it just says declined and I’ve run it through several times.”
Another call to the credit card’s customer service department revealed her bill hadn’t been paid in months. The account was canceled. Yet another strike against Marna.
Desperate, Kennedy used her bank debit card to reserve the vehicle. She was on her way and had a small measure of peace.
Her first stop was at Puget Sound Mutual, the bank that financed her car and where she did her personal banking. After she’d explained what had happened over and over, a sympathetic bank clerk took her to see one of the vice presidents. By then Kennedy was through talking and very close to crying.
She really was going to knock Marna out when she got her hands on her. She would have been better off trusting her tenants with her bank routing number and having them make their own deposits. She wouldn’t have this headache now if she’d paid her bills electronically. But no, she’s thought it best that someone closer to home pick up her rent checks and pay her bills. What a mistake that had been.
The bank’s records showed they’d made numerous attempts to contact Kennedy and work out arrangements. Hearing nothing back, they’d repossessed the car.
Kennedy explained her situation and the officer expressed sympathy and made several phone calls, but to no avail. The vehicle was most likely being auctioned as they spoke.
By then the headache had become a migraine. How on earth would she get from Bellevue to downtown Seattle in twenty minutes? If there was traffic on the bridge she was toast.
Driving like a speed demon, Kennedy managed to make it into the parking lot of TSW Studios with five minutes to spare. She used that time to comb her hair, shove her headband back in place and apply fresh lip gloss. She’d never been much for makeup and no one would ever describe her as trendy. Kennedy’s clothing was always more functional than stylish.
Once inside, she handed her ID to the guard at the desk in the lobby and waited for Diane to come and get her. Five minutes into her wait a thirty-something, athletically built man came sauntering in.
He was the kind of African-American male who, although casually dressed, turned heads. His hunter-green flannel shirt stretched across his broad chest, and was tucked into baggy jeans that slouched at the knees. His scuffed boots looked as though they’d seen better days. Although his overall appearance shouted mountain man, there was a sensuality and confidence to him that was very appealing.
He approached the guard’s circular desk and flicked a finger at him. “Morning, Andrew. How’s it going?”
The guard, who’d been hunched over his station with an eye on the newspaper, folded it quickly and gave him his full attention. “Good morning, Mr. Washington. It’s been a long time! How was safari?”
This couldn’t be Tanner Washington. Kennedy was expecting someone much older.
“Please call me Salim, Andrew. Mr. Washington is my father,” the man who looked as if he could straddle Mount Rainier in one leap corrected. “Zimbabwe was incredible. Just a beautiful country, but no safari for me. Just my usual humanitarian work for two months.”
“What I wouldn’t give to visit Africa,” the guard said, longingly.
“The Peace Corps might be the way to go. You’d be doing something worthy while at the same time experiencing a new country. I signed up for a two-year stint after graduating college. Since then it’s been very difficult for me to stay in one place for any length of time. Is Mr. Washington around?”
“I didn’t see him leave.”
Salim’s complexion was the color of raw brown sugar and his eyes were equally as light. He did a quick scan of the lobby as if expecting his father to jump out from behind one of the potted ficus plants. His glance rested briefly on Kennedy and she was treated to a warm smile that began at the corner of his tawny eyes and settled in his square jaw. She liked his full lips and the way his mouth turned up at the corners. He looked as though he laughed a lot.
“Who do we have here?” he said loud enough for Kennedy to hear him, turning back to the guard.
She didn’t hear the guard’s response. Probably just as well, she didn’t need some wealthy playboy flirting with her right before she had a meeting with his father. Her priority was getting back her car and she would focus on that once this meeting was over.
The petite, smartly dressed woman who came bustling out of the elevator must be the studio head’s assistant. When she approached the guard, Mountain Man swept her off her feet.
“Di, you look younger than ever,” he gushed.
“Put me down!” she said, chuckling. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. Though I am glad you’re back. We’ll talk later. I’m here to collect your father’s visitor,” the assistant said.
Salim Washington set Diane back on her feet.
The guard pointed to Kennedy and the petite woman came mincing over.
“Ms. Fitzgerald,” she said. “I’m Diane, Mr. Washington’s assistant. Have you been waiting long?”
“No, your timing is perfect.”
Kennedy looked over at Salim and he was no longer the smiling, affable guy who’d come sauntering through the lobby. He threw her a thunderous look of surprise and what looked like—no, it couldn’t be—disgust.
What was that all about? No time to psychoanalyze now, the television mogul was waiting.
Chapter 2
Salim would rather be anywhere but here. TSW Studios was a place he’d avoided like the plague. It was much too artificial an environment for him. But the old man’s assistant had called acting as if it was a life-and-death situation and because it was Diane, and he liked Diane, he’d dropped everything to come.
He was not here for the man who called himself his father, that was for sure. He wasn’t interested in anything that philanderer had to say.
His father, Tanner Washington’s autocratic approach to everyone in his life had turned Salim off. They were worlds apart in the way they conducted business and dealt with people.
Salim’s mother, Lucinda, had also called Salim telling him to go see his father. She was the peacemaker in the family and she’d finally persuaded him to hear the old man out. His self-suffering mother was the most wonderful woman in the world and he would do almost anything she asked, even meet with a man he disliked intensely.
He’d made one hour for Tanner Washington. So far that whole hour had been taken up by the young African-American woman with the Asian cast to her features. She was the woman who’d been seated in the lobby, the one he’d thought was very attractive.
More than attractive actually. More like beautiful, in a wholesome but classy sort of way. In an era where tats, weaves, piercings, bling and barely there clothing were in vogue, this woman, who wore minimal makeup and a conservative hairstyle, stood out. Salim had been especially intrigued by the outfit: a classic navy suit worn with sensible pumps and pearls. She certainly didn’t seem the type to work in a television studio, more likely a bank.
As the minutes ticked by, he was getting more
