She flounced over and perched beside me. “What are the rules here? Are we doing this for real?”
“You lost me, Kitty. Speak it plain.”
“This whatever between me and you. Is it just for show, is it just for kicks, is it just until whenever? What?”
“What do you want it to be?”
She reached over, took my glass, and downed the contents. “Carter, you drive me to drink.”
I took the empty glass from her and stood up. “Back ’atcha, beautiful. Listen, stop trying to make everything a thing. You and me, exclusive, dating. That’s all. Let’s just ease into this and see where we go. You just got out of a relationship forty-eight hours ago.”
“That wasn’t a relationship.”
“No?” That gave me pause. How exactly did she define a relationship? I would not have been huddled up on a beachfront villa with a woman I wasn’t in some sort of relationship with.
“No, it was a . . . temporary lack of sanity.” She gestured vaguely with her hands, waving them in the air. “An attempt to—as you say—make a thing a thing.”
“Hmm.” I set the glass down in the outdoor sin
k and ran water over it. “Do you want to go over the plan tonight?”
“Not really. I’m beat. It’s been a long day.” She came up behind me and slid her arms around my waist. “Carter?”
“Yeah?” I turned to face her.
“In case I forget to say it—thanks for coming for me.” She kissed my cheek and waltzed back into the house.
I touched my cheek and smiled. She was going to be the death of me.
6
Then we battle
Katrina—Tuesday, May 24—10:50 a.m.
I waved to Sheryl as she headed out to see some of the island. I didn’t know where Carter had found her, but she was wonderful. She did a little bit of everything. Organized the house, answered phones, ran errands, and cooked like a dream. I considered myself to be a pretty good cook, but she whipped up delicious meals effortlessly. I should have resisted this morning’s cheesy shrimp and spinach omelet, but it was too savory to pass up. I turned back to the laptop in time to answer a question.
“How bad was it really?” my sister-in-law Jewellen asked me as she played with her hair. Jewel was one of my favorite people in the world. Like me, she was a sheltered suburban girl. Unlike me, she was patient and sweet and generally saw the good in everybody. She owned a staffing agency based in North Dallas and had just recently opened a second office in Frisco. A few years back, my brother Roman literally ran her over on a basketball court and after one heck of a courtship, they got married. She treated Roman’s son Chase like her own and was a seamless part of the family. We called her Bijou, French for “jewel.” Jewel was a cute little thing at a shade under five-seven, with a bright, clear complexion and reddish-brown hair that usually fell to just under her shoulders. Recently, she had cut it into a wavy bob that stopped at her eyes. She’d been fiddling with it ever since.
We were on a video conference. Jewel was sitting with Belle, Fredrika (my agent), Danila (our PR person), and another friend of ours who worked in the New York offices of BellaRich, Yazlyn.
“Bijou, your hair is cute. Leave it alone. How bad was what really?” I set down my second cup of coffee of the day and tilted my head in curiosity.
“The sex, Trina, the terrible, awful sex between you and Kevin. You announced to the world that he had never thumbed through Sex for Dummies!” Danila clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
“You said you wanted to pay him to cease and desist!” Fredrika gasped out as they dissolved into laughter. She almost slid off the edge of her chair she was so tickled.
Yazlyn caught her breath. “On a scale of ‘gee, I could have had a V-8’ to ‘make the lambs stop screaming’—just how bad was it?”
I giggled at her Silence of the Lambs reference. “It wasn’t serial-killer bad, more like lazy and unfocused, but blessedly over soon.”
“Oh, all right. So you won’t be appearing on an episode of I Survived to tell the tale. Good to know,” Belle joked.
“I don’t want to be on television anytime soon,” I said with all earnestness.
“No one feels bad for you, Audelia Katrina,” Jewel piped up. “You are sitting in paradise with fine-ass Carter Parks. That is not bad living.”
“Okay?” Belle high-fived Jewel.
“What are you two doing noticing the fineness of Big Sexy when you are sleeping next to Roman and Beau Montgomery every night?” Yazlyn eyed them teasingly.
“A woman can look and appreciate a fine form when she sees one. Is the man not nicknamed Big Sexy, for goodness sake? I appreciate things that are beautifully designed.” Belle shrugged with a guiltless smile.
“It’s not a hardship spending time with a man who looks like that in a place like this.” I gestured to the view behind me.
“I hate you all,” Yazlyn said. “You’re supposed to be in crisis, Kat. Instead, you’ve landed on rose petals.”
“Sure, if you overlook the fact that fake, naked videos of me are all over the place, life is a rosy dream.” I leaned back and crossed my arms with attitude.
“Well, there is that,” Fredrika agreed.
“At least you look good, sugar,” Belle said. “Even the paparazzi pics have you looking right.”
“We can always count on Belle to see the sunny side of things,” Jewel teased before turning serious. “The guys are coming in. Is Carter there?”
“One sec.” I paused the sound and video feed and walked to the entrance of the den. “Carter? You got a minute?” I hadn’t seen or spoken to him yet this morning. By the time I got up and spoke to my mom and dad, Carter had been behind closed doors in the room he was using as an office, buying and selling stuff or whatever mogul-y stuff it was that he did these days.
“For you, always,” he announced as he came around the corner and into the room. He was dressed casually in a T-shirt and knit shorts. Dammit, he looked good. He dropped a light kiss on my forehead as he brushed past me and sat down at the table. He patted the seat beside him.
“Coffee or vitamin water?” I offered as I walked toward him.
“Vitamin water sounds good. Thanks, Kitty.” He smiled as I handed him the cold beverage, a napkin, and a coaster.
I paused and frowned. Not three days ago I wanted to slap the mess out of Kevin for inferring that I should pour his beverages and here I was fetching refreshments for Big Sexy.
“Problem, diva?” He twisted the top off and took a sip.
“I just got you a drink,” I said slowly.
“And I appreciate it.” He responded and raised a brow.
I laughed at myself. “It’s just irony.” When someone didn’t expect things of you and was genuinely grateful for small gestures, it was a completely different thing. Carter was right; I’d been dating the wrong damn men.
“Okay. Am I missing something?”
“Just an aha moment. You’re welcome, Carter.” I grinned at his confused expression before sitting down next to him and taking the camera off pause. “We’re both here. What’s the latest?”
“Do I even want to know what took you two so long to get to the computer?” Roman asked with a brow raised and a mock glowering expression on his face.
“Don’t start with me,” I admonished, shooting him a look.
Beau snickered. “I for sure do not want to know. Let’s just move on. We have good news and bad news.”
“Give us the bad news first,” Carter said.
Danila spoke up. “First, there are some naked pictures floating around.”
“I’ve never posed nude,” I affirmed.
“Doesn’t look like you posed at all. The pics are more like someone hid cameras in your house and clicked when you walked around and got out of the shower,” Roman said through a clenched jaw.
“What the hell?” Carter exclaimed. “Who did it?”
“We don’t know for sure. We sent our security guy over to sweep her condo. He got them all, but we couldn’t trace where the feed was going.”
“This is getting nasty.” I shook my head in amazement.
Fredrika spoke up. “Sad to say, it gets worse. Looks like Kevin is up to some new tricks. He’s got a swimsuit distributor saying you offered to do him regularly if he got your orders out the door first. A Harry Jamison out of New York.”
“To do him?” I shouted.
“Yeah. Like sexually. Must we spell it out?” Beau winced.
“Oh, for Christ’s sake. I talked to him on the phone once. Once! He made a half-assed pass, I laughed it off, and we moved on. I didn’t even handle his order; I sent him over to Inez in sales. I never even met this Harry guy face-to-face.” I snapped, slamming my palm down on the table.
“Isn’t Jamison a notorious ass-grabber?” Yazlyn scoffed.
“And a loudmouth to boot. No worries, though, chère,” Beau said gently. “We already have three other designers that will attest to Harry’s bullshittery.”
“I like the usage of bullshittery as a noun. Was that the good news?” Carter asked.
“Actually, no.” Beau cont
inued, “The good news is that we’ve started digging into Kevin’s past and his business dealings.”
I leaned forward. “How’s it looking?”
“Not good for our friend Kevin. Seems he’s a flagrant asshole.”
“I could’ve told you that with no special investigative skills.” I rolled my eyes.
“As could we all, sis,” Roman added. “But we found out he made some enemies on the way up by taking shortcuts and stepping on a lot of feet. We won’t go into details until we have all the facts, but if he wants to sling mud, looks like we’ll have plenty of our own to launch.”
“Other good news: Your video statement was well-received. The more salacious aspects of Kevin’s original claims are still circling the newswires, but we haven’t lost any clients yet. And sad though it may be, the nude photos have actually upped our orders,” Belle said.
“My bare ass is glad to be of service,” I huffed.
“We have to have a pretty good criminal or civil case for fabricating the video and the stalker-y pictures by now, right?” Jewel asked.
“We will when we can prove that Delancey’s behind it,” Carter said.
“Something about this, though,” Beau pondered. “I can’t put my finger on it, but it feels like more than just a jilted dude with a big ego getting some revenge.”
Belle nodded. “It does. But anyway, Kit-Kat; it’s up to you. We can let this thing die naturally or we can go to war.”
“If it was just him calling me a ho, I could let it go.” I shrugged.
“Could you really?” Carter quirked a brow.
“Maybe. But him coming after the design house like this, trying to muddy up all of us? The Montgomery name and whatnot? I can’t let that slide.” I glanced over at Carter, who nodded in agreement. He dropped his hand to my thigh and gave an encouraging squeeze. Who knew? Carter Parks was touchy-feely and I liked it.
“Then we battle,” Beau said, rubbing his hands together.
“You don’t have to look so excited about it,” Roman scolded.
“Hey, he came after one of us, besmirched the family name. This I do not forgive,” Beau said with dramatic gestures.
Any Man I Want Page 5