“Our breakup was the best thing to ever happen to me,” she admitted, laughing at nothing in particular. “I learned to stand on my own two feet and stopped looking to someone else to make me happy.”
The waiter arrived with the appetizers, putting an end to all conversation. Over king crab and wine, the group discussed movies, music and Las Vegas’s thrilling nightlife. Mr. Kewasi asked Tangela about her stint in Mexico and she talked about her host family, the vibrancy of the culture and the sweltering heat. Warrick pretended to be watching the Mariners game, but he was listening to every word. He wanted to ask Tangela if she was planning to go back to Gaudalajara, but didn’t. She was being cordial, and he didn’t want to push his luck. Stealing a glance at her, he watched as she opened her purse and took out her pink, diamond-studded cell phone. The one he’d bought her years earlier in Japan.
When it rang, her eyes lit up. He strained to hear what she was saying, and listened intently as she greeted the caller. “Buenas noches, Marcello. ¿Cómo es usted?”
Warrick broke into a sweat. Who the hell was Marcello and why was she speaking in a sultry Spanish whisper? Back in the day, they’d lain in bed long after midnight, laughing about the crazy things that happened on her flight or planning their next vacation. Now, she was on the phone with some guy, asking questions about his day and listening intently to his answers.
Infected with lust, his wanton eyes roamed over her tight, toned physique. The sound of her laughter drew his gaze back up to her face. He couldn’t believe his ex—the woman he’d planned to marry—was on the phone with another man, flaunting her single-and-available status in his face.
Thanks to his sister, he knew Tangela had shown up at the Chrisette Michele concert with some blue-eyed geek, who was so smitten with her he’d escorted her to and from the ladies’ room. He’d pressed Rachael for more details, but she’d abruptly ended their conversation.
Staring down at his hands, he used his fingers to tick off the number of guys Tangela was dating. There was Leonard Butkiss, the concert guy and now some dude named Marcello. How many more were there? For all he knew, she could be dating someone from Mexico. Or an oil tycoon from Saudi Arabia. What was Tangela up to? Personally doing her part to bridge the racial divide?
Throwing down his napkin, Warrick searched the room for their waiter. He’d had enough. Enough of her giving him the cold shoulder, enough of her speaking in hushed tones to the mystery man on the phone and enough of her superior attitude. He had a hole in his heart the size of a basketball and she was dating more guys than the Bachelorette.
Tangela said something to Carmen, then got up from the table. Warrick watched her leave. She moved with a rhythm all her own. A confident, magnetic grace that made all the blood rush to his groin. Despite their acrimonious breakup, one thing was clear: he still desired her.
“You’re right, Mr. Kewasi, the American legal system has become a joke, but there are legitimate cases where people should sue their employer. Look at what happened to Tangela.” Carmen appealed to Warrick. “Don’t you think she should have sued Flight Express for discrimination? Or at least told her story to the news media?”
Her words didn’t register. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, frowning at her. “Tangela quit her job to study in Mexico.”
“That was after they cut her hours.”
Warrick felt his blood go cold. What the hell? Tangela told him she’d scaled back on her hours so she could devote more time to planning the wedding. Angry at her for dropping by his office unannounced every day, he’d suggested she return to work. In the weeks leading to their breakup, they’d argued about the ever-increasing guest list and soaring wedding costs. And when he stumbled across a five-thousand-dollar florist bill, he’d told her to quit wasting his money. “Carmen, I want to know exactly what happened.”
“Her boss said some mumbo jumbo about her not reaching her full potential. Apparently, she wasn’t reflecting the right image and the airline wasn’t satisfied with her work.”
“What does that mean?”
“Translation? She’d gained too much weight and they wanted her out.”
“Her supervisor actually said that?”
Carmen grunted. “They’re not that stupid. The airline didn’t want a lawsuit on their hands, so they cut her hours in half.”
“Can they do that?”
“It’s their company. They can do whatever they want.” Carmen continued, “Tangela quit and moved to Mexico. It was good for her to get away for a while. She needed it.”
He filled in the rest of the story. “But she missed flying, so she returned home and applied at American Airlines.” Warrick looked up just in time to see Tangela exit the ladies’ washroom. A slim, lanky guy in a white fedora stopped her as she entered the lounge. The woman was like a magnet. Everywhere she went, men followed.
Minutes later, Tangela returned to the table, clutching a thin stack of business cards. His ex, the social butterfly. While they were dating, he’d encouraged her to get out and make friends, but Warrick had never imagined his words would come back to haunt him.
As he watched Tangela sipping her second apple martini, he considered asking her about what had happened at Flight Express. She’d never admit it, but her appearance, or rather, other people’s opinion of her, had always been a sore spot for her. He’d loved her curvy figure, and the male attrention she garnered whenever they were together. Or at least he used to.
A cell phone shrilled and Tangela reached for her purse. When she greeted the caller and rose from her seat for a second time, giggling as she strode off, Warrick stabbed a shrimp ball with his fork and plunged it into his mouth. He wasn’t going to confront Tangela about what Carmen had shared with him tonight, but this wasn’t over.
Chapter Five
Warrick doused his face with water. The ice-cold liquid coursed down his cheeks like rain, cooling his overheated body. Returning it to the cup holder, he increased the speed on the treadmill and jogged to the beat of the song playing. At 6:00 a.m. on a Friday morning, the gym was practically empty. Four junior draftsmen lifted weights, three female clerks did sit-ups and Payton was on an exercise bike, reading a women’s magazine.
He ran with grace, fluidity, like a long-distance runner on a wide-open track. He was in a zone, a sphere, a place free of stress, deadlines and difficult clients. A row of exercise machines stood in front of the window providing runners a clear view of the pink-orange horizon. The clouds were piled onto each other like a stack of buttermilk pancakes. Warrick licked his lips. After he finished his workout, he’d stop in at Guido’s for breakfast. He had a long day ahead of him and needed to eat while he still had the chance.
A plane glided across the sky. An American Airlines plane. Even from miles away, he recognized the distinctive logo on its wings. Before he could guard against it, an image of Tangela surfaced. It was the first time since running into her at SushiSamba that he’d allowed himself to think about her. Every time she’d interrupted his thoughts or sneaked into his dreams, he’d resisted her. But he couldn’t run forever.
Sweat dripped from his chin. He felt good. Strong, powerful, resilient. Then Tangela’s words came back to him, blaring in his head. We fell out of love…we…we…we… Warrick gripped the sides of the machine. He still couldn’t believe Tangela had said that. She’d been polite at the Hawthorne party and had even chatted with Alexis. Warrick had been stunned to learn that Tangela hadn’t revealed her true identity. Was that what things had come to? Avoiding each other and lying about their past? He was even more confused by her behavior at SushiSamba, but more than anything, he wanted to know when she’d stopped loving him.
Running full-tilt, he thought about his plans for the weekend. He’d planned to catch up on sleep, but when Marshall had called and requested his help