Take a Chance on Me (Baymoor Book 3)

by D. A. Young

  “Sure thing, boss. Don’t you just love our leader’s dedication to this place?” Dotty’s Australian accent was accentuated by her sarcasm, which did not go undetected by Annabelle, who gave her a reproachful look. The pink-haired receptionist defensively smoothed her short mohawk with her long, pointed iridescent fingernails. “Whaaat?! C’mon, boss, admit it! She can hardly be bothered to show up. You know that you’re the only boss we acknowledge! Without you here, this place would fall apart!”

  Linda Bass was an acclaimed veterinarian whose lectures Annabelle attended when the vet visited University of California-Davis School of Veterinary Medicine. When Annabelle settled in Furla, she was excited to discover Dr. Bass had opened an animal clinic here. Annabelle applied for a position and was hired, but she never expected to be practically running the clinic. Dr. Bass was a new divorcee and making up for lost time. She had a new, wealthy boyfriend, and they were busy traveling the world, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by her staff.

  “Dotty, I’d appreciate it if you kept your opinions to yourself. We’re not going to be the type of facility that perpetuates malicious gossip. Am I clear?” Annabelle maintained her stern expression with the receptionist who nodded her head in sullen agreement.

  “Squaaawk! Dr. Bass is a dick-crazed slacker! Squaaawk!” The shrill announcement had Annabelle’s eyes bugging out of their sockets as Dotty, unsuccessfully tried to shush Toussaint, the African gray parrot that belonged to Dr. Bass, but he wouldn’t comply. “Dr. Bass is a crazy waffle-twat! Squaaawk!”

  Toussaint was the hospital’s official mascot that greeted their patients’ hello and bid them goodbye from his perch on the large Schefflera stump tree in the reception area.

  “You little snitch!” Dotty shouted at him. She stole a glance at Annabelle and had the grace to be embarrassed. “Er-progress in baby steps, heh-heh…favorite boss in the entire world?”

  “I can’t with you,” Annabelle enlightened her as the parrot flew back to its perch. “Get Toussaint straightened out and let’s not have this conversation again, Dotty.”

  “Aye, Aye, Captain!” Dotty complied with an impish grin.

  Dick-crazed slacker. Annabelle was barely able to maintain a straight face as she walked out of the front entrance. Waffle-twat…lawwwd! With a laugh, she lifted her face to receive the rays of warm sunshine Australia was famous for. Even after three years in the land down under, the feeling of sunshine and hot weather in December was still surreal to her. Back in her hometown of Baymoor, Maryland, she’d be covered in layers of clothing to prevent her ass from freezing off. Lately, Annabelle found herself missing that as well as some seasonal things like ice skating at Cinnamon Farms frozen swimming pond or going on hayrides and picking pumpkins at harvest time.

  Annabelle looked both ways for safety before crossing the street. She sat down on an empty bench, removed her cork sandals, and stuffed them into her beach bag before standing up and stepping onto the warm, fine white sand of the beach.

  The concept of Linda getting hers didn’t bother Annabelle if that’s what made the other woman happy. Life was too short to be tied to miserable, insecure assholes who treated you like crap. Besides, Annabelle liked having the animal clinic to herself. At one time, she’d hoped to open a clinic of her own. Growing up, she’d always loved animals and was fascinated by them and passionate about caring for them. Her obsessions were the reasons she’d specifically sought jobs at the Baymoor Animal Hospital and Cinnamon Farms.

  There wasn’t a job too gross or dirty that Annabelle wasn’t willing to do if it meant she could spend time with animals. While other girls were concentrating on boys, makeup, and music, Annabelle was assisting in delivering piglets, bailing hay into stalls, and making splinters for birds’ wings. If a calf or foal was breach, Annabelle was right there with Farmer Walter and the vets burning the midnight oil, waiting and praying that both mama and baby would pull through. She was front and center during breeding season because you really hadn’t lived until you saw a bull or stallion mount their partner and get busy. Definitely an eye-opening adventure that wasn’t for everybody. You were either amazed or your eyeballs were scarred for life by the experience.

  Here in Furla, Annabelle’s animal experiences were a little more exotic than what she was used to. The citizens tended to be a little more adventurous in their choice of companions with clinic’s clients running the gamut from domesticated animals such as cats, dogs, and hamsters to wild animals like feral cats, tortoises, parrots, a tarantula, albino python, and Annabelle’s personal favorite, a cantankerous six-foot long green iguana.

  “G’ day, lass! Heading to your usual spot? Didn’t realize it was lunch time already.” The thick accented voice belonged to Mickey, the craggy-faced owner of Smoothie Shack, a small tiki hut located on the beach that Annabelle frequented several times a week. “The usual?”

  “You know it, Mickey. How’s business going today?” Annabelle patiently waited as he made her strawberry-mango-peach smoothie. She held out her money which he waved away as usual.

  “It’s been ace!” Mickey grinned with satisfaction. “Put your money away! After everything you’ve done for my feisty sheilas’, I’m bloody indebted to you and won’t ever take your money.”

  Mickey was referring to the three Euro-Blue cats he owned. They detested everyone, except Mickey and normally had to be sedated in order to be examined. When the other vets and x-ray technicians saw them coming, they turned tail and hid from the ornery felines. To everyone’s surprise and relief, the cats had taken a liking to Annabelle, therefore making them her patients by default.

  “Thanks, Mickey,” she said gratefully as she accepted the large Styrofoam cup from him.

  “You’re welcome, love. Hope you like it; it’s got heaps of strawberries and mangos. Give it a burl and lemme know what you think. I’ll make you a new one if it’s iffy.”

  As with most places Annabelle went in Furla, the locals’ laidback speech was liberally laced with Aussie slang. Some of which she’d picked up on as well. Annabelle sipped the beverage then gave him an approving thumbs-up. “Good ‘onya, my friend! Definitely hits the spot. Thanks again, and please tell Hazel, Minnie, and Tansy that I said hello.”

  Annabelle continued her walk across the beach until she reached her usual spot. She pulled her portable lounger out of her beach bag and set it up before shedding her top and skirt to reveal the pink swimsuit underneath. Next, Annabelle secured her long microbraids into a bun and applied sunscreen before settling into the lounger with the latest issue of Veterinary Practice News. She tried to focus on what she was reading but was slightly distracted by the frothy, rippling turquoise waves that rolled in. Silently, they called to her before teasingly retreating then repeating over again in a tempting pattern.

  Life in Furla was as Mickey would say ‘aces’. Annabelle had access to the beach at her fingertips whenever she wanted, her career was solid, money wasn’t an issue, and she was well-liked and respected. There were other aspects of her life that brought her immense joy, and yet lately Annabelle felt...restless and discontent. Anyone else might have been envious of her life because it looked like she had it all, but Annabelle knew better. She hadn’t gotten it honest. That fact was never far from her mind, hovering around at the edges, and taunting her whenever she started to think the past could be just that.

  Pity-party of one? Your table is ready.

  It happened whenever Annabelle thought of the friends and some family she’d left behind in Baymoor. Her beloved Aunt Chandra and her day ones - cousin Inez, best friend Kenya “Kenny” Griggs, and the angel that saved her life, Chelsea Reyes. She also missed her good friend Georgie who’d dipped as promised right after graduating high school. Annabelle wished they could have stayed in touch, but she now understood her friend’s necessity in cutting ties.

  There had been no contact since she left Maryland. Annabelle hated the harsh words that she and Kenny had exchanged in their last conversation. Or that she hadn’
t gotten to say good bye to Auntie Cee and Inez. Sometimes, she found herself picking up the phone and entering familiar phone numbers, only to delete before pressing send. She’d known them her entire life, and the cut-off had left her emotionally debilitated. They’d missed out on sharing and celebrating life-changing moments together, and Annabelle hoped like hell her girls were still slaying whatever goals they’d set for themselves.

  She wondered if Kenya and Rodney had any children yet. Her bestie was crazy about her husband, and Annabelle remembered how hard it was for them to keep their hands off each other. They were so in love, it seemed as though everyone around them disappeared. At times, Annabelle had been envious of them. She’d also been in a relationship, but unlike theirs, hers had only been a brutal illusion that left her soured on relationships.

  It wasn’t that she hated men. Her harsh experience hadn’t made Annabelle swear off men altogether. Just relationships. She liked the solitude of being a loner. You didn’t have to bend over backward, catering to demands. You could come and go as you pleased without answering to a dictator. There were no egos to inflate or orgasms to fake. No one to critique every fucking thing about her. Annabelle had discovered a long time ago that there wasn’t a damn thing a man could do for her that she couldn’t do for herself but better. Especially the self-induced multiple orgasms.

  A movement from the corner of her left eye caught Annabelle’s attention, and she turned her head slightly before freezing on the spot.

  Oh, my damn, was her last coherent thought.

  ***

  The matronly flight attendant whose name badge read Uma smiled politely at the tall, handsome black man who was the only passenger on board the private plane. In a thick German accent, she declared, “Thank you for flying with us, sir. Please enjoy your stay.”

  The younger, more attractive flight attendant with the café au lait complexion, hovering behind her, Shayla, according to her name badge, also spoke in a lilting Australian accent, chiming in with a flirtatious smile, “Yes, sir; welcome to Furla.”

  Graham smiled at both of them, his teeth a brilliant flash of white, contrasting strikingly against his black goatee and smooth toffee complexion. The older woman flushed crimson in response to his smooth deep baritone as he drawled, “I plan to; thank you, ladies.”

  She hastened away while the younger one lingered, arms crossed and tapping her fingers impatiently as she waited for her co-worker to disappear from view. Satisfied that the coast was clear, Shayla fell into Graham’s lap with a squeal of happiness. Hungrily, she plastered her lips to his with an intense familiarity, not even noticing that the kiss wasn’t being reciprocated. “Damn, I missed you, lover! You have no idea how happy I was to see your name on the travel roster this morning.”

  With a pout of her smeared burgundy glossed, bow-shaped lips, she drew back to run her hand over his bald head. Lovingly, Shayla examined his face, her gaze focusing on his mouth. God, she remembered to the last lick what he could do with that wicked mouth!

  “Why didn’t you meet me in the dunny? It’s been so long that I feel like my “mile-high” membership was about to expire, Graham!” Shayla whined, her accent thickening with her displeasure as she fingered the trail of opal buttons down the front of his white linen button down shirt. Suggestively licking her lips, Shayla studied him from underneath a web of heavily mascaraed black lashes. “Have you missed me as much as I’ve missed you?”

  Graham was always on the go, traveling in and out of the country on a moment’s notice for both leisure and work. He preferred the privacy of flying solo and always arranged a private jet for his expeditions. Graham met Shayla two years ago on his last flight to Sydney, and they’d hit it off immediately. First in the plane’s spacious bathroom or “dunny” as the Aussies called it, with her bent over the sink, then several times later that night in her hotel room. A good time was had by all, and when Graham left her bed in the wee hours of the morning, Shayla was in the same luxurious state of contentment that all of Graham’s lovers wore upon his departure from their beds.

  His sisters lived for giving him shit and roasting him sufficiently for his playboy lifestyle, but Graham wouldn’t have it any other way. He loved and respected all women, but especially black women. Their pretty shades, intelligence, humor, style, allure, and charm put them in a class all by themselves. Surrounded by the black girl magic that was made up of his Aunt Val, niece Camille, and sisters, all of whom never ceased to amaze him with their brains, beauty, and grace. This close-knit group of women were the only ones allowed in his heart, and Graham intended to keep it that way, a fact that didn’t sit well with the opposite sex.

  Every woman he met thought they would be the one to lead him to the altar, despite Graham’s up-front explanation that he wasn’t set up for any ‘death do us part’ bullshit. Nah, he’d leave that to his sisters’ doting significant others. But the women were adamant in their conviction that they could change his mind with a little scheming and a lot of pussy. Disclosure issued, Graham had no problem sampling what was eagerly offered as long as they weren’t crazy. No pussy in the world was bomb enough to overlook crazy.

  Graham had a thing about single mothers or rather their children, because of ‘Typhoon Ingrid’. He could fuck a woman with kids but ultimately found himself in the precarious position of monitoring the situation for the kid’s feelings and wondering if they were taken care of, well-adjusted, and who was watching them while he was playing Twister with their mamas. Those hook-ups tended to fizzle out faster than the others. Yeah, having Ingrid as a mother had definitely soured his outlook on relationships.

  “Will you be in Furla long? I’m off for the next couple of days and this is my home base. I could keep you company and be your tour guide!” Shayla wheedled with a cheeky grin as her hand drifted toward the waistband of his white linen pants. “I’d love to remind you just how welcoming we Aussies can be, Yank.”

  Graham grinned as he caught her wandering hand. Gently, he eased her from his lap before she realized that her lusty greeting had been met with zero reaction from his body. He unbuckled his seatbelt, rose from his seat, and grabbed his cognac-colored leather messenger bag that he always carried with him from the seat next to them. “Thanks for the offer but no thank you.”

  “Why not?!” Shayla snapped irritably. “You know we’d have a great time together!”

  “Give it a rest, Shayla,” Graham said firmly as he removed his roll-on luggage from the overhead. “That was a one-time thing. We both knew what the deal was, otherwise, I wouldn’t have proceeded with hooking up.” He leaned down and brushed a kiss on her cheek. “No hard feelings. Take care.”

  He left without looking back as he exited the plane and moved purposefully toward the waiting town car he’d arranged for his destination. As Graham settled into the vehicle, he wasn’t surprised to find it already occupied by two men wearing matching openly hostile expressions as they glared at him.

  The larger of the two’s face was florid and sweating profusely on his forehead, which he dabbed at with a stained handkerchief. His rotund frame was squeezed into a tight suit that looked like it was two deep breaths away from exploding. The leaner man was slender and elegant, and much more composed as he regarded Graham with acute dislike.

  “Gentlemen.” Graham’s expression was pleasant, and he appeared relaxed as he buckled himself in. “To what do I owe the honor?”

  With another swipe to his flushed face, Hiram Vechers, Director of the ASIO - Australia Intelligence Organization, gave a grunt as he sat forward. In his gruff voice he spoke, “Don’t play dumb with us, Carlton! You didn’t honestly think you could sneak into our country without us knowing about it, did you?”

  “As usual you’re getting off track, and so early in the game too, Hiram,” Julian Warrick, Director of the ASN, comparable to the U.S.’s NSA, said reproachfully to his companion. His Australian accent was more cultivated than Vechers’ and sounded almost British. “A better question for Mr. Carl
ton would be who exactly is he looking at?”

  Vechers blustered at the subtle lecture. “Julian, maybe that’s all your organization is interested in, but we are looking at the bigger picture! You run your show, and I’ll push my own damn agenda, mate!”

  “I knew working together was a mistake! This is exactly why we aren’t able to work amicably toward trying to accomplish a common goal! At least the ASN is—”

  “Ladies! Ladies!” Graham interrupted their loud argument. “You’re both pretty! Now, again, what do you want? I’m on vacation, and your inconsiderate asses are cutting into my valued time. Speak on it or get the fuck out.”

  “You can be on your way as soon as you tell us what you’re really doing here,” Warrick reiterated. “Neither one of us is buying your cockamamie vacation excuse! So piss off with it!” His expression turned malicious. “Or we can just take your passport and hold you?”

  “Do it and I’ll be forced to delete all of the files your bureaus have collected, dating back thirty years,” Graham promised ruthlessly and watched both men pale with dread. “For shits and giggles, I’ll even send alerts to anyone who was ever a speck on your radar,”

  “You’re bluffing!” Warrick sneered while Vechers wheezed uncontrollably and struggled to regain his composure.

  “Am I? I’d love for you to test me and find out.” Graham reached into his bag and tossed his passport at Warrick with a mirthless chuckle. “You didn’t really think that I’d return without a little insurance, did you? I’ve set my alarm systems up so that if I don’t check in accordingly, your worst intelligence nightmares will become a hellish reality. You won’t be able to stop the viruses that will systematically destroy any anti-virus hardware you attempt to restore. Neither one of you will be able to hold your heads up in public.”