Blueprint for Love

by Chanta Jefferson Rand

  “Admit it. You’re anti-social.”

  “You know what would really help me out?”

  “Why do I not want to hear this?”

  “If you could pick up a dress for me…”

  “Aw, hell no, Ronnie. I have a date tonight. I don’t have time to go shopping for you.”

  “You could do it on your extended lunch break tomorrow.”

  Olivia burst out laughing. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess so.”

  She sauntered out of the room. The strong smell of her musk-scented perfume lingered behind. Ronnie wasn’t sure which was more irritating, the smell of Olivia’s eau-du-toilet bath or the image of Vic Romano burning in her mind.

  Moments later, the intercom buzzed. “Edward Miller is ready,” Olivia chirped.

  “Send him in,” Ronnie answered.

  Ronnie breathed a sigh of relief. Back to business. She had a long day of interviews. She needed a crew for an important upcoming job. The reputation of Three Sisters Construction was on the line. She had to hire men above reproach. She couldn’t afford to be distracted by a handsome face or a body that made her think of the lonely nights she’d spent since her husband, Frank’s death six years ago. She didn’t need Vic Romano as a constant reminder of the passion she was missing in life. Thank God, she would never see him again.

  TWO

  Dusk in Miami was a magical event. The sky dipped low on the horizon, casting purple shadows on the skyline. Ronnie had a condo by the beach and she loved watching the sunset. She wished she were doing that now instead of driving her BMW on a near-dark street. She should have given herself more time like Olivia suggested, but today’s interviews hadn’t gone any better than yesterday’s. She simply had to find the staff to complete her crew. Three Sisters had contracted to start construction on an outlet mall at the end of the week and she still had numerous slots to fill, including the foreman position.

  So far, none of the men she interviewed had the skill set to match what she was looking for. Well, that wasn’t totally true. There was one man. Vic Romano. His résumé indicated he was more than prepared for the position. But it was too late now. In fact, she’d told Olivia to send out his rejection letter the same day he’d left her office.

  She was beginning to wonder about the wisdom of that decision. In light of her current predicament, perhaps she should’ve just hired him. No, she would go with her original gut feeling. Her intuition was always right. Romano was bad news.

  She’d thought about him often since yesterday. That, in itself, was an anomaly. She hadn’t been attracted to any man in years. Well, she wasn’t exactly attracted to Vic. She had urges. Urges she wouldn’t mind if he took care of.

  Girl, you don’t have time for urges. You are too busy helping to run this business.

  Besides, the last time she’d had an urge, she’d sought comfort in the arms of a man she ended up marrying for all of the wrong reasons. Nope, urges were definitely not good.

  She steered her car along the dark road and sped toward her destination. Normally, she did not speed, but tonight called for her to put the pedal to the metal. She only had thirty minutes to make it to her destination. Candace would have her hide if she was late.

  As if on cue, Ronnie’s cell phone rang. Her heart practically leapt out of her chest, fearing she’d have to make up an excuse to her sister. She was relieved to see her friend Quatara’s number on the brightly lit display.

  “Where are you?” Quatara’s panicked voice filled the line.

  “You sound like Candace,” Ronnie chastised. “I’m on my way.”

  “We only have about twenty minutes before Candace speaks. I’m getting antsy.”

  “You? I’m the one introducing her to a crowd of three hundred people.”

  “More like two-fifty.”

  “Great. The other fifty were lucky enough to be able to stay home tonight.”

  “Whatever. All I know is you better get your butt here in time.”

  “I’m on my way,” Ronnie repeated. “You’d be proud of me. I’ll be wearing a stunning, black beaded dress.”

  “Ooh, who’s the designer?”

  “You know I don’t pay attention to stuff like that.”

  Ronnie heard Quatara smack her lips on the other end of the line. “You had Olivia go shopping for you again, didn’t you?”

  “Contrary to your misconceived and judgmental opinion, I am capable of finding my own dress.”

  “Yeah, right. Poor Olivia. She has to take your calls, buy your clothes, and run your errands. What next? It’s a wonder that woman doesn’t come over and cook for you, too.”

  “That’s why they have restaurants. If I didn’t eat out so much, how would those people make a living?”

  Ronnie avoided the kitchen at all costs. She could barely boil water. She didn’t deny it. Last year, she’d even thought about turning her kitchen into a home office. Quatara nearly had a heart attack when she’d told her.

  “Hold on. Bud wants to talk to you.”

  Bud was Quatara’s husband. He was also a good friend she’d gone to high school with. In fact, she’d met Quatara through him.

  “Where you at?” Bud demanded.

  Oh, Lord. She didn’t need a lecture from both of them. “I took a short cut.”

  “You and your short cuts. Maybe you wouldn’t have had to do that if you would have left the office on time.”

  “I know. I don’t need your lecture.”

  “Trust me. Three Sisters Construction is going to be okay if you take off an hour or two early.”

  “Candace is putting a lot of faith in me. I have to get these men hired for the crew.”

  “Woman, you’d better—”

  Beep!

  Ronnie glanced at her phone. The low battery indicator was blinking.

  “I hate this phone,” she complained. “It drains battery juice like a vampire sucking blood.”

  Bud laughed. “I told you to get a new phone. You’ve had that dinosaur for too long.”

  “I meant to do it last month when my wireless contract ended, but I’ve been too busy.”

  “I hate to say this, but you’re going to work yourself into an early grave.”

  “Don’t start with that again, Bud. Put Quatara back on the phone.”

  In seconds, Quatara was back on the line. She picked up where Bud left off. “You are working too damn hard, Ronnie. Your personal life is in need of some major reconstruction. You haven’t had a date in years. And you don’t have any fun.”

  Ronnie wished she could cover her ears, but then she wouldn’t be able to drive with both hands.

  “I’m having fun tonight,” Ronnie declared.

  “Going to Candace’s speech for some uppity business folks is not my idea of fun, Ronnie!”

  Ronnie laughed. “Then, why are you going?”

  “To make sure you get your tail there.”

  “Always looking out for me. I’ll see you soon.”

  Ronnie hung up, smiling. She couldn’t be too mad. At least someone cared about her. Quatara had the best of intentions. The moment they met over ten years ago, Ronnie knew they were kindred spirits. It was a time when Ronnie really needed a friend too. Her marriage was already showing signs of strain. Her husband, Frank was always deployed somewhere, and whenever he did return home, it was as though they were strangers. The love was gone. The passion was definitely gone. It was a wonder their son, Jovan was born. It happened one of those nights when she was feeling sorry for herself and Frank was feeling horny.

  What was it called? Mercy Sex?

  When she found out she was pregnant, she was depressed for eight months. It was the second time around for her. The first had ended in a miscarriage. She was devastated. While most women would have been happy for a second chance at having a baby, she dreaded it. To face another pregnancy alone was petrifying. Of course, Frank was on a tour of duty for most of the time.

  She figured maybe they could stay together for Jovan’s
sake. She was willing to give it a try. She promised when Frank returned, she would work harder at their marriage. But he never came back. He died in service to his Country. It seemed death shrouded each of her pregnancies. Only this time, she had a beautiful baby boy. God had blessed her.

  Thankfully, those dark days of depression were now behind her.

  Without warning, a loud pop punched the air. Her Beemer lurched to the right and back again, like an amusement park ride. She held the steering wheel in a death grip.

  “What the hell—?”

  Thinking she’d hit something in the road, she slowed down and pulled over to the shoulder. When she jumped out to inspect the damage, she noticed the rear tire on the driver’s side was flat.

  She groaned. What else could go wrong tonight? She was already running late. It was getting darker with each passing moment. Instead of feeling inconvenienced, she was scared. She’d never had to change a flat tire before. She had no idea where to start.

  Why wasn’t I more prepared?

  She fought against the tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Crying would not resolve the situation. She reached for her cell phone. She would call roadside assistance. She glanced at the battery indicator. It was dangerously low. She was saving her last bit of juice for an emergency.

  This definitely constituted an emergency.

  She thumbed through her phone contacts until she found the number.

  “Thank you for calling ABC Towing,” a feminine voice chirped. “How may I—?”

  Suddenly, the line went dead.

  Dammit! Her luck had finally run out on her.

  A flat tire.

  A dead battery.

  A dark road.

  Could things get any worse?

  She grumbled aloud, “This is all because I didn’t leave work in a timely manner.”

  Now she was paying the price.

  She heard an eerie howl that made her jump out of her sensible office shoes.

  What was that? A coyote? A wolf? There are no wolves in Miami! Are there?

  She placed a nervous palm over her heart. She should probably just wait in her car. But wait for what? With no phone and no possibility of help, she would have to sit here until daylight or until another car came along.

  Just as the depressing thought entered her mind, she saw a pair of headlights in the distance. She watched with trepidation as the car came closer. It looked like the vehicle was slowing down. Please Lord, she prayed, don’t let it be a serial killer. Please, let it be some helpful elderly gentleman who’s harmless and knows how to change a tire.

  Ronnie held her breath as the car came to a stop near the front of her Beemer, on the opposite side of the road. From the size of the massive shadow, she could tell it was an SUV, but she had no idea what make and model. The driver side door opened, and a tall figure emerged. He walked toward her. In the dim light, Ronnie had to squint to see the man approaching.

  Broad shoulders.

  Charcoal wavy hair.

  She knew that face!

  Her breath caught in her throat as she suppressed the urge to groan aloud. On one hand, she was relieved it wasn’t a stranger. On the other hand, this was the last person she wanted to rescue her.

  The man’s eyes widened when he saw her. He threw her a cocky grin. “Ms. Jones. Fancy meeting you again.”

  Vic could tell by the look on her face, Ronnie ‘Ice Queen’ Jones was not pleased to see him. The feeling was mutual. He was on his way to take care of some important business. The last thing he needed was to be held up by a woman who looked down her nose at him.

  “Car broke down?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “No. I’ve got a flat.”

  As he stepped closer, she visibly trembled beneath his gaze. She was wearing another pantsuit, and the weather wasn’t cool enough for her to be chilly. So, he assumed he was the reason for her discomfort.

  If he were a woman stranded on a dark road, he’d probably be apprehensive too.

  Don’t feel sorry for her. She wasn’t feeling sorry for you when she turned you down flat.

  He shook off his negative thoughts. Not even time spent in the joint had hardened him to the point of not caring. Despite their rocky introduction, she needed his help. He bit back a grin. For all her high and mighty ways, there was something Ms. Ronnie Jones couldn’t do for herself. She needed him.

  He’d change her flat and be on his way. It was the decent thing to do.

  “Pop the trunk,” he ordered. “I’ll change your tire.”

  “Oh, thank you so much. That is so nice of you.”

  “Yeah, I’m that type of guy—nice.”

  Ronnie joined him at the rear of the car. Her floral-scented perfume played havoc with his senses. He opened the trunk and pulled out a black sequined dress encased in a clear, plastic garment bag. Wordlessly, he passed it to her. Then, he searched the roomy depths of the trunk. The cavity was big enough to store a dead body. He peeled back the carpet and frowned.

  “Where’s your spare?” he asked.

  She stood beside him. “I don’t know.”

  “It should be right here. Have you had a flat tire recently?”

  “Yeah, right now.”

  He shot her an annoyed look. “I mean before tonight.”

  “No.”

  He slammed the lid of the trunk down. “Without a spare tire, I can’t help you.”

  “What does that mean?” she demanded.

  “It means you ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “How is it even possible that I don’t have a spare? This is a new car!”

  He shrugged. “It’s your car. I don’t know, but in my experience, all luxury cars have a spare. Looks like somebody gypped you at the dealership. Have you tried calling OnStar for a tow?”

  She gave him a sheepish look.

  “Let me guess,” he interjected. “It’s disabled.”

  She nodded. “I didn’t think I needed it. It was an unnecessary expense.”

  “I guess that’s how rich folks stay rich. Cutting out all the extra costs.”

  “I’m not rich.”

  He glanced at her designer shoes and gold jewelry. “Okay, whatever you say.” If that wasn’t rich, he knew plenty of folks who wouldn’t mind being ‘Ronnie Jones’ poor. “Is there someone else you can call?” he asked. “A roadside service? A friend?”

  “My battery on my cell phone is dead.”

  He sucked his teeth, making a disapproving sound. “Good thing I came along when I did. You are totally unprepared for a flat tire on a dark, lonely stretch of road.”

  She smirked. “Can I use your phone? I’m late for a very important event and I need to let someone know.”

  He pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans and passed it to her. He watched with interest as she dialed a number and then hung up, frustration clouding her pretty features.

  “Dammit! There’s no answer,” she said.

  He grinned. “Not the Ms. Jones cursing? The model of propriety.”

  “This model wants to kick something.”

  “And violence too? What would your clients say?”

  She ignored him and tried dialing two more numbers. He waited as she left a voicemail letting someone named Marlowe know that she was running late.

  She punched in another number without success.

  “Looks like nothing is going your way tonight, Ms. Jones. I know how you feel. I had a day like that earlier this week. Has that ever happened to you? You have a hopeful day and one person comes along and pisses all over your parade?”

  He knew she knew he was referring to the day of the interview.

  “I should have left earlier,” she moaned, obviously oblivious to his feelings. “Then, I wouldn’t have had to have taken this short cut.”

  She really was too caught up in her own drama to focus on what he was saying. He glanced around at the dark outlines of shrubbery along the ground. The plants looked like little monste
rs that could come alive at any time. He took this road all the time. He’d never given any thought to how dark it was. Standing in the glow of the high beams of his Explorer made him realize how vulnerable a person could be out here.

  “You shouldn’t be taking this short cut,” he said.

  “Why not? You’re taking it.”

  “I’m a man.”

  Her full mouth transformed into a scowl. “There you go with that sexist attitude again.”

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s safer for me. If I get stranded, nobody’s gonna tangle with me. A beautiful woman alone at night is a different story.”

  “Is that your way of paying me a backhanded compliment?”

  “Maybe.”

  She blew out a frustrated breath. “Okay, listen. There’s only one solution here. You’re going to have to take me to this event.”

  “What? Lady, you must be crazy. I need to get somewhere ASAP.”

  “Well, so do I. And I’m headed in the opposite direction.”

  He shook his head. “No can do. My event is extremely important.”

  “So is mine,” she battled back.

  “I don’t care if you’re meeting the Pope. I’m on a mission. I’m due to pick up a young lady in twenty minutes.”

  The crestfallen look on her face almost touched his heart. Almost. He was sorry for her predicament, but he couldn’t screw up tonight. Besides, he’d been planning this for weeks. Ms. Jones was obviously used to flying by the seat of her pantsuit.

  “Sorry,” he told her, “but failure to plan on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part.” He delivered the line he’d heard on some TV show.

  A resolute look of determination flickered in her eyes. “I’ll flip you for it.”

  “Flip a coin?”

  She smirked. “Well, I certainly can’t flip your body weight.”

  His heart stuttered a beat as he conjured a mental image of her trying to flip him, tangled in silk sheets, her long legs wrapped around his torso. No, she couldn’t flip him, but it would be fun as hell to let her try.