Nyguard exchanged business cards with the men and shared beauty tips with the women. I sure know how to pick them, he thought, when he saw Alexis throw her arms around a swarthy man dressed in a hot-dog costume.
Glad she was gone, he turned back to his friend. “Know anything about Tangela’s date?”
“Name’s Leonard Butkiss. He’s a plumber.”
Warrick chuckled. “You’re yanking my chain.”
“I couldn’t have come up with something that funny if I tried.”
Both men laughed.
“What does this Butkiss guy look like?”
“What does he look like?” Quinten mimicked, shaking his head. Scowling, he reached over and plucked the S embellished on the front of his friend’s costume. “A superhero, my ass. You should have gone with something more feminine like Snow White. You’re too soft to be a superhero.” His harsh, grating chuckle got louder. “Why are you so hell-bent on seeing her, anyway? It’s about the car, isn’t it?”
“No, I’m over that. Besides, Tangela must have been really hard up for money to sell it. She loved her little Sunbeam.” Four months after their breakup, he’d spotted the classic automobile in the classified section of the newspaper. When he’d seen it weeks later on a used-car Web site, he’d actually considered buying it. At five thousand dollars below value, it was a steal. But whenever he looked at the car, he remembered all the times they’d made love in the backseat, and it was hard enough not thinking about her as it was.
“Pull yourself together, man.” Folding his thick lumberjack-like arms across his middle, Quinten scanned the partying crowd. “This desperate, R. Kelly–type vibe you’re giving off ain’t cool. It’s scaring off the honies.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to see her,” he argued, prepared to defend himself. “We dated for seven years, remember?”
“How can I forget when you keep reminding me?” Quinten snapped. After a beat, he said, “Did you know that fifty-three percent of marriages end in divorce within the first five years? You guys never would have made it that long. You’re both too jealous and hardheaded.”
Warrick blew out a breath of frustration. Why was everyone so dead-set against him seeing Tangela? First his sister and now Quinten. Was he that bad? How come everyone forgot that she’d walked out on him? While he was in New York negotiating the biggest deal of his career, Tangela had packed her stuff, rented a truck and moved out. He’d lost sleep over it, not her. So why was everyone rallying around poor ol’ Tangela?
“Leave the woman alone. She’s moved on and you should, too.”
Anger flared in Warrick’s belly. Running his tongue over his teeth, he lifted his glass of soda to his mouth to keep from decking his friend in the face. Quinten didn’t know jack about women. His longest relationship had lasted as long as a Super Bowl commercial and there were parts of the city he couldn’t drive through for fear of bodily harm. The management consultant had broken hearts in every county from Tule Springs to Charleston and showed no signs of stopping. “Like I’m going to take advice from someone who gets dating tips from Playboy magazine.”
“It’s over. She’s not coming back.” Quinten’s eyes roved appreciatively over a shapely woman in a cocktail bunny costume. “Rejoice, man. Now she’s somebody else’s problem.” Clapping a hand on Warrick’s shoulder, Quinten swiped a champagne flute from a passing waiter’s tray and raised it high in the air. “Congratulations! All your problems are gone!”
Warrick didn’t join in the celebration.
“Stay away from Tangela,” Quinten warned, striding off.
Warrick scanned the darkened room, peering around the tombstones hanging from the ceiling. Avoiding Tangela wasn’t the answer. In fact, he was secretly hoping to run into her. Closure. That’s what he needed. Wandering around, he searched for something to do. Alexis was dancing with an Austin Powers look-alike, Quinten was flirting with a sexy gypsy and couples everywhere held hands, kissed and shared private jokes. The way he and Tangela used to.
Warrick took the elevator to the second floor of the palatial home and knew instinctively that his ex was there. Her Oriental fragrance sweetened the air. Seconds later, he heard her rich, effervescent laugh. Heart pounding, mouth wet with anticipation, he resisted the urge to run full-speed down the hall. Careful not to spill his drink on the carpet, he shouldered his way through the crowd of partygoers. Warrick brushed fake cobwebs away from his face as he ducked into the game room. Standing nonchalantly in the doorway, he surveyed the scene. And there, beside the pool table, was his first love, Tangela Marie Howard.
Coughing, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. His nervous system went berserk and it took several seconds before his heart rate slowed. Tangela had always had that effect on him, but tonight it was a hundred times worse. It wasn’t the stylish haircut, or even her shrunken waistline that stunned him. It was her costume. He hadn’t expected to see her dressed in a leather cat-woman bodysuit that accentuated every luscious slope. Her dark dramatic eyes, visible through the slits in her face mask, and her lush red lips enhanced her staggering sex appeal.
At a statuesque five feet ten inches, Tangela towered over all of the women in the room and more than half of the men. Her costume left nothing to the imagination and made the Pussycat Dolls look like a bunch of Catholic school girls. Once, to spice up things in the bedroom, he’d suggested she dress up in one of those skimpy maid’s uniforms. Not only had Tangela flat-out refused, she’d given him the cold shoulder that night in bed, but now she was boldly flaunting her salacious curves. His ex obviously had a wild streak he knew nothing about, and that made him wonder what else she’d kept hidden from him all those years.
Jealousy reared its ugly head as he watched Tangela cheer on her date. She used to look at him that way. Eyes twinkling, face aglow, lips holding a smile reserved just for him. Seeing Tangela with another man, even a fluffy, out-of-shape plumber, made Warrick burn inside. How had it been so easy for her to start over?
Nine years ago, when he’d met Tangela Howard at Tower Records, it had been love at first sight. A scrawny teenager had crashed into a life-size cutout of Aerosmith and sent hundreds of CDs crashing to the floor. Warrick glanced up, wondering how the kid could have missed the gigantic display. Then he noticed the crooked grins on the faces of the male customers and trailed their covetous gazes. Shoulders bouncing, hips twirling, the tall, voluptuous girl at the back of the store in the skintight jeans grooved as if she was at a hip-hop concert.
Warrick made his move and after a few minutes of polite conversation asked her out. By the end of their first date, the twenty-year-old business administration student had captured his heart. Friends labeled them polar opposites and discouraged them from dating. They had mismatched tastes in music, movies and food, but Tangela understood him better than anyone and supported him wholeheartedly.
In the beginning, she’d praised him for climbing swiftly up the corporate ladder. But soon she was complaining about his crazy schedule. Warrick wanted to spend time with her, but he wasn’t cutting back his hours or delegating more tasks to his team. It was hard enough proving himself. Founded in 1978, Maxim Designs and Architects was one of the leading architectural companies in the world and was widely known for its international landmark structures and commercial projects. The other architects thought he’d been hired because his father owned the company and they didn’t try to hide their contempt. They didn’t care that he worked weekends or stayed at the office until midnight. He was the boss’s son and they resented his success.
Then,
