by Shelly Ellis
“Hey! Hey!” he shouted over the sound of her car’s revving engine. “Wait, baby! Come back! Can I get your number?”
She slowly shook her head and laughed.
Sorry, honey, Stephanie thought.
A gated-community security guard wasn’t exactly the caliber of man she was interested in. Now, Cris Weaver—that was a man who was definitely more her style! She’d be more than happy to hang off of his strong arm.
While her sisters were busy bickering at today’s brunch at Mama’s, Stephanie had managed to snag the newspaper with the article about the rich ex-NFL player. She now glanced at the article as she drove past several cookie-cutter houses with the same impressive facades and perfect lawns. The newspaper was folded in the passenger seat near her purse and a brightly colored gift bag.
Their mother was right: If any of the Gibbons girls managed to snag Weaver, that would definitely be a major coup. But competition for such a guy would be stiff. At least Lauren was dropping out of the contest, though that wasn’t a surprise. She hadn’t chased after anyone since her ugly breakup with James. But it looked like Cynthia wasn’t backing down. She already had her boxing gloves on and was ready to come out swinging, taking out any woman who even bothered to look Weaver’s way.
Stephanie pulled into a concrete driveway, turned off the engine, grabbed the newspaper, and looked down at Weaver’s photograph.
Hmm, cute, she thought. But was he worth the battle?
Weaver certainly was, on paper, but Stephanie didn’t know if she was up to challenging Cynthia. Their eldest sister had always ranked as Queen Bee in their family, and knowing Cynthia, that schemer was already drawing up plans to woo and win over Weaver in three months flat!
Nah, Stephanie thought, slowly shaking her head and tossing the newspaper aside. She’d let Cynthia have a go at Weaver first. Then—if her sister crashed and burned—Stephanie would give him a try. It was only fair and part of the family’s rules of conduct. Cynthia couldn’t argue with that.
Stephanie flipped down her visor and examined her reflection, making sure everything looked perfect.
“Not a hair out of place,” Stephanie said, whispering Grandmother Althea’s mantra, “not a frown on your face.”
She flipped up her visor, pasted on a smile, and opened her car door.
A trail of people slowly made their way up the brick pathway to the front door of the Tudor-style home. A very pregnant Tisha Baylor stood in the doorway, greeting everyone. The instant she saw Stephanie, the pretty, dark-skinned woman smiled.
“Hey, girl!” Tisha shouted as Stephanie strode toward her in her stilettos, carrying the oversized gift bag.
“How are you?” Stephanie embraced Tisha and lightly kissed her cheek. She handed the gift bag to her. “Just a little something!”
“Oh, thank you! You shouldn’t have!”
Stephanie looked around the impressively decorated foyer. “Honey, I just love your home!”
“You should! You sold it to us!”
Stephanie tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “I did, didn’t I? Well, I guess that means it is fabulous, then!”
The girls in the Gibbons family might be avid gold diggers, but that didn’t mean they didn’t believe in also having a backup plan. They all had their own careers. Some even had their own businesses. Lauren was a chef, Cynthia was the director of the local historical society, Dawn was an art gallery director, and Stephanie was a real-estate agent—one of the top agents in Chesterton.
Stephanie had helped the Baylor family purchase their house less than a month ago. The couple had been looking for a larger home now that they were going to have their second child and had hired Stephanie as their agent. The Baylors hadn’t been easy to please; they had very specific, high-end tastes and had nitpicked over every detail. But it took her less than four months to find and close on the sweeping three-story house in which they were now settled. Stephanie heard the baby room was already painted a tasteful pale pink in honor of the little girl they planned to have in July. Today they were holding a house blessing for their new home and had invited Stephanie, among many other guests, to the event.
Tisha grinned and ushered Stephanie inside. “Go introduce yourself to everyone! We’re serving hors d’oeuvres in the living room.”
Stephanie nodded and walked inside before strolling past the winding staircase.
“Try the cabernet!” Tisha called after her. “We had it shipped in especially from Napa!”
Stephanie made her way through the nicely dressed crowd, who sipped from wineglasses and shared polite conversation while mellow jazz music played in the background. This certainly wasn’t a “down-home” house blessing by any estimation. If anyone got the Holy Spirit, Stephanie was sure a crowd like this would be aghast and disgusted. They’d probably faint.
Though not all partygoers were local, Stephanie spotted an assortment of the upper crust of Chesterton around the room: the business leaders, lawyers, and doctors who held the most power (and money) in their small town. Stephanie glanced inside her purse and discretely made sure her business cards were handy. She could very well find several new clients this afternoon.
She smiled at a group of men who were huddled in one of the living room corners, behind the sofa. One of the men—a tall, handsome brother with a goatee—looked up at her and smiled back.
Maybe I’ll find a lot more than a client today, she thought as he tipped his wineglass to her.
Stephanie was always on the lookout for a new man—especially if he was a rich one.
Mr. Goatee murmured something to his friends before walking toward her, but then he stopped. His eager smile disappeared. She watched, confused, as he veered in another direction and walked off.
Well, what the hell was that about?
Stephanie didn’t have any further chance to speculate on his sudden loss of interest. She felt someone grab her by the elbow. She turned in surprise to find James Sayers, of all people, grinning down at her.
“Steph! Hello, gorgeous! I didn’t expect to see you here. How are you?”
Stephanie cringed. She was well aware of what James had done to Lauren. She had seen the bruises, scratches, and blood that November night. She, Dawn, and Cynthia had tended to Lauren’s wounds. Lauren had even stayed with Stephanie for a few weeks before she found a place of her own.
Like Lauren, none of them had chosen to take a public stand against James. Their little sister wanted to keep quiet the story of what he had done to her. He was just too powerful in town, Lauren had argued. Stephanie respected Lauren’s decision. It was her choice. But just because Stephanie didn’t openly show her distaste for the man, didn’t mean she had to like him or be around him. He made her skin crawl.
“Hey, James,” she said flatly, pulling out of his grasp.
“I haven’t seen you in quite a while, Steph.” He shoved one of his hands into his pants pocket and drank from his wineglass. “It’s been . . . I don’t know . . . more than six months.”
“Yes, it has.” She looked away, pretending to be fascinated with one of the modernist paintings on the wall, hoping he would take the hint.
“You and your sisters used to visit all the time.” He chuckled. “You were at my place so often, I was going to charge you rent!”
“Well, now that Lauren no longer lives with you, there’s no reason to visit, now, is there?”
He finished what was left of his wine. His cordial smile disappeared. “Speaking of Lauren . . . how is your lovely sister? Doing well, I hope.”
Stephanie slowly turned away from the painting and narrowed her eyes up at James.
This guy has got some huge balls, she thought angrily.
“She’s fine, James. Just . . . fine.”
“That’s good to hear. Can I speak with you privately for a second?”
James didn’t give her a chance to reply. He dropped his hand to her back and steered her to one of the empty corners of the crowded room. Again, she tried
to ease out of his grasp, but this time, he linked an arm around her waist. His hold tightened. Stephanie glanced nervously around her, hoping that James wouldn’t do anything to her in front of all these people.
“I wonder if you could pass a message along to Lauren for me,” he whispered into her ear.
“Why don’t you tell her your goddamn self?” she snarled, trying to twist away from him.
He laughed again and faced her. “Oh, you know how stubborn your sister is! She hasn’t been returning my phone calls or any of my messages. How could I possibly speak to her?”
Soon after Lauren had left him, James had called her endlessly, leaving so many messages on her voice mail that he filled the message box to capacity. He had sent bouquet after bouquet of flowers and expensive gifts to Yolanda’s home, hoping that Lauren’s mother would pass them along. Finally, after months of Lauren’s silence, and after all the gifts were returned to his mansion, the calls had trickled off, then stopped completely. Lauren had assumed James had finally understood that she wasn’t coming back. But judging by the way he was behaving now, that obviously wasn’t the case.
“Why don’t you just leave her alone? Just move on!”
“I’d love to do that, sweetheart,” he said tightly, “but you see Lauren and I have a few financial entanglements that need to be taken care of before I can.”
Financial entanglements?
“Tell your sister to give me a call. It’s in her best interest to do so . . . in all your best interests,” he corrected and grinned. “Tell her I have something to give her.”
He then walked off, leaving Stephanie standing alone at the party, completely dumbfounded.
“All right! All right, everyone!” Tisha Baylor said, tapping on the edge of her water glass with a spoon. “Please gather around for the blessing!”
Conversation throughout the first floor gradually quieted as everyone made their way to the living room. Tisha stood next to a baby grand piano that featured several framed photographs of herself and her family on its glossy ebony ledge. Her husband, Derrick, stood next to her with his arm looped around her ample waist. Tisha beckoned the crowd forward.
“First, I would like to thank each and every one for coming today,” Tisha said as she gazed around the room. “We’re so honored that you would all attend our house blessing. Second, Derrick and I would like to thank our wonderful, fabulous real-estate agent, Miss Stephanie Gibbons. Stephanie, please come up front and introduce yourself to everyone!”
Stephanie set aside her wineglass and excused herself through the throng of people. She proudly walked to the front of the room where Tisha and Derrick stood. She turned back around to face the crowd and smiled.
Stephanie noticed a few women in the crowd rolling their eyes heavenward or exchange a look as she waved, but she didn’t care. She knew she and her sisters weren’t going to have any fan clubs started in their honor among the women in Chesterton anytime soon. It was best just to ignore the other women’s looks and comments.
“Stephanie got us this lovely home, and we are ever so grateful for all her hard work!”
“Thank you, Tisha!”
“Now, without further ado, we’d like the Honorable Deacon Montgomery to come forward and do the blessing,” Tisha said.
Stephanie was astonished when the crowd parted and handsome Mr. Goatee from earlier stepped forward.
So he’s a deacon, huh? Well, she hadn’t figured on that one. Interesting, Stephanie thought.
Her eyes momentarily locked with his before his gaze shifted to Tisha and Derrick. He shook Derrick’s hand and gave Tisha a warm hug. He then gave one final heated glance at Stephanie before closing his eyes and lowering his head.
“Let us bow our heads in prayer,” his baritone voice boomed to the room of people. He then began the blessing.
Soon after the prayer, the partygoers slowly began to disperse.
Overall, it had been a good evening for Stephanie. She had handed out about half a dozen business cards and got at least one credible sales lead. As the party finally began to wind down, she made sure to say good-bye to Tisha and Derrick and to avoid running into James again when she noticed him talking to another couple. She had just stepped through the door and was walking down the brick pathway that led to the driveway when she felt someone lightly tap her on the shoulder. She turned to find Mr. Goatee/Deacon Montgomery smiling at her.
Yes, he was one handsome man—and a nicely dressed one at that. Stephanie had to admit that about the men of the church: Their hearts might lie with the Lord, but they certainly didn’t skimp on themselves when it came to their clothing budgets! This guy was decked out with what looked like a custom-tailored suit, gold cuff links, and a pale blue silk tie. She glanced at his shoes.
I don’t believe my eyes! Are those Hermès?
Oh, yes, Deacon Montgomery was most definitely a baller! She was going to have to work her magic on this one.
“So you’re a real-estate agent?” he asked.
“I most certainly am . . . and one of the best in town. Why? Are you looking to buy or sell a home, Deacon Montgomery?”
“Please. Please . . .” The smile on his pecan-colored face broadened and he extended his hand to her. “Call me Hank.”
She shook his large, warm hand and grinned. “Pleased to meet you, Hank.”
“Can I walk you to your car, Miss Gibbons?”
“You can call me Stephanie. And yes, you can walk me to my car. Thank you.”
They strolled down the brick pathway that was bordered by white calla lilies and irises on one side and the Baylor family’s pristine lawn on the other. When they reached the driveway, he loudly cleared his throat.
“You know, I am interested in buying a home . . . maybe even a house that wouldn’t be too far from here. You see, we moved to Chesterton about a year ago—”
“We?” Stephanie asked with a frown. Was the deacon married?
“Yes.” He cleared his throat again. “Me and my . . . my two Jack Russell terriers. They’re like children to me.”
“Oh,” she said, nodding again. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Stephanie had dated married men in the past, but she preferred not to. Husbands came with a lot more drama, and angry wives could be psychotic. He would have to be one special man for her to put up with a crazy housewife.
“I’ve been renting a home for a while, but I think I’m finally ready to purchase something. Lay down some roots.”
“Well,” she said as they approached her BMW, “whenever you’re ready to start your search, please keep me in mind.” She dug into her purse, pulled out one of her business cards, and handed it to him.
“I’d like to start soon.”
She unlocked her car door and cocked an eyebrow. “How soon are we talking about?”
Hank licked his lips and drew closer to her. He languidly let his eyes travel over her, lingering meaningfully on her breasts. Finally, he brought his gaze back level with her eyes.
“As soon as humanly possible,” he whispered. “I’m a man who hates to wait.”
Stephanie tilted her head. So this was how they were going to play it? Well, she could do a few double entendres, too.
“If that’s the case, then I think we need to get started right away. Let’s schedule a meeting to discuss the details. I’m interested in finding out what you like . . . what you’re craving.” She smirked up at him. “You should draw up a list.”
“Oh, you don’t want that.” He shook his head and laughed. “You’d be surprised at what I’d write down.”
“Believe me, honey . . .” She opened her car door and tossed her purse inside. She turned back around to face him and pushed out her chest, giving him quite the eyeful. “Nothing would surprise me.”
“Nothing?”
“I cater to many tastes. It’s my specialty.”
He shivered.
“Don’t be scared, Hank. What’s that old saying? You never know until you try. Maybe I can
give you everything you need.”
“Everything?”
“And more.” She winked. “I’m here to service you . . . and trust me, I aim to please. I’ll do it on my knees if I have to.”
He hungrily licked his lips again. Stephanie could practically see the kinky fantasies that danced in his head.
“How about dinner next Sunday at eight o’clock? I’ll bring my list with me.”
“Sure! You can pick me up at the address on my card.”
He nodded and smiled, tucking the card into his inner suit-jacket pocket. “I’ll see you at eight o’clock.”
“I look forward to it, Hank.”
Stephanie watched as he walked down to the end of the driveway and then made a right. Inside, she did a little jig.
Her sisters could battle over Cris Weaver if they wanted to. Meanwhile, she would focus on lower-hanging fruit and put her efforts into seducing the wealthy Deacon Hank Montgomery.
Chapter 5
“So explain to me why this is going to take three more weeks?” Cris Weaver asked as he crossed his arms over his broad chest and glowered down at Bill, his general contractor.
The portly man began to fidget. He adjusted his baseball cap and hoisted his jeans under his round belly. Sweat stains had formed earlier on his gray T-shirt around his belly button and under his armpits in the hot sun, but he was sweating even more now under the lavalike heat of Cris’s glare. Standing there, those stains seemed to grow by another two inches.
He had a right to be scared. At that moment, Cris looked less like an annoyed homeowner who was bitching out his contractor and more like an angry Samoan warrior ready to do battle.
“Well, the custom cabinets won’t arrive for another week, Mr. Weaver,” Bill nearly shouted over the clamor of buzz saws and hammers. “They’re late. I can’t make them come any faster than they already are. We can’t outline the granite countertops in your kitchen until we get the cabinets in. So we gotta wait two or three more weeks before your kitchen’s done.”