magical gifts wasn’t all the fairy tales said it was. This cell phone, for instance, sometimes worked and sometimes it didn’t. She glared in the general direction of the resort, wondering if her interfering, know-it-all godmother had hexed the phone.
“Cell phone, cell phone, let me see, all the marriages due to me.” Still nothing.
Merry smacked the cell phone against her thigh, and the thing crackled to life. She shuttled through her weekly check of the magic nineteen, dreaming of when she could increase their number. Her fingers danced, tippety tapping on the buttons.
Ah. The phone’s tiny screen showed her latest success, Brad and Parris Smith. They’d been a tough match, he a scruffy scientist and she a socialite too spoiled for her own good. But now Brad was feeding Parris breakfast in bed: a marmalade-laden muffin, followed by a kiss.
Hastily Merry closed the cell phone with a snap, ruminating.
She cast her eye toward the ferry dock. Sunset flamed across the sky, casting brilliant ribbons of coral and peach across a few puffy clouds.
On this, a Monday evening, she didn’t expect many newcomers to La Torchere. A shame, given the glorious sunset, but most folks arrived for the weekend.
But what was this? A red Porsche roared off the ferry, driven by the impatient hand of a darkly handsome man. Following more sedately on foot came a willowy beauty whose hair reflected the reddish lights of the sunset. She was with a distinguished older fellow. Perhaps father and daughter?
Merry hurried to the front desk and pushed aside a surprised clerk. “I’ll see the register now, Gordon.”
“Right away, ma’am.”
“And get ready to check in three guests. They are…” Merry let her voice trail off as she looked through the computerized register. “Kam Asad.” An odd name, that. She frowned, but continued. “And, um, Selina and Jerome Carrington.” She moved the computer’s mouse and double-clicked. “All three are staying in penthouse suites, Asad in one and the Carringtons in another.”
Merry retreated from the front desk to her office, again pulling out her cell phone. Pressing buttons with frantic fingers, she focused on the trio’s hands. No wedding rings. Good.
Kam Asad…there was a mystery there, she guessed, but did she really care? What mattered to Merry was that the dark man in the fast car could match nicely with pretty Selina Carrington. And for Jerome, a silver fox all the way, Merry would find someone.
“You’re getting good at this, my girl,” she told herself. “Soon…” Sitting back in her chair with closed eyes, she lost herself in memories of her beloved Silestia.
Chapter One
Selina Carrington’s hobby was breaking hearts, and she’d just spotted fresh prey.
Two stools away at a seaside bar, he was blocked from her direct view by a touchy-feely couple in the heated throes of romance. Just as well; Selina preferred to observe him covertly, watching his reflection in the mirror behind the bar’s glittering shelves of bottles and glasses.
Ignoring the gentle sea breezes and the moonlit night, Selina’s target held a cell phone clamped to his head. Speaking in a foreign tongue she couldn’t identify, he was conducting business loudly enough to mask the soft sigh of nearby ocean waves.
A jazz combo started to set up at the other end of the bamboo-paneled room. As the guitarist tuned his instrument, Selina’s prey swung around on his bar stool, a glare crossing his otherwise handsome face.
Handsome was good; in fact, handsome was essential. She never bothered with nerds. Taking them down was neither fun nor kind, but handsome, arrogant asses were legitimate victims. This one was a dead ringer for George Clooney and, without a doubt, knew it.
Selina finished her mojito and smiled. The bartender stopped polishing glasses to ask, “Another?”
“Thanks, Janis.” Selina read the bartender’s name from the tag pinned to the young woman’s white blouse.
While Janis mashed fresh mint leaves, she asked, “Just arrived, ma’am?”
“It’s Selina, and yes,” she said. “What’s there to do around here?” She sucked on an ice cube.
Janis sported a short rasta hairstyle, a Jamaican accent and a wide, white smile. “Anything and everything, mon. We pride ourselves on providing de complete resort experience. You can walk by de ocean or swim in it, sail on it, or even parasail above it.”
“Parasailing sounds fun.”
Janis’s hands remained busy as she clinked ice, poured, stirred. “It is. Scary-excitin’, ya know what I mean?” She winked. She put the fresh drink in front of Selina while clearing the drained glass.
The couple next to Selina left, arms around each other’s waists, and Janis scooped up the two twenties that lay on the bar.
Selina sipped. The drink slid, cool and sweet, down her throat. “Mmm, this is good. The fresh mint leaves make all the dif—”
“Pardon me.” A male voice broke into their conversation, distinguished by a British accent and undisguised annoyance. “But just for kicks and giggles, how about a little service over here?”
Janis’s dark brows shot to the top of her forehead, disappearing beneath her jet-beaded rasta braids. Selina set down her glass and swiveled her bar stool toward the interruption.
Having finished his conversation, the Clooney clone now glowered at them down the length of the bar.
“Excuse me,” Janis said to Selina. As the bartender headed toward the man, she stopped, pulled a small towel from the belt on her black pants and wiped a puddle.
He tapped impatient fingers on the bar. Selina noticed that his nails weren’t merely manicured, but buffed. Her smile broadened. Not only arrogant, but her target was too wealthy, judging by the gleaming nails, expensive watch and bad attitude.
On top of all that—as if he weren’t enough of a jerk—he wore a diamond stud in his left ear. How last millennium.
This was getting better and better. The Clooney clone would be a perfect diversion while she was stuck on the Gulf Coast away from her job and her life.
“What can I do for you, sir?” Janis asked the clone.
“Oh, don’t give me that jibber-jabber, now that you’ve decided to do your job,” the clone snapped.
Janis leaned on the bar and smiled at the clone. “What can I bring you, suh?” Belying her deferential tone, she turned her head and winked at Selina, who stuck her fist over her mouth to keep from laughing.
“A…martini,” the clone said, as though the fate of the earth rested on his decision. “What kinds of vodka do you pour?”
Janis began to recite, “Grey Goose, Absolut, Stoli, Skyy—”
“Anything not made with potatoes, please. Wheat only. Thank you.” Clone waved a condescending hand as if ordering Janis away.
Pivoting
