Poor Collin had obviously undressed her himself. She was wearing one of his Ralph Lauren pajama tops.
“Owwwww.” Could her head possibly hurt any worse?
Her loud moaning gave Elton John reason for another eardrum-piercing yap before he jumped off the bed and scurried out of the room. As slight as the movement from the tiny terror was, the parade turned the corner and marched straight to the center of her stomach.
Annie managed to pull herself up, then hobbled in the direction of Collin’s adjoining bathroom, hand over her mouth and a searing pain radiating from her right foot all the way up to her periwinkle blue thong. But it wasn’t until she bent over at the toilet that she screamed loud enough to bring Collin running to the bathroom door, a terrified look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” He had an apron tied around his slim waist and a dishtowel in his hand.
“That,” Annie said, forgetting her nausea as she pointed down at her right foot. “Please tell me that isn’t a . . . a . . .”
Collin looked down at her foot, then back up at her. “A toetoo? Or at least that’s what you insisted on calling it last night when you decided to let some stranger make a permanent mark on your body with an ink-filled needle.”
Annie was mortified. She sank down onto the toilet seat, staring at the bright red heart tattooed on her sore little piggy. The little piggy next to her big toe, gone-to-market piggy. The little piggy that was supposed to stay home!
“You took me to a tattoo parlor?” she shrieked.
“Don’t you dare try to blame it on me.” Collin lifted his nose in the air and slung the dishtowel over his shoulder. “After enough tequila shooters, you were the one who insisted those wearing-your-heart-on-your-sleeve days were over. That you wanted your heart tattooed permanently on your toe so another bastard like Dave wouldn’t be able to find it.”
Annie squeezed her eyes shut, massaging her temples again. “You promised you wouldn’t let me drink tequila.”
“I didn’t let you. When I left you at the bar, you were quietly sipping your glass of white wine and telling that lesbian couple sitting next to you how lucky they were that they didn’t have to put up with low-life lying cowards like Dave.”
“You said you wouldn’t leave me, either,” Annie reminded him.
“I didn’t leave you. I was on the dance floor. Six feet away. And the next thing I knew, you and your new best friends were having a pound-’em-back, we-hate-men tequila shooter contest.”
“And then what?” Annie wailed. “You let the lesbians hold me down and tattoo a freaking heart on my toe?”
Collin rolled his eyes. “Noooo. You got the tattoo at Amazing Al’s Tattoo Parlor in Little Five Points.”
Little Five Points? Annie gasped—not an area of Atlanta she or Collin usually frequented. “What in the hell were you thinking taking me to Little Five Points?”
Collin frowned. “You mean what was I thinking when you decided you were going to Little Five Points with or without me?”
When Annie frowned, he said, “You wanted to go to the funkiest place in Atlanta, you kept saying. You kept insisting that Little Five Points was better than San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury district on its worst day.”
“You couldn’t have just driven me home?”
“Since you were already in the car with the lesbians, and I wasn’t the one driving, not hardly.”
Collin walked to the linen closet, grabbed a washcloth, ran it under the cold water faucet several times, then handed it over. “Here. Wash that mascara off your face. I’m having flashbacks from my Kiss obsession days. You look like Gene Simmons, bad hair and all.”
Annie took the washcloth and buried her face into the coolness, then placed the damp cloth on her forehead. “Please tell me you at least chose a clean tattoo parlor.”
“Yes, the tattoo parlor was clean,” Collin said. “And I made sure the tattoo needle was sterile. But I didn’t choose the place. You hooked up with Amazing Al on your own. At the salsa bar.”
Annie’s head jerked up. “The salsa bar?”
Oh God. Bits and pieces were beginning to come back to her. Amazing Al. Yes, she did remember him. He was a skinny little guy who barely came to her five-foot-seven shoulder, with a ring through his nose and a peace sign tattooed in the middle of his forehead. But God could that man dance.
“I see I’m not the only one having flashbacks,” Collin chided. “So? Now do you remember why you were so adamant about going to the salsa bar in Little Five Points? You were going to find the perfect guy to play Joe Video, you kept insisting.” He paused. “This is a direct tequila quote from you, Annie: ‘I want to find my own Joe Video before Matt drags some bubba into art and filming wearing bib overalls and no shirt and with a front tooth missing.’ Yes, I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how you put it.”
Annie winced as a smooth, chiseled, and handsome face instantly appeared in her mind. Hunkability factor right off the charts. Tall, muscled, ink black hair. Chocolate brown eyes. A low, sexy voice laced with a thick Cuban accent. “The bartender,” Annie finally whispered.
Collin nodded. He folded his arms across his chest rather snootily as he leaned against the bathroom doorjamb. “But not just any bartender, Annie. The bartender whose family owns the salsa bar. The bartender you told everyone there you were going to make an instant star when he played Joe Video. And the same bartender whose two older brothers got so excited at your wonderful news, they not only bought a round of drinks for the house, they also hoisted you on top of the bar to make a toast exclusively to you.”
Annie buried her face into the washcloth again, trying to stop the chanting—Maravilloso, Annie! Bravo, Annie!
“Oh, in case you’re still wondering,” Collin said, “it had to be sometime after the toast and during the merengue that you talked Amazing Al into opening his tattoo parlor around the corner so you could get your hidden-heart toetoo.”
Annie didn’t know whether to cry or throw up. At the moment she was close to doing both. “Collin, I am so sorry,” she said, the tears in her eyes genuine. “There’s no worse punishment than taking care of a drunk friend. I owe you. Big-time.”
She was hoping for a comforting I-forgive-you hug, but Collin said instead, “Yes, you do owe me big-time. And that’s why you can’t say one word about me inviting Matt over to have brunch with us at eleven.”
Annie put her hand over her mouth, unsure how much longer she could avoid the inevitable with that bit of news.
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Collin continued. “Matt’s already agreed to come. He thinks I’m right. You need to clear the air between you before we start working on Joe Video come Monday morning.”
That does it.
Annie slid off the toilet seat and lifted the lid as Collin scooted out of the bathroom.
He remained outside the bathroom door long enough to say, “I’m headed to your apartment now for that two-hundred-dollar meal we aren’t going to waste whether you like it or not. I’ll get you some clean clothes while I’m there. So, that means you have about an hour to puke, take a shower, and pull yourself together before Matt shows up.”
Annie groaned.
The thought of facing Matt was bad enough.
But the reminder of those damn rotten fish eggs helped her successfully accomplish the first of the Saturday morning assignments Collin had just given her.
The one thing Enrique Romero had wanted since childhood was to be an actor. A dream his sainted padre, God rest his soul, had put to an end when he slapped Rico’s eighteen-year-old cheeks and shamed him in front of the family by saying, “You will forget the acting. And you will work hard in the taberna with your faithful brothers to provide for this family. Se acaba el tema!” The subject is finished.
Being the youngest male, and also a faithful son, Rico had never again thought about doing anything other than what Papa expected. Until last evening when a beautiful stranger walked into their family-owned Cabaña Club.
; Un bebé caliente!
She was one hot babe.
She had given Rico a wake-up call with the first curl of her polished finger. For the first time since dear Papa’s departure to heaven only a few months earlier, Rico realized he could finally do exactly as he pleased.
He flexed his muscles, striking several poses as he admired himself in the bathroom mirror. The loud banging and the insults his younger sister screamed through the bathroom door didn’t even faze him.
“Cerdo arrogante. Femenino. Hombre gay.”
Rico only smiled. He didn’t consider himself an arrogant pig. Nor was he the least bit effeminate. And he certainly wasn’t gay. Most of the available—and some not-so-available—women around Little Five Points could certainly attest to that fact.
He struck a few more poses, then reached out and ran his finger over the raised letters of the business card he’d temporarily stuck between the bathroom mirror and its metal frame. That Annie. She definitely was a looker. But her business address impressed him more.
Bank of America Plaza.
Tallest building in the entire Southeast.
How many times had he gazed toward downtown? Looking at that building standing tall and straight against the Atlanta skyline, its twenty-four-karat gold spire glowing both day and night? He had looked at that building wondering what his life would have been like had he not been born the son of an immigrant who ruled his family with an iron fist. A man too proud of his heritage to abandon old customs that should have been put aside when he brought his family from Cuba to America when Rico was fourteen years old.
But those times were in the past.
Now he, Rico Romero, had been summoned to that very building first thing on Monday morning so he could take his first step into stardom. Destiny had come knocking. And now that it had, Rico intended to open the door wide and embrace his new future.
Unfortunately, his sister had also come knocking—again on the bathroom door.
Too bad. He would get out of the bathroom when he was good and ready and not one second before.
Still admiring himself, Rico ran a comb through his thick black hair, then flashed a smile at the mirror, proud of his even white teeth. Then he turned his head from one side to the other, checking out his profile.
“This man is going to be my Antonio Banderas,” the pretty woman with hair the color of a summer sunset had told her blond male friend when she’d pointed in his direction.
Well, he had news for this Annie. She was going to be his Melanie Griffith—his ticket out of Little Five Points and into a lifestyle enjoyed by the rich and famous.
Rico flexed his muscles again, thinking how his two older brothers had rubbed their greedy hands together at the prospect of his fame and fortune. “We will postpone announcing your engagement for now,” his oldest brother, Ernesto, had declared. “I will meet with your intended’s uncle and explain. And then you will do what this fancy lady says.”
Ernesto had said this, then slapped him upside the head after they closed the bar last night. Manuel had nodded in agreement like the spineless puppet that he was.
“You let this woman make you a big star in this city,” Ernesto had told him. “Our pockets will overflow with money and our business will go derecho a traves de la azotea.” Ernesto had pointed his finger straight to the ceiling.
Rico spit into the sink. “Bastardos.”
Little minds with no ambition, his brothers.
Always causing him trouble.
It had been Ernesto, taking his new role as head of the family seriously, who had declared shortly after Papa’s death that it was time Rico should marry and start a family. And still following old customs, Ernesto had picked his bride for him, the niece of a man who had prospered in America and had become relatively wealthy like his own family. A niece who had been sent from Cuba to live with her uncle so her prosperous uncle could find her a prosperous young husband.
For weeks, Rico had protested this marriage.
Until he came face-to-face with sexy Helena Gonzalez.
Rico felt himself stir with desire at the thought of Helena now. She was the kind of woman no man could resist. All softness and curves. All sweet and giving. But passionate? Demasiado caliente dirigir! She was too hot to handle, that one.
Unless your name happens to be Rico Romero, Rico thought, smiling to himself. There had never been a woman born too hot for him to handle.
Helena he could handle. Even about the postponement of their engagement. It was the uncle that made Rico worry.
Ernesto had assured him the uncle would not be concerned that the engagement was postponed temporarily. He would have to trust Ernesto about this. He really had no choice. Unless he wanted to end up an old man, still swabbing bar for his demanding older brothers who were just like his papa. Everything for the family. Always for the family.
Rico turned around, looking in the mirror at the scratches on his back. Helena had put them there during their lovemaking the night before. Her love for him was just as fierce as her passion.
Helena would wait for him.
Of that, he was certain.
Just as Annie, with her connections, would help him climb the stairway to success.
“Nada perder, todo a ganar,” Rico said aloud, proud to be using his dear papa’s favorite expression.
Nothing to lose, everything to gain.
Matt waited for the security guard crossing arm to lift, then drove his newly washed black Jeep Cherokee out of the parking lot situated below his high-rise Midtown apartment building. His newly washed classic 1956 white Corvette was still sitting in the reserved space he paid extra for every month, its thick canvas cover secured safely in place.
He only drove that baby on special occasions.
Going to Collin’s to clear the air with Annie wasn’t one of them.
He headed down Colonial Homes Drive in the direction of historic Inman Park and Collin’s circa l890 two-story Victorian home that old family money had bought before the turn of the century. The same old family money that provided Collin with monthly trust fund stipends so staggering, keeping the old house in tip-top shape didn’t put so much as a wrinkle in Collin’s fair-skinned brow.
Matt had often wondered why Collin bothered working at all. Especially since he would solely inherit the Adair Carpet Mills fortune when his widowed mother passed on. The estimated value of the estate today was somewhere in excess of seventy-five million dollars. Matt knew this only because Collin’s rather flamboyant “Mumsey,” as Collin called her, let you know exactly with whom you were dealing.
Matt had even had the nerve to ask Collin once why he bothered with a paycheck that was far less than any of his monthly trust fund checks. Collin’s indignant reply had been, “I’m not some kind of loser, Matt. I intend to work for a living just like everyone else.”
Collin’s family money explained why the constant power struggle had always been strictly between Matt and Annie. Unlike Collin, he and Annie weren’t so privileged. They were both hungry for financial freedom. That hunger translated into getting to the top and staying there. And getting to the top and staying there was the reason he’d been so eager to take Collin up on his invitation for brunch.
Dinner with J.B. the previous evening had been the equivalent of dangling a juicy carrot in front of Matt’s wascally-wabbit-that-he-was face. He only hoped Annie’s mouth would salivate with equal expectancy when they had their little heart-to-heart that Collin had stepped in and arranged for them.
Of course, there was a good chance she was going to have the big hangover Collin expected when she finally rolled out of bed—something she still hadn’t done when Collin tracked him down on his cell phone during Matt’s second trip to the car wash at 9 a.m.
According to Collin, Annie had gotten pretty trashed. Which certainly wasn’t like her. But who could really blame her? First, she’d had the big Dave disappointment. Then she’d had the big praise disappointment from J.B. Tough break. For anyone.
>
Matt knew he’d have to tread carefully to make Annie see the light. He would say, yes, that it had been wrong of J.B. to give him all the credit for her idea. And yes, life wasn’t fair, it sucked most of the time. But he’d also point out that it was a dog-eat-dog business world out there. That like it or not, there was an unwritten chain of command the business world followed as faithfully as America followed Monday Night Football.
Yeah. Good analogy.
He’d point out that J.B. himself would ultimately be hailed the all-mighty video game king if Joe Video did turn out to a big success. Certainly not a lowly department head like him, nor a lowly creative assistant like Annie. The only way their names would ever pass through lips in the video game industry is if Joe Video became a big flop.
So, basically, they had two choices.
They could either work together for success. Or they could go down in flames as the two idiots who cost Paragon big bucks with a video soul mate game that never left the shelves.
Matt smiled.
After he got Annie straight on the whole “life isn’t fair” scenario, he would hopefully lift her spirits with the good news. And the good news was that he’d never seen J.B. so excited about any game idea during the ten years he’d worked for the man. In fact, J.B. was borderline jubilant.
He just wasn’t sure how he was going to break it to her that J.B.’s excitement had little to do with the game itself. It was the age-old man versus woman controversy that J.B. believed equaled enough buzz factor to have consumers eager to buy the game before the first copy was ready for distribution.
“The world thrives on controversy, Matt, don’t ever doubt it,” J.B. had told him.
“Controversy,” Matt mumbled to himself, thinking about the controversy that would damn near explode when he told Annie the marketing strategy J.B. had in mind for the two of them.
Yeah. That’s when the fistfight is going to start.
He felt like a real jerk, but Matt halfway hoped Annie did have a wicked hangover. He needed any advantage he could get when he delivered the giant reality check J.B had written out with both of their names on it.
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