“Well, what do you think?” Aiden asked, and though his tone was still casual, she knew his manner meant he was ready to move on this immediately.
She stood up. “Let’s do a bit more research. I’m still not in favor of gambling or Allied Miami, but maybe—”
“Why? Allied Miami handles all sorts of betting operations. They even have a division set up to process, then pay every bet.”
“Wait!” She threw up one hand to stop him. “We don’t want to hand over a chunk of our business without thoroughly investigating the situation. It’s an invitation to steal from us or ruin our reputation. This isn’t something to leap into without careful thought.” She picked up her purse. “I’ve got an appointment.”
“Wait. I—”
“Later. I’m in a hurry.”
She rushed out of her corner cube and took a left. She headed for the back door to avoid the software salesman. She needed time to think about Aiden’s proposal. She might as well swing by Erin’s and pick up her cell phone.
Madison climbed into her BMW and lowered the windows to air out the car. Even though it was barely ten o’clock, the Miami sun was scorching a path across the blue April sky. She allowed her mind to drift for a moment. She’d wasted yet another weekend. She was never going to be able to replace the home she’d shared with Aiden.
Why was she trying?
She should lease the condo that she’d reluctantly allowed the Realtor to show her, Madison told herself. She didn’t need a yard. This way she could come and go easily. She punched the AC button and reached for her cell phone with her other hand to call the Realtor. Then she remembered she was on her way to pick up her cell.
“I’m losing it,” she said out loud. She backed out of her parking space and drove away.
Total Trivia was located several blocks off trendy Ocean Boulevard in South Beach’s low-rent district—if such a thing existed. They’d leased the office space nearly ten years ago, before she had married Aiden, when Total Trivia had been just another blip on the information superhighway. Aiden had insisted locating in SoBe would lure programmers they could hire for less.
Her ex had been right. Talented programmers often made sacrifices, living in studio apartments or sharing run-down flats just to be in the area. As Erin always said, SoBe was “hip to the max.” It was amazing what people would give up to live here.
Maybe Aiden was right about adding gambling to Total-Trivia, but she didn’t think so. Letting an offshore bank collect the money was evading the law. Wasn’t that the same as breaking the law? Sooner or later the government would catch on and come after them.
South Beach traffic was light—no doubt a fair number of residents were inside nursing hangovers—which meant Madison had to wait a mere two cycles to drive through most traffic lights. By evening, when the club set went on the prowl, it would take at least six cycles to move through a light.
From ten until dawn, the clubs would be full of tanned guys and women wearing next to nothing, slurping mojitos and chocolate martinis. Sexual energy would pulse through the air like a drumbeat in the tropics.
Madison didn’t like the club scene, but last Friday, Erin had wanted to check out two new clubs and she’d gone along. Her best friend since they’d been in diapers, Erin Wycoff had always been something of an enigma. Like a butterfly, Erin was beautiful but difficult to pin down. As close as they were, Madison often didn’t know what Erin was thinking. Even when they were young, Erin had kept her thoughts to herself, unlike most teenage girls, who told their best friends all their secrets. But since Madison’s split with Aiden, Erin had been the only one who could lift her spirits.
Erin had insisted on going to Sweet Cheeks and another club whose name Madison couldn’t recall, but as soon as they were there, drinks in hand, Erin had wanted to leave. Too hot. Too crowded. Too many airhead guys.
Well, that was the club scene for you. A club wasn’t “in” unless it was crowded with hunky guys and scantily clad babes. And jam-packed places were hot. That was a given.
They’d gone back to the little cottage Erin had rented and ordered pizza from an all-night pizzeria. They’d sat chatting about the move Madison couldn’t seem to make, but Erin had seemed distracted, on edge.
Still, Erin had scored a major point when she’d claimed Madison was in denial. By searching for a large home to replace the one she’d shared with her ex-husband, Madison was attempting to hang on to the past. The last time Madison’s mother had telephoned from some remote island in the South Pacific, she’d told Madison the same thing—in different words. “Oh, baby doll. Try something new. Get on with your life.”
Madison had admitted Erin was probably right and had left after finishing a slice of cardboard-tasting pizza. She’d only realized the next day that she’d forgotten her cell phone. She’d tried to catch Erin on Saturday and again on Sunday but hadn’t been able to connect. Maybe she hadn’t even wanted to reach Erin, hadn’t wanted to explain why she was still asking the Realtor to show her large homes.
A bit of trivia popped into her head, which often happened when she was thinking of something distressing. How much wine does one grapevine make? The average vine yielded twenty-four pounds of grapes. That was enough to make ten bottles of wine. She hadn’t used this fact on Total Trivia because inexact measurements like “average” caused arguments and players would claim their answer was correct.
She told herself to forget about trivia and concentrate on finding a place to live. The owners of the house where she was staying would return soon. Gambling and trivia could both wait until she’d settled her life.
At this hour of the morning, Erin was probably out making sales calls for the sunglass company she represented. It didn’t matter if Erin wasn’t home. Madison had a key to her friend’s place. She could pick up her cell then call the Realtor. Signing the lease on the condo and making arrangements would take the better part of the day, but Madison didn’t care. She didn’t want to return to Total Trivia until she’d had a chance to consider Aiden’s proposal.
It was quieter in the middle-class neighborhood in South Miami where Erin lived. People were at work, children in school. She turned into the narrow driveway and shut off the engine. The white cottage with an attached single-car garage was a legacy of the early twentieth century, when snowbirds from the North built small, inexpensive bungalows where they could wait out the winter in Miami’s warm sun. Snowbirds now clustered like bees in the hives of condos that riddled the state. This neighborhood had morphed into a working-class section of the city.
She slung her purse over her shoulder and got out of the car. On her way up the walk to the front door, she selected the key Erin had given her from the seldom-used ring of keys at the bottom of her purse. She rang the bell and heard its chime echo through the small house. As she expected, Erin wasn’t home. She attempted to put the key into the lock. It didn’t fit.
Suddenly, Madison remembered her friend mentioning getting a new garage door opener and new locks. Erin had forgotten to give Madison a new key.
“Great, just great,” she muttered under her breath. Standing on the small porch, Madison noticed a silver Porsche had pulled to the curb across the street. It seemed out of place in this neighborhood. A tall, dark-haired man stepped out. He glanced in her direction, then locked the car.
Madison wondered if Erin had hidden a spare key in the small yard behind the cottage. She went around back, but didn’t bother to check under the flowerpots. Erin wouldn’t hide a key in such an obvious place. She looked around, thinking, then spotted a dog turd over by a bush.