“All right.” Jaxon reached across the table and moved Dale’s drink. “I think you’ve reached your limit for the night.”
Dale quickly snatched his drink back. “Hey, I can’t think without my go-go juice.” He tossed back the remaining contents, signaled a waitress for another and then gave Jaxon his full attention. “All right. So what’s the problem?”
“The problem…” Jaxon took his time and drew a deep breath. “Is that I really—really like this woman.”
Dale’s bushy brows shot up. “Like?”
“Well, I just met her,” Jaxon explained. “But…there was definitely something there. A spark or…something.” He relived the moment when he first kneeled at the foot of the gorgeous supermodel and of course the slow journey of his gaze as he traveled up her long, curvaceous body. He couldn’t remember ever seeing anything so beautiful. He recalled the sound of blood rushing through his head, his ears felt like they needed popping, and his heart—it felt like it was everywhere: his eyes, his throat, squeezing out of his rib cage. Jaxon had never experienced anything like it. A part of him was telling him that he needed to be scared of a woman who could cause such a wild reaction from him. Another part of him—a stronger part—was both excited and thrilled.
He glanced back up to see Dale staring oddly at him. Jaxon coughed and cleared his throat. “I can’t describe it.” He looked away.
“Riiight.” Dale bobbed his head while he accepted his next drink from the waitress.
Jaxon’s defenses kicked in. The last thing he wanted was to appear to be like some starry-eyed, love-struck puppy—even though that was exactly how he felt. “Forget it,” he said, with a wave. “I’m just trippin’.”
“Um, hmm.” Dale’s stare remained locked on its target.
Jaxon shifted and then pretended to be interested in Tiny, the new girl’s awkward dance routine. After a long two minutes, Jaxon could still feel his friend’s heavy gaze on him. He cut his eyes back across the table. “What?”
“Man, you know what’s what.” Dale chuckled. “Damn, I never thought I’d see the day.” He shook his head. “Jaxon Landon is in love.”
“What? Whoa.” Jaxon’s hands shot up in the air. “Love? Nobody said anything about all that nonsense. I just said that I liked the girl.”
“There was a spark.”
“Or something like that,” he pressed and then tried to laugh it off. “How in the hell am I in love? I just met the girl.”
Dale shrugged. “Hey. Love is fucked up like that. When it happens, it always catches our sorry asses off guard.”
Jaxon shook his head. “I like the woman. She’s beautiful, captivating and…exciting. I want to see her again—but none of that means I’m in love.”
“So what? You’re just looking to hit and quit it? Is that it?”
“Damn. Everything isn’t always so black-and-white. There is plenty of room for shades of gray.”
“Not when it comes to you.” Dale sipped his drink. “At least not as long as I’ve known you. You either like something or you don’t. You either want something or you don’t—and you either love someone or you don’t.”
“Well, I don’t,” Jaxon clarified.
“But you could.”
“Damn. I’m getting dizzy talking to you.”
Dale laughed. “The answer to your question is simple.”
“Oh, really, Obi-Wan Kenobi? Why don’t you enlighten me?”
“If the woman takes the time to build a wall between you, you’re going to have to figure a way to lure her out. Find something she wants.”
“That’s vague.”
“C’mon. Everybody wants something or needs something—even a gorgeous supermodel like Zora Campbell. You’re just going to have to figure out what that something is. If anybody can do that—” Dale cocked his hand like pistol and pretended to fire “—you’re the man.”
Chapter 8
“We need a better plan,” Sylvia declared the moment she entered Melanie’s office unannounced. As always, the older woman was immaculately dressed. From her perfectly sculptured silver coif to her polished red nails, Mrs. Landon made it clear that beauty and style didn’t have a shelf life. “It’s been two weeks and…nothing.”
Jessica rushed into Melanie’s office with an apology written all over her face.
Melanie stopped her before she uttered a word. “It’s all right. Can you close the door on your way out?”
Sylvia glanced over her shoulder at Melanie’s embarrassed niece.
“Yes, ma’am.” Jessica dropped her head and backtracked out of the office.
Alone, Melanie gestured for Sylvia to have a seat. Once the older woman was settled, Melanie gave her an update. “I wouldn’t say that nothing has happened. I have it on good authority from a florist friend of mine that Jaxon has been steadily sending Zora roses every day since they met that night at your anniversary party.”
“Really?” Sylvia scooted up to the edge of her chair. A bright beam of hope returned to her eyes. “So he is seeing her?”
“Not exactly,” Melanie hedged, taking her time to braid her fingers. “Zora is…a little resistant at the moment. It didn’t help that Jaxon’s fiancée showed up at the party.”
Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Didn’t you tell her about the engagement?”
“No. It’s not exactly a good selling point when trying to talk someone into a blind date. Plus, I’m not convinced that this engagement is all that it’s cracked up to be.”
“What do you mean?”
Melanie stood up from behind her desk and moved over to a huge floor-to-ceiling window while she weighed just how much she should say. “I made a few phone calls and did a little studying up on Ms. Kitty Ervin.”
“And?” Sylvia was so close to the edge of her seat that Melanie momentarily feared the older woman was in danger of falling out of it.
“And…no one in her family or at her job seems to be aware of any engagement.” Melanie returned to her desk. “And this morning, I had another dear friend of mine return a call regarding that beautiful engagement ring Kitty sported at the party.”
“Child, just spit it out. This kind of suspense isn’t good on an old lady’s heart.”
Melanie smiled. “The ring is on loan.”
“What?” Sylvia slapped a hand across her mouth and then started laughing her butt off. “I should have known! Jaxon did all of this just to get under our skin.” Her laughter deepened. “I bet he thought he was two steps ahead of me. Ha! Well, is the woman even a stripper?”
“She is that. Jaxon is a regular at her establishment—but as far as I can tell, that’s about it. In all likelihood, they may have had a minor fling or what-have-you, but nothing that points to it being serious or anything.”
“Oh. Thank God!” Sylvia collapsed backward into the chair. “I can’t tell you what a relief that is.”
“Glad I could help.” Melanie returned to her chair. “But my job is far from over.”
“You still think that Zora Campbell is the one for him?” Sylvia asked.
“I don’t think—I know it.”
Clint Blackburn couldn’t believe his luck. He was actually out on a date with Zora Campbell. The Zora Campbell. The fact challenged any attempt to be calm, cool and collected with the beauty. More than challenged actually, it destroyed it. Two seconds after they’d sat down to dinner at the prestigious Escada’s restaurant, he busted out his iPhone and asked the waiter to snap a picture.
“Trust me. None of my boys will believe me if I don’t have proof.” He laughed.
Zora smiled, but in her mind, she was rolling her eyes. She had hoped for a hot date, but instead felt like she was hosting a radio-contest winner to some fantasy dream date. No doubt this was going to be another evening ending with her curled up in bed with a Sudoku puzzle.
Yippee!
“I have a confession to make,” Clint said, leaning forward over the table. “I used to subscribe to Victoria’s Secret back in coll
ege just to see your latest pictures.” He cheesed at her. “Not to mention, I had your infamous Miller Lite poster where you wore those cute little blue pasties.” He started circling his nipples with his fingers. “You know the one with—”
“Yes. Yes. I remember.” Embarrassment burned Zora’s cheeks as she glanced around the restaurant, fearful that others were watching her date feel himself up.
“I’m sorry. Sorry,” he offered as if realizing he was losing major cool points. “It’s just…wow. Zora Campbell.” Clint shook his head.
Yes. Yes. I know my name.
“So what made you call me?” he asked. “I mean, I thought I didn’t really have a chance in hell when I passed you my card a couple weeks ago. I mean, c’mon. You must have an army of men banging your door down.”
“Not exactly an army,” she corrected, reaching for a second glass of wine. Clearly, she was going to need a lot of alcohol to get through this evening.
Clint clucked his tongue as he rolled his eyes. “Please. I’m not buying that for a second. But that’s cool though. All that matters is that you’re out with me tonight, right?”
“Right,” she agreed with a convincing smile and another healthy gulp of her pinot grigio. “Sooo. Tell me a little about yourself. What is it that you do for a living? I believe your business card read that you were some kind of consultant?”
“Business consultant,” he supplied. “Basically companies call me in to help their employees think outside of the box to become more productive.”
That’s a job? “Oh, how interesting.”
“Well, I have to admit, business is a little a slow—but that’s the way it is for everyone right now.” He laughed and shook his head. “This economy is hard on a brotha’s pockets, know what I mean?”
The hackles on the back of Zora’s neck stood at attention while a mild panic hit her. The only thing she had in her purse was her driver’s license, a folded twenty-dollar bill and a tube of lipstick.
Clint opened the menu and immediately frowned. “Where are the prices on this damn thing?” He laughed again, but it sounded like a misfired weapon—and if she wasn’t mistaken there were small beads of sweat lining up along his wrinkled brow.
Zora took another gulp of wine, cleared her throat and then suggested, “If you would like to go somewhere else—?”
“Naw. Naw. I got this.” Clint waved off her concern. “I mean, what do I look like taking a supermodel to McDonald’s?”
“Look, you don’t have to try and impress me. If you can’t afford—”
“What—what—can’t afford this place? Woman, please.” Another wave. “I got this. I’m gonna make sure that you have the time of your life tonight.”
Zora highly doubted that, but she favored her eager fan with another smile, which waned when the waiter returned and Clint ordered water. It definitely wasn’t going to be the time of her life, but she suspected that it was definitely going to be a night she wouldn’t forget.
And she was right. The conversation was stilted and one-sided. Clint only wanted to talk about his favorite posters or question her about insane gossip tidbits he’d picked up over the years. Did she ever date this rap star or movie star? Were all famous people on drugs or in rehab? And was her famous ladybug tattoo on the curve of her right ass cheek real or stenciled? It was stenciled.
It was like being interviewed by the National Enquirer. For the briefest of moments she could almost understand why someone like Melanie Harte was needed. She could at least weed out the fans and fanatics that wanted nothing more than pictures and autographs in order to brag to their friends. However, she still wasn’t willing to give the matchmaker any credit because clearly there was a hiccup in the way she did business.
Setting her up with an engaged man—ha!
The waiter returned for their order and Zora guessed at what would be the cheapest thing on the menu: soup and salad and she turned down another glass of wine for water with a twist of lemon.
“Do they charge for the lemon?” Clint joked.
Zora had a sinking feeling that he was being dead serious. Maybe she needed to sneak to the bathroom and call her assistant to bring her a credit card. Clint ordered the soup, nixed the salad and doubled down on another glass of water—no lemon.
The moment the waiter walked off, Zora tried again to get the man to reconsider McDonald’s. Hell, she wasn’t trying to break the man.
“Please, girl. I told you I had this.” He winked at her and then tried to wipe his brow on the sly. There were other visible signs of distress, as well. He kept bouncing his leg to the point it started shaking the table—and he seemed unable to make the decision whether to lay his napkin on his lap or tuck it into his collar.
When their sparse food arrived, Zora’s stomach felt as if it was rumbling in protest for the lack of protein on the plate. Other models may try to survive on nothing, but she certainly wasn’t one of them.
“I know one thing,” Clint said, still trying to lighten the mood. “This better be some damn good soup or this shit is going back.” His strange laugh was now grating on Zora’s last nerve.
Just finish dinner and then hop in the first cab you see to go home.
“You know, I was thinking that after dinner, I could show you how the other half lives.”
Zora frowned. “What half is that?”
“You know. Us middle-class brothas down in the Bronx.” He cheesed some more. “I’ll take you down to my place. We can cuddle up on my new sofa. I got this great deal at IKEA.”
Zora suddenly had a piercing headache. “Um, I don’t know. I have a really full day tomorrow—”
“Don’t worry. I got a new bed, too. You’re more than welcome to crash on it if you need to.”
Zora choked on a piece of lettuce.
Clint was instantly on her and pounding her back. He damn near snapped it in half. “You aight?”
She frantically nodded and waved him off. It was either that or spend the rest of her life in a wheel-chair. When Clint stopped, she excused herself to tend to all the tears racing down her face and possibly ruining her makeup. “Excuse me.” She hopped up and ran off.
“All right. Don’t stay away too long. I hate to think you’d walk out on me and this check.”
Zora’s entire body heated with embarrassment when half the patrons’ heads swiveled in her direction. In the bathroom, she quickly punched in her assistant’s phone number and prayed.
But apparently God was too busy solving world peace or something because Monica was off pretending like she actually had a life outside her job and wasn’t answering her phone. When her voice mail finally came on, Zora made her desperate plea. “Monica, Monica, please. I need you to call me back. I’m on the date from hell, I need you to bring me some money because I think I’m about to get stuck with the bill. Please. Please. Call me back as soon as you get this message. Please!” Zora disconnected the phone and waited a few minutes, still hoping against hope that Monica would immediately call her back.
Again, her prayers weren’t being patched through God’s direct line so she slinked over to the large vanity mirror and fixed her eye makeup. More time passed and it became clear that Monica wasn’t going to rescue her anytime soon. That meant it was time to put on her big-girl panties and go back out there and face the music.
Zora exited the bathroom and as she made her way back through the restaurant, she felt like a dead woman walking.
“There you are, girl. I was just about to ask one of the waitresses to go and check in on you.”
“I’m good,” she said and returned to her seat. She was as nervous about the check as he looked. As a way to stall, she and Clint made weak attempts to turn meaningless chatter into deep conversation. Inevitably the bill arrived and both Zora and Clint fell silent and stared at the leather folder as if by doing that, the bill would magically disappear.
Ten looong minutes later, the waiter returned to see if they needed anything else—both knew that it was a
subtle hint for a credit card.
“Um, yeah. I think I’d like some more water,” Clint stalled.
“Yes, sir.” The waiter disappeared again.
While he was gone, Clint finally worked up the nerve to peek at the check. “A hundred and fifty-six dollars?” he thundered and then glanced around their table. “You gotta be kidding me. For one salad and two bowls of soup?” “I did have two glasses of wine,” Zora meekly reminded him and then felt guilty when fear blanketed his face. “Look, if you can’t—”
“Hey, hey.” Clint held up his hands as full stop signs. “I said I had this, baby girl. So let me do what I do.” He reached into his jacket and finally removed his wallet—complete with a Velcro latch—and removed his VISA card.
The waiter, like an eagle swooping in on its prey, grabbed the bill and the credit card before Clint had a chance to process what had happened. When he finally did, he looked like he was ready to start crying. There was nothing to do but to wait it out.
Turned out—they didn’t have to wait long.
“I’m sorry, sir—but your card has been declined.”
“What?”
Oh, God. Zora sank down into her seat.
“Perhaps you have another card?” the waiter suggested.
“I don’t need another card. Ain’t nothing wrong with that one.” Clint pushed the card back toward the waiter. “Try it again. I know there’s money in that account. I just deposited two hundred dollars in that bad boy this morning.”
“Sir—”
“I said, run it again.”
Forget God saving her, Zora would settle for the devil opening the floor and swallowing her up.
“I tell you what,” the waiter said, his smile still firmly in place. “Why don’t I let you talk to the manager?” He set Clint’s card back down in front of him.
“Yeah. You do that,” Clint mocked, puffing out his chest. “I’d love to give him a piece of my mind about this ridiculously overpriced establishment.”
“As you wish.” The waiter pivoted and then marched like a solider off to war.
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