Date With Destiny Read online

  She looked around the French Roast, the coffee shop she had been haunting for the past ten days. According to Harry, the French Roast and Rocks on the Roof were their unsuspecting victim’s favorite hangouts in town. Destiny had shadowed her to both in an effort to get a feel for her patterns. Unfortunately, she didn’t seem to have any. Her time of arrival and the duration of her stay at the coffee shop varied wildly depending on where she was scheduled to work that day. Her one trip to the bar had lasted less than an hour, most of which she had spent staring dreamily at the view.

  Harry had discovered she was working in Savannah today, which meant she’d probably arrive at the French Roast between eight fifteen and eight thirty, giving her plenty of time to get her caffeine fix before the branch opened at nine.

  The number of people in line began to swell as the next wave of the morning rush swept in. The owner, a Harvey Feinstein lookalike in tight black jeans and a bedazzled Paris is for Lovers T-shirt, greeted everyone by name.

  The prices were steep, but Destiny liked the feel of the place. The atmosphere was laid-back, the baristas friendly and efficient. All the employees seemed to enjoy their jobs, unlike some coffee pushers she had come across. The delusional actor/model/waiter types who were convinced their big break was just around the corner and refused to consider the idea that fate had already passed them by. She didn’t want to know which category she fit into.

  She read the classifieds in the newspaper she had bought as a prop. Some of the entries brought a smile to her face. “Lordy, Lordy, look who’s forty,” the caption of one ad read underneath a blurry childhood picture of the presumed birthday boy astride a knock-kneed Shetland pony.

  Savannah, a small town masquerading as a metropolis, was a far cry from her native Miami. Despite the historic Art Deco hotels dotting the brightly colored landscape, South Beach was all about the new. New money, new experiences, and new arrivals anxious to spend lots of one in order to gain the other. Savannah, in contrast, was all about the old. The city reveled in its past so much Destiny was surprised the date on the newspaper in her hands hadn’t been rolled back two hundred years.

  Charles Demery circled his shop, refilling customers’ cups with the contents of the carafe of black coffee in his hand. “Top you off, Destiny?”

  “No, thanks. I’m good.” She could use another jolt of caffeine to put herself in the right frame of mind but, considering she would be wearing the liquid in her coffee cup in another few minutes, she decided to go without. She was already risking a slap in the face. She didn’t want to add third degree burns to the mix.

  She went over her lines again, tweaking them to make them sound more realistic.

  “Hi, I’m Destiny Jackson.”

  Destiny. The name didn’t fit. She had gotten used to hearing it but couldn’t get used to saying it. The name still felt strange in her mouth. For at least two more weeks, though, she’d have to get used to the sensation.

  She checked her watch. What was this chick’s name again? Rashida something. Ivey. That was it. Poison. Like the plant. Destiny smiled at Harry’s description of the woman she was going to such great lengths to humiliate. High school yearbook photos uploaded to the Internet could get the job done faster and a whole lot cheaper. Choosing not to go viral, Harry had opted for the slower route. The one that would have the more long-lasting effects. If her plan was successful, it could ruin Rashida’s career as well as her life. Theirs, too, if they weren’t careful.

  What had Rashida done to piss off Harry so thoroughly? Shot down one of her passes or scuttled a business deal? Neither offense seemed egregious enough to warrant such an over-the-top reaction.

  Once she got the scheme straight in her mind, Harry had taken her to a salon for a makeover, bought her a wardrobe to suit the new persona she created, paid her way to Savannah, and set her up in a house on 37th Street.

  According to her cover story, Destiny was supposed to be staying with an old Army buddy and his wife, but she had the place to herself. Someone else’s name was on the lease, but the place was hers. She’d never had a place of her own. The first time she’d walked from the living room to the kitchen without having to step over a passed-out relative or a deadbeat roommate along the way, she’d celebrated like she’d won the lottery. In a way, she had. She stood to make more money over the next fourteen days than she’d earned in her entire life. All she had to do was ruin someone else’s.

  Did she expect to see any of the riches Harry promised her when all was said and done? Not really. If the plan went south, money would be the furthest thing from her mind. She’d be lucky to avoid jail time if the shit hit the fan. But being here was worth the risk. Pretending to be someone else in Savannah was better than being herself in Miami.

  Running cons, playing games, living off the largesse of rich women desperate for a walk on the wild side, trying to convince herself she was the one doing the hustling instead of being hustled. For four weeks, she didn’t have to be that person. She could be Destiny Jackson, straight-laced former soldier, not DaShawn Jenkins, grifter extraordinaire.

  She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She hadn’t played the role of lovelorn suitor in so long she thought she might need help remembering how. When Rashida Ivey walked in, she knew she wouldn’t need any help at all.

  Rashida’s picture didn’t do her justice. The photo Harry had provided had probably come out of a business magazine. In the picture, Rashida’s conservative suit made her look like a cookie cutter corporate exec. Bland, boring, and utterly flavorless. In person, she was anything but. She looked sweet with a hint of spice. Like honey infused with a dash of cayenne. Destiny couldn’t wait to get a taste.

  She sipped her coffee and waited for Rashida to make her way through the line. Rashida checked her watch every few minutes as if she were running late. Harry had said she was something of a workaholic. Destiny wondered how long she’d give the line to thin before she gave up and went somewhere else. When she seemed ready to bolt, Destiny made her move.

  She slid out of her seat and walked slowly through the crowded shop. She picked up speed when Rashida began to turn around, initiating a collision. Her coffee, warm enough to feel vaguely uncomfortable but thankfully no longer hot enough to burn, quickly soaked her white cotton shirt. She cringed inwardly when a few drops landed on her new suede shoes, ruining the nap.

  Rashida’s mouth, framed by full lips painted an enticing shade of red, rounded into an O of surprise. She had been beautiful from across the room. Up close, she was breathtaking. Destiny could imagine getting it on with her with some sweet, romantic music playing in the background. The pleasant thought reminded her of the unpleasant chore she had been hired to perform.

  The bank Rashida worked for had some archaic rule about employees not being allowed to date each other. If they got caught breaking the rule, it meant immediate termination. Destiny was supposed to wrap Rashida around her finger, join the staff, and smile for the camera when Rashida got caught with her hand in the cookie jar. While Rashida busied herself trying to find a way to cover her ass, Harry would rob the bank blind. Destiny and her crew could split the take from the safe; Harry wanted the gold bars some customer had been stupid enough to store in his safe deposit box, along with the satisfaction of embarrassing both her parents and the woman she considered the bane of her existence. Destiny and Harry would skip town afterward, leaving Rashida as the face of the biggest scandal to hit Savannah in years.

  Sex, money, power. The scheme had it all. When it was revealed, local gossips’ tongues would be wagging for months.

  Destiny was supposed to leave Rashida with a broken heart and a shattered reputation. Looking into Rashida’s trusting eyes, she wanted to see them filled with desire instead of pain.

  “Something told me I shouldn’t have worn this shirt today.”

  The line came easily. Because it was something DaShawn would have said, not Destiny.

  Rashida took the blame for the accident. Apologizing profusely
, she dabbed at the growing stain on Destiny’s shirt with a handful of flimsy napkins. The muscles in Destiny’s stomach contracted involuntarily when she felt Rashida’s fingers pressing against her. She had been touched by more women than she could count in ways—and places—much more intimate than this, but none of those feverish gropes had excited her as much as Rashida’s casual touch. She leaned into the pressure.

  Blinking as if snapping out of a trance, Rashida apologized again and backed away. She offered Destiny a detergent pen to combat the stain, but it was like giving her a teaspoon to bail water out of the Titanic.

  Rashida tried to give her money to have her shirt cleaned, but Destiny refused, pretending to take the high road. “Not necessary, but thanks for the offer. It was nice running into you. Literally.” She turned to leave, guessing Rashida would follow. She guessed right.

  She smiled inwardly when Rashida laid a hand on her arm. Her touch was soothing. Destiny had planned to play it cool the first time out. Make contact, make a memorable impression, and slowly turn on the charm over the next few days. By Wednesday, she hoped to have Rashida on all fours screaming her name as she arched her back in ecstasy.

  Rashida’s hand on her arm made the plan go fuzzy around the edges. She wanted more of those gentle caresses. When Rashida offered to buy her a cup of coffee, she eagerly agreed to the proposal.

  She grabbed a booth by the window. Rashida headed to the counter to place their order. While she was gone, Destiny tried to get back into character. Rashida made it so easy—too easy—to be herself. Not who she was. Who she wanted to be. A woman who had her act together instead of one who was an eternal fuckup.

  When she was younger, she had been arrested more times than she could remember. One bust had resulted in a stint in military-style boot camp instead of another lengthy stretch in juvenile hall. The experience had given her the straight-backed posture and yes, ma’am/no, ma’am demeanor most people took one look at and assumed was the result of time spent in the armed forces. She didn’t feel the need to correct the false assumption. Until now.

  Rashida approached the table. Destiny stood to greet her. She wanted to start over. She wanted to introduce herself by her real name. Woo her and win her as DaShawn, not Destiny. Whoever that was. She had been pretending to be someone else for so long she had almost forgotten how to be herself. Besides a checkered past, what did DaShawn have to offer? Nothing that someone like Rashida Ivey could appreciate. That’s where Destiny came in.

  She made small talk with Rashida, trying to draw information out of her while sharing pieces of her made-up past. After Charles raved about Rashida’s recent promotion at the bank, Destiny glanced at the table, subtly drawing Rashida’s eyes to the want ads that rested between their coffee cups. Rashida took the bait.

  “What kind of jobs are you seeking?” she asked.

  “Anything.” Tapping into past failures, Destiny tried to seem both embarrassed and a little bit desperate. She swept the newspaper off the table before Rashida could reach for it and see any of the entries she had circled at random. Not only was she unqualified to fill most of the jobs listed, she couldn’t even pronounce some of them. What the hell was a gastroenterologist anyway?

  “Do you have any idea why your parents decided to name you Destiny?”

  Rashida’s question elicited an honest response. “My friends call me DJ.” Destiny wanted to kick herself for her slip of the tongue. Even more so when Rashida said she preferred the persona to the person.

  “That’s nice, but Destiny suits you.”

  Destiny took a sip of coffee to swallow the hurt. “Why?”

  “Because you feel like something that’s meant to be.”

  So did she.

  Going against her plan to take it slow, Destiny asked Rashida out. Real or imagined, she felt a connection between them. She was something of an expert at reading women and knew Rashida felt it, too. Except Rashida turned her down. Politely but firmly. Rashida claimed she had plans for the better part of the next two days, valuable time Destiny had planned to put to good use.

  Destiny scrambled to find a way to regain the upper hand. Then Jackie Williams gave it to her. The married mother of two was Rashida’s employee and best friend. She sat next to Rashida and addressed her with a familiarity Destiny decided to use to her advantage.

  “I see.” She looked at Rashida and Jackie as if she’d intruded on a lovers’ tête-à-tête, wished them a good day, then got up and walked out. Rashida’s eyes followed her to the door.

  On the street, Destiny pulled out a cell phone she’d picked up at a gas station near I-95. The cheap phone, known as a burner, was popular with drug dealers because its disposable nature made it difficult for the feds to track with wiretaps. She had three such phones, all with different numbers. Once she hit Savannah, she kept contact with Harry to a minimum. If the authorities subpoenaed Harry’s phone records, which they inevitably would, Destiny didn’t want her calls to stick out from the others.

  It was too early for Harry to be at work so Destiny called her on her cell. Harry answered on the first ring. “What do you have for me?” Both she and her voice sounded distant.

  “I’m in.”

  “Excellent news. When are you going to see her again?”

  “Sunday afternoon at the earliest. She’s heading out of town tomorrow and she’s spending part of Sunday getting gussied up at the spa. I’m guessing she’ll finish around lunch and head to Rocks on the Roof for a drink. When she arrives, I’ll already be there waiting for her.”

  “That’s Sunday. How are you going to keep yourself occupied in the meantime?”

  “What do you mean?” Destiny asked, even though she could tell by the sudden thaw in Harry’s voice exactly what she had in mind.

  “I need to take the edge off. When can I see you?”

  Normally, Destiny would have jumped at the chance to spend thirty-six hours having several rounds of athletic sex with a partner as enthusiastic as Harry, but that was before she’d laid eyes on Rashida Ivey.

  “I think it would be best if we stayed away from each other until we reach the end game. You and I don’t run in the same social circles. If we slip up and someone sees us together, it could jeopardize everything you’ve been working for.”

  “Even though I know you’re right, that doesn’t make what you’re saying easy to hear.”

  “I’ve seen your little black book. Something tells me you won’t be lacking for company.”

  “That might have been true once. The only company I want this weekend is yours.”

  The idea didn’t hold nearly as much appeal for Destiny as it had a few weeks earlier, but she couldn’t afford to alienate Harry before the big payoff. When she could finally be free of the only life she had known since she was in her teens.

  “After St. Patrick’s Day, you’ll have my undivided attention for as long as you want it. Where are you taking me again?”

  “I haven’t decided yet.” Destiny could hear the smile in Harry’s voice. “Someplace where English is a second language and clothing is optional.”

  “Mmm. I like the sound of that.” Destiny walked toward City Market, where drivers were preparing their horse-drawn carriages for the coming work day.

  “Did you sweet talk her into giving you a job? We don’t have any openings at the moment. She’d have to create one for you, which I don’t see happening, no matter how good you are in bed.”

  Destiny winced at the suggestion she was nothing more than a combination of skilled parts—dancing tongue, probing fingers, and agile torso. “No worries. I can create my own opportunity.”

  “How?”

  “Let me worry about that part. The less you know, the better.” Destiny stopped to scratch one of the horses between its ears. While the huge animal nickered and stamped its hoof in appreciation, Destiny watched Low Country Savings’ elderly security guard make his way to the bank’s entrance. She mouthed her thanks to the horse’s handler and continued on h
er way. “I need an advance.”

  “How much?” Harry asked.

  “Five thousand. No, make it ten.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  “Like I said, the less you know, the better. Give me a few hours to pull everything together and you’ll see for yourself. When can you get me the money?”

  “You’ll have it by noon. When will I see a return on my investment?”

  “You’ll have results by this afternoon. I’ve got to go. I have a hostile takeover to plan.”

  Harry laughed. “I thought that was my line.”

  “I hope you don’t mind if I borrow it for a while.”

  “As long as you pay me back.”

  If Harry had her way, Destiny might be paying for the rest of her life. “I will. With interest.”

  Harry laughed again. “How do you manage to make everything sound so damn sexy?”

  “Practice.”

  Destiny’s smooth façade had slipped several times during her brief encounter with Rashida. Continued exposure could cause her false front to drop for good. She didn’t think she had ever wanted anything more. But how was she supposed to build something real on a stack of lies?

  You’re good at fooling women, not falling for them. Stick to what you do best.

  She pulled out another burner and placed a second call. Pit Bull, one of her running mates from back in the day, had been in Savannah for the past ten years. He was the best stickup man she had ever worked with. She hoped his skills hadn’t eroded in the time they’d spent apart.

  “Wassup? This is Pit.”

  “Pit. Hey, homey, it’s DJ.”

  “Hey, girl. Long time no talk to. Every time you call, I know it means money in my pocket. What’s on your mind this time?”