Tropical Fantasy. Monica McKayhan
she boasted, “and I make my own crust.”
“Really? That’s impressive,” he said. “Are you part Italian?”
“No,” she answered with a laugh. “What’s your specialty?”
“Fried chicken, fried fish, fried pork chops...”
“Don’t you know that fried foods are bad for your health? That’s why everyone in the black community suffers with high blood pressure.”
“I know, but it’s so darn good,” he admitted. “My arteries are probably already clogged with fried fish grease.”
“You should try baking your chicken, fish and pork chops,” Sasha said. “It’s much healthier.”
“I’ll consider that,” he said. “Maybe you can show me how it’s done.”
Sasha realized that she’d let her guard down and needed to put her wall of resistance back up. She said, “I doubt it.”
* * *
“Velcome to da Bahamas,” said the chocolate-brown man as he swung her door open and held it for her while she climbed out of the car. He wore a red concierge uniform, with a name tag that read Robert. Robert’s graying hair and beard seemed to be a little matted, but his eyes were a pair of the friendliest ones that Sasha had ever seen. “Right this way, please.”
He escorted her through the massive lobby, with its buffed floors and modern furniture. Women in short skirts moved their hips to the sounds of Caribbean music being played by a live band. As the music filled the air, a young woman greeted her with a tray filled with beverages.
“Rum punch, my lady?” the woman asked in a soft voice.
Sasha checked her watch. It was nine-thirty in the morning, a bit early for something harder than orange juice.
“Sure. What the heck?” said Sasha as she grabbed a glass and headed for the counter to check in.
A group of women dressed in bikinis and giggling like teenagers headed in her direction.
“Sasha! You made it.” Bridget was wearing a white bikini with a blue sarong draped across her hips. She gave Sasha a tight squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here. Your mother is really working my nerves—between her and Aunt Frances, I don’t know who’s worse. But you’re here now. You can run some interference for me. Give them someone else to drive crazy.”
“Hey, Sasha.” Their cousin Vanessa popped up from among the crowd and hugged her. “Girl, we have to do something with this hair of yours.” She brushed Sasha’s bangs from her face.
“Our hair appointment is at eleven. Will you be checked in and ready to go in an hour?” Bridget asked.
“I’ll do my best.” Sasha managed a smile and then caught a glimpse of Vince.
He was engaged in a conversation with the concierge, and she couldn’t help but stare. Her eyes traced his hairline and then made their way down to the curve of his strong cheekbone.
“Did you hear me, Sash?” Bridget was asking.
“No, I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Was Vince the perfect gentleman? I warned him to be nice.”
“Oh, yeah. He was just...fine,” Sasha said, “but next time, I can get a cab. It wasn’t necessary for him to come.”
“He insisted,” Bridget explained. “Besides, he rented that stupid car and thinks he knows his way around the island.”
“He can pick me up anytime, anywhere with his fine self,” said Deja, Bridget’s friend since elementary school. Even with a full figure, she still managed to squeeze an oversized set of caramel-colored breasts into a yellow bikini top. “He doesn’t even know how fine he is.”
“Don’t be so brazen, Deja,” said Kim, Bridget’s tall, slender friend wearing a one-piece bathing suit. She pulled her long sandy-colored hair into a ponytail. “Less is definitely more.”
“Sasha, we’ll meet you here in an hour. We’re taking a water taxi to the salon,” said Meka, Bridget’s other maid of honor. She was carrying a notepad and following along on Bridget’s heels.
“Fine, I’m gonna get a shower and relax for a minute. I’ll see you all later.” Sasha smiled and then took a long sip of rum punch.
Chapter 2
The view was breathtaking—a picturesque scene of turquoise waters and white sand. Sasha wanted nothing more than to slip into a sundress—one of six that she’d purchased at Macy’s last summer—and relax on her patio for the rest of the morning. She opened the blinds in the living room of her condo to let the sunshine in, and then hit the power button on the stereo. She slipped her shoes from her aching feet and brushed her toes against the red carpet. The decor in the condo was beautiful—a mixture of tropical colors: red, blue, yellow and green. She danced her way into the bathroom and started the shower.
As the warm water began to cascade over her body, thoughts of Vince popped into her head. What was he doing there—in her head? Especially when she didn’t particularly like him. He’d been rude and insulting. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get his face out of her mind. He was sexy and had a great smile—the two things that she found most appealing about a man. The two things that were at the top of her list, just below intelligent, educated and successful. But he couldn’t be all of those things without substance. He needed a heart and soul. He had to have character and love his mama. And he couldn’t be boring. He needed a sense of humor, and he had to be romantic.
She knew it was a lot to ask, which is why she’d been single for so long. She wouldn’t settle again. Not as she had with Kevin. He’d been sexy all right—taught her to explore her own body and to let go of her inhibitions. He was even intelligent and educated, but that’s where it stopped. His soul was empty, and he had been selfish. He’d hung on to her coattail for years with talk of doing something with his degree in architecture, but never following through. She’d funded too many business ventures that had nothing to do with architecture, and all had failed to produce any substantial income. But she loved him, and for that reason she hadn’t seen any of the red flags.
She stepped out of the shower and wrapped the thick robe around her body. The local radio station was playing a Rihanna tune and Sasha sang along. She pulled her laptop out of its bag and logged on, deciding to answer a few emails before meeting Bridget and the crew in the lobby. She decided to give Keira a call and see if she’d received any messages.
“You are on vacation, Miss Thing. Why are you calling me?” Keira asked, with attitude. “Do you know how expensive international calls are?”
“I’m just checking in,” Sasha explained. “Anything going on?”
“Nothing I can’t handle. You having a good time?”
“The weather is beautiful, and I love my condo,” said Sasha.
“But?” Keira detected something in her voice.
“I need to be in Savannah for that retreat. I feel like Kirby’s up to something.”
Kirby. The Antichrist is how Sasha often described her. She came on board soon after Sasha had been promoted to senior associate. She had been an intern—fresh out of law school. Sasha had taken Kirby under her wing and taught her everything she knew. She immediately liked Kirby because she was energetic and ambitious, yet modest and conservative. She was like a sponge, absorbing everything, and Sasha loved her enthusiasm. She wasn’t even surprised when Kirby was quickly promoted to junior associate. But soon after Sasha noticed a change in Kirby—her long conservative skirts soon became four inches shorter and her blouses became more tight-fitting and showed more cleavage than necessary. And she was spending way too much time with the firm’s senior partner, Kyle Johnson. With the two of them behind closed doors, it