by Maria Geraci
“You’re not going to get caught. No one even looks at them anyway. So what’s it going to be? Go out with us and have fun or stay here studying something you probably already know inside and out?”
Kate had a point. If she read one more page of American history or tried to solve one more equation, her head would explode. “Where are we going? I mean, I would hate to run into Ben.” The bar he worked at was just a few blocks from campus and a frequent student hangout.
“I promise we’ll go somewhere we won’t run into Ben Harrison.” Kate said his name as if he were the plague himself. She’d been so awesome this week. Trying to cheer Jenna up by bringing her ice cream and leaving her little encouraging notes around their dorm room.
“Okay,” she relented. “I guess one night out isn’t going to kill me.”
An hour later, Jenna stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. “I look ridiculous.”
“You look hot,” Kate shot back. “Doesn’t she, girls?”
Her sorority sisters answered in unison.
“Absolutely!”
“I wish my jeans looked as good on me as they did on you!”
“I would kill for your hair!”
Kate and her friends had raided their closets and makeup bags to polish, straighten, and squeeze Jenna into someone she hardly recognized. Her jeans were tight, her shoes with the four-inch heels were uncomfortable, and her eyes itched from all the liner and mascara. Her hair, she had to admit, did look good. Kate had flat-ironed it until it lay smooth and shiny down her back.
Her boobs, however, were a serious source of contention. Someone had come up with a push up bra, and while it did incredible things for her otherwise pitiful thirty-four B’s, they’d paired it with a slinky, lime green shirt that left almost nothing to the imagination.
“I can’t go out wearing this.”
“You can and you will,” Kate said firmly. “Trust me, where we’re going you’ll completely fit in.”
Give Kate credit. She knew what she was talking about. Except she was wrong about the blending in part because most of the women on South Beach wore so little it made Jenna look like a nun.
“See?” Kate said as they walked down the busy sidewalk. “I told you.”
“Okay, so you were kind of right.”
“Kind of right? I’ll take it, but only if I can remind you of that for the rest of our lives.”
For the first time in nearly a week, Jenna smiled. No doubt about it, she’d hit the roommate jackpot. Kate was right about another thing, too. Using the fake ID was frighteningly easy. The bouncer at the first bar barely glanced at it before letting her through the door. After a couple of tequila sunrises that she didn’t remember paying for, they spent the next hour dancing, mostly with each other, but every once in a while a guy would cut in, and Jenna let herself go with the flow.
“Isn’t this fun!” Kate shouted over the loud music.
“I’d say yes, but then your head would get so big it wouldn’t fit through the door!” Jenna yelled back. They laughed and danced some more and she tried her hardest not to think of Ben.
They hit two more clubs, and although Jenna was grateful to Kate and her friends, she was also exhausted and her head was throbbing. Besides a nasty hangover, she was pretty sure she was going to wake up with a couple of blisters from the ridiculous heels she was wearing.
They left the fourth club (or was it the fifth?). The cool, early December night air felt refreshing against her overheated skin but she still felt as if she was going to be sick.
“I think I’m going to throw up.”
Kate looked at her with concern. “Maybe we should get a cab and head back to campus.”
“Just one more club,” one of Kate’s sorority sisters pleaded. “It opened last week and it’s already the it place on South Beach. We’ll just take a look inside and then we’ll go.”
“I don’t know…” Was she slurring her words?
“One more club! One more club!” The other girls began chanting.
Kate put her arm around Jenna. “I’m sorry about them. Let’s go inside and get some water. Then we’ll call a cab, okay?”
The thought of going into yet one more club made her feet hurt even more, but Kate and her friends had been so nice to her and she didn’t want to be a spoilsport. “Okay,” Jenna agreed.
From the outside, South Beach’s new “it” club looked exactly like the rest of the clubs they’d gone to tonight. They waited in line outside the door along with a few dozen other people. The men were older, in their thirties and forties, the women in their twenties and barely dressed.
She took a deep breath and wiggled the fake ID out of the front pocket of the too-tight jeans. The bouncer at the door was young and heavily muscled. He barely glanced at their IDs as he waved them into the bar. From the entryway, the sound of pounding music made Jenna’s head feel like it was going to explode.
“Hold on,” said a familiar male voice.
Jenna turned to see Ben. He wore the same club shirt as the bouncer who’d let them in.
“What are you doing here?” she blurted.
“I was going to say the same exact thing to you.” His gaze quickly took in her outfit. “What the hell are you wearing?”
What the hell was she wearing?
That’s the first thing he was going to say to her after ignoring her calls and texts for almost a week now?
“It’s a free county,” Kate said, coming to her defense. “Jenna can go anywhere she wants.”
“Not with a fake ID, she can’t.” Ben locked eyes with the bouncer who’d let them in. “Paul? Did you let these girls get through?”
“Sure.” Paul smiled knowingly, but something in Ben’s expression made his smile disappear. “Uh, yeah, boss, their IDs looked okay.”
Boss?
“Then you didn’t look hard enough.”
Ben took Jenna by the elbow. “C’mon, I’ll get you a cab.”
“No!” She pulled her elbow from his grasp. “I want to dance!” Which was really the last thing she wanted, but she wasn’t about to let Ben Harrison tell her what she could and couldn’t do.
“How much have you had to drink?” he demanded.
“Who are you, my father?”
Ben scrubbed his hand down his face. His dark eyes looked weary, but that was probably just a trick of the dim lighting or too much liquor on her part. “Jenna, we’ll talk later.”
“Oh, yeah, you’re good at later. I want to talk now. What are you doing here anyway? You don’t work here!”
“Hey!” said a guy standing in line behind them. “Are we getting in or not?”
“You’ll get in when I say you get in,” Ben snarled. He placed his hand on the small of Jenna’s back and quickly hustled her out to the curb where he motioned to a nearby cab. “C’mon, girls, it’s time to go home.”
Like a bunch of sheep, the rest of her group automatically followed his lead.
“Wait! You’re not my boyfriend! You can’t tell me what to do.” The last part came out more like a whisper because her head throbbed so much.
“Jenna,” Kate said quietly. “Let’s go. He’s right. We all have fake IDs. We don’t want to make a scene.”
But something inside Jenna snapped. This whole week she’d been completely miserable, imagining all sorts of horrible things, and he’d been here all along “working” at a ritzy South Beach bar where he could have any pick of the hundreds of beautiful women who came through the door.
“You’re an asshole!” she shouted at him.
Everyone turned to stare at her.
“Jenna,” Kate said soothingly, putting an arm around her. “Hon, let’s get out of here.”
She waited for Ben to respond, but he didn’t say anything and somehow, that made it all worse. She’d show him. She’d make it so that he had to say something.
“You’re not just an asshole, you’re a fucking asshole,” she spat in Ben’s face.
“You’re rig
ht. I’m a fucking asshole,” he repeated tightly. “Now get in the car.”
Kate and her friends helped her into the cab, but not before she turned to shout at him again. “I don’t want to go to your stupid bar, anyway! I hate you! I hope you flunk calculus, you big jerk!”
The door to the cab closed, and they pulled away.
Kate, who was sitting next to her, gently pulled Jenna’s head onto her shoulder. If it had throbbed before, it felt like it was splitting open now. “Oh, hon, I’m so sorry. I had no idea he worked there.”
“I hate him.” Something wet and salty ran into the corners of her mouth. “I hate him,” she muttered again, but it was beginning to hurt too much to talk.
She didn’t remember going back to the dorm or crawling into bed either. The next day, she was too hungover to do more than sleep.
She didn’t see Ben again until the day of the calculus final. He sat in the back of class and only briefly made eye contact with her before quickly looking away. She got a low C on the test (the worst grade she’d ever made in her life) but her high A average on the rest of her exams pulled her final grade up to a B. It was the only B she made in her entire career at the University of Miami.
The highest grade on the calculus final had been a perfect one hundred, an almost unheard-of score in Dr. Parrish’s class. Later, Jenna found out who’d scored that high on the exam. Naturally, it had been Ben.
Chapter Seven
Ben showed the correctional officer his ID then walked through the metal detector device at the Walton County jail. He wasn’t looking forward to this interview. His clients’ claim to the Handy estate depended on a guy who not only stole the city’s festival money, he’d hidden it in his house, tried to blame the whole thing on someone else, then ran from the police. Not exactly Boy Scout material.
He sat at a table in a stark little room and watched as Doug Wentworth took a seat across from him. He was in his mid-thirties and had a preppy, all-American look, but there was something slimy about him, too, and it wasn’t just the orange jumpsuit. How long this guy would last in prison was anyone’s guess. Most likely he probably wouldn’t be going to any of Florida’s hard time institutions. Wentworth was charged with felony burglary, but he’d recently confessed and promised to make restitution to the city. The confession, combined with a clean record and a savvy lawyer, meant this guy would probably only see a year in prison, tops.
Ben introduced himself. “I’m representing Nora and Vince Palermo in a suit contesting Earl Handy’s will.”
Wentworth didn’t seem surprised to see him. “I take it you read my statement.”
“I did.” Ben gave him the same steely look he gave most people he didn’t trust. “You have a good attorney and a clean record.”
“And?”
“Why confess? Why not take the chance of getting off on a technicality?”
“You probably won’t believe me, and I know it sounds like a cliché, but I’ve found Jesus.” The guy had the nerve to keep a straight face.
“You’re right, it sounds like standard con man prison bullshit to me.”
Wentworth leaned forward in his seat. “You can believe what you want, but I have a clear conscience now. That’s the important thing.”
Ben pulled a legal pad out of his briefcase. “Let’s talk about the other confession you made in your statement. The one I’m interested in.”
* * *
“You actually went inside the prison?” Gavin’s voice hitched with excitement. “That must have been very Law and Order-ish for you, sir.”
“Not really. And it wasn’t exactly a prison. It was a county jail.”
“Still…a real live prison.”
“Focus, Gavin.”
“Right, sir. So Perkins just turned in his initial report. There’s no record of either Vince or Nora Palermo ever having visited or called Doug Wentworth in prison—er, I mean, jail.”
He should be happy there was no evidence of collusion between his clients and the witness who would basically be the cornerstone of their case against the city. But Ben’s gut was telling him that Wentworth was as shady as a three-dollar bill. And his gut was never wrong.
“So who has been visiting him?” Ben asked.
“Just his lawyer and his mother. Oh, and some people from a local church.”
“Okay. Thanks. Good work, Gavin.”
“Oh, um, no, thank you, sir!”
Speaking of mothers, he needed to stop by his own mother’s place on the way back to Whispering Bay to go over some paperwork. Hopefully the whole process wouldn’t take too long, because he couldn’t be late for his date with Jenna. He was meeting her for a drink at The Harbor House this evening at six.
With any luck their drink would turn into dinner.
And if he was really lucky, maybe it would turn into something a whole lot more.
* * *
Jenna sat back in her chair and looked in disgust at the mountain of paper on her desk. She’d hardly gotten anything done all morning, despite the fact that she’d worked through lunch. It was all Ben’s fault. Who could concentrate when in just a few hours she’d be meeting him for a drink?
What on earth would they say to one another?
Hey! Remember that time I called you an asshole? Or how about when I shouted to everyone who could hear that I hated you? Ha-ha! Good times, huh?
She stood and stretched out her back. Sitting hunched over a computer all day wasn’t doing her body any favors. Besides running she should probably take up yoga. Or maybe she’d get one of those new desks that were ergonomically correct, the ones that raised up so you could work in a standing position.
Just because this was the desk that came with the office didn’t mean she couldn’t change things up. There wasn’t money in the budget for new office furniture, but Jenna wouldn’t mind paying for it herself, because besides the fact that this chair made her back ache, it was creepy thinking that Doug Wentworth had once sat here.
The office had been newly painted, but Jenna couldn’t help but feel that part of Doug’s bad mojo still lingered. A new desk and chair would help exorcise the ghost of Whispering Bay’s sleazy former city manager. She’d order a new set, and have it delivered as soon as possible.
She opened her laptop and began studying the city budget again. Despite years of mismanagement, the accounts couldn’t be in this bad a shape. Or could they? Maybe she’d ask for another audit. Although, it probably wouldn’t make a difference. From what she could see, it was the almost completed new recreational center currently in the finishing stages that had eaten most of the budget for the past few years. The city had begun construction before Doug Wentworth had come on as manager, so as much as she’d like to, she couldn’t really blame him for it.
Tired of looking at the same figures over and over, she typed Ben and Tiffany’s names into the Google search bar and hit Images for the third time today. Ever since she’d taken the stalker plunge, it was like she couldn’t help herself. Mimi was right. Tiffany and Ben made a striking couple. He said he didn’t have a girlfriend, but it was hard to believe that he and Tiffany were just friends.
She slammed down her laptop screen and focused on her grumbling stomach. The Bistro closed in thirty minutes. Maybe she could still grab something.
Jenna rushed into The Bistro just as Sarah was wiping down the front counter. “Am I too late to get something to eat?”
“We never turn down a customer.” Sarah smiled at her. “What can I get you?”
“A turkey panini and a latte.” She’d just finished paying for her meal when she spotted Greta the nanny leading Ben’s daughter toward The Bistro’s front door.
Rachel let go of Greta’s hand and ran toward her. “You’re the lady who knows my daddy!” Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat little braid, and she wore a yellow sundress and sneakers with frilly white socks. In other words, drop-dead cute. Her big brown eyes eagerly stared up at Jenna.
“Rachel,” Greta said stern
ly. “We don’t talk to strangers.”
“But…she knows my daddy.” She turned back to Jenna. “Don’t you? You said you did.”
Jenna bent down and smiled at the little girl. “Greta is right. You shouldn’t talk to strangers. Maybe we can take care of that.” She put her hand out. “I’m Jenna and I love your dress.”
Rachel solemnly shook her hand. “I’m Rachel Ann Harrison and I’m four years old.”
“So, now we’re not strangers anymore, are we?” That was meant exclusively for Greta. Jenna understood the nanny’s rule on not talking to strangers, but Greta had seen her talking to Ben, so she had to know that Jenna didn’t really fit into that category.
Greta met Jenna’s gaze with a cold expression. “You were friends with Rachel’s father?”
“Sort of,” Jenna said, realizing how wishy-washy that sounded, so she decided to amend her answer. “We used to spend a lot of time together, but that was a long time ago.”
Greta looked at Jenna as if she was something to take out with the garbage. “I see.” She grabbed Rachel by the hand. “We have to go now.”
“But…can’t we stay and have a cookie?” Rachel pleaded. “You promised me I could have one if I didn’t spill my drink and I didn’t.”
“Yes, but you didn’t eat all of your sandwich. We have to follow the rules, Rachel.”
Rachel’s face scrunched up like she was about to cry, but she didn’t. Jenna didn’t know a lot of four-year-olds, but she’d seen her nieces throw enough tantrums to realize that Rachel seemed more in control of her emotions than most children her age.
“It was nice seeing you again, Rachel,” Jenna said.
The little girl didn’t say anything, but before they walked out the door, she turned and gave Jenna a sad little wave good-bye.
Poor kid.
She wondered if Ben knew what a bitch Greta was. Most likely he did. She remembered how he’d overruled Greta the other day on the bedtime issue, so he had to know she was a stickler for the rules. Maybe that’s the way he wanted his daughter brought up. Whatever the case, it really wasn’t any of Jenna’s business.
* * *