Date With Destiny Read online

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  The woman grinned. Rashida looked up and met her eyes. Then she promptly forgot how to breathe.

  The woman’s almond-shaped eyes were arresting, so dark Rashida couldn’t tell where her pupils ended and her irises began. Her skin was like milk chocolate. As smooth as a Hershey’s Kiss and probably nearly as sweet. Her lips were full, the outline begging to be traced with the tip of a finger or a tongue. Her short, side-swept hair highlighted her strong jaw and long neck. One eyebrow arched upward in what could have been amusement or a flicker of interest.

  Gathering her composure, Rashida unzipped one of her bags and pulled out the Tide pen she was never without. More often than not, part of her lunch ended up on her clothes. The stain removal pen had rescued her from more than one unwanted dry-cleaning bill.

  “I would offer this to you, but I don’t think it will do the job.”

  The woman’s smile grew. “Not unless you have four or five more of them in your little bag of tricks.” She took the proffered pen, her long fingers brushing lightly over Rashida’s. She swiped the pen over a small area of her shirt, but it didn’t seem to have an effect. She returned the pen with a shrug. “Thanks anyway.”

  Rashida blushed again. Jeez. No one has made me feel this tongue-tied since I was a hormone-addled teenager.

  “What happened was entirely my fault. If you send me a copy of the bill, I’ll gladly cover the cost of dry-cleaning your shirt. On second thought, let me give you ten bucks so I can take care of it right now.”

  The woman held up her hands in a gesture that seemed to say, no harm, no foul. “Not necessary, but thanks for the offer. It was nice running into you. Literally.”

  She turned to leave, but Rashida wasn’t ready to see her go. She rested her fingers on the woman’s sleeve. The muscles in her forearm felt like banded steel.

  Gorgeous smile, incredible eyes, and a body for days. If she has a brain in her head, she’s four for four.

  “Let me buy you a cup of coffee,” she said. “It’s the least I can do.”

  The woman hesitated as if she had somewhere she needed to be. Or, more likely, someone she needed to meet. No one who looked that good could be single. Could she? Rashida’s dwindling hopes flickered back to life when the woman smiled and said, “Sure. I’d love to. I’ll grab us a table.”

  “What would you like?”

  “A café Americain.”

  “Cream and sugar?”

  “No,” the woman said under her breath. “Hot and black. Just like I like my women.”

  Rashida turned toward the counter but quickly spun around again. Part of her needed assurance the most striking woman she had ever met wasn’t a mirage. The woman caught her staring. She rushed to correct her social faux pas. “Pardon my manners. Or lack thereof. I should introduce myself.” She stuck out her hand. “I’m—”

  “Number twenty-four,” one of the baristas called out.

  “That’s me,” Rashida said.

  “Nice to meet you, Number Twenty-four,” the woman said, clasping Rashida’s hand in her soft, warm palm. “I’m Number Thirteen.”

  Forget seven. I think I’ve found a new lucky number.

  She ordered a vanilla latte, a café Americain, and two chocolate croissants. She paid for her purchases, then dropped one of her business cards into the jar next to the register to enter the weekly drawing for a twenty-five dollar gift certificate.

  Gripping both cups of coffee in her left hand and the bag of pastries between her teeth, she carefully maneuvered through the slowly-thinning crowd. The woman stood as she approached the table.

  “I’ll take those.” She grabbed the steaming cups of brew and the bag of croissants and placed them on the table.

  “Were you being gallant or were you trying to keep me from spilling something else on you?”

  One corner of the woman’s mouth quirked upward into a smile. “Let’s go with gallant.” She blew on her fresh cup of coffee and took a sip. “Is this table okay?”

  “It’s perfect, thanks.”

  Rashida had an ideal vantage point. From where she was sitting, she had an unobstructed view of the bank’s front door. She watched as Seaton Andrews, the branch manager, cut through Johnson Square and jogged across the street. Megan Connelly, the diminutive head teller, was hot on his heels. Seaton went inside first. Megan remained on the sidewalk, pretending to read the latest edition of the Savannah Morning News. Rashida nodded in approval. So far, so good.

  “Is that where you work?” the woman asked.

  Rashida took her eyes off the view outside the window and focused on the one directly in front of her. “Pardon?”

  The woman lowered her gaze until her eyes rested on the logo on Rashida’s green polo shirt, Low Country Savings Bank printed above a wide-winged egret soaring over grassy marshland. Rashida’s nipples hardened as they submitted to the inspection. She had to fight to keep from arching her back and presenting her breasts to the woman’s tempting mouth as a gift.

  The woman pointed at the logo, then at the branch across the street. “Low Country Savings. Is that where you work?”

  “Yes and no. I work for the company, yes, but my office is in another branch. I’m only here for the day.”

  “Then I guess today’s my lucky day. What do you do?”

  “Everything,” Charles Demery, the owner of the French Roast, answered before Rashida could. “The bank would fall apart without her. Everything would go to hell in a hand basket if she weren’t around.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Rashida said, trying to deflect attention away from herself. “Charles is just saying that because I’m one of his best customers.”

  Charles put his hands on his hips. “I’m saying it because it’s true, girlfriend. By the way, congratulations on the promotion, Madam Senior Vice President.”

  Rashida had worked her ass off to reach the next rung on the ladder of success. Sometimes, though, her reward felt more like a punishment. The official announcement of her leap from vice president to senior vice president had come within the past week, but the designation had been hers for almost two months. During that time, her work hours had doubled, but her salary hadn’t kept pace.

  “I saw your picture in the business section of the Morning News last Sunday,” Charles said. “You looked good.”

  “That means the airbrushing was successful.”

  Charles blew air through his pursed lips. “Every time I see you, you look like you just stepped out of the pages of a fashion magazine. If I looked like you on your worst day, I’d feel like an eleven instead of the perfect ten I am.” He tossed his hair over his shoulders as if he were a corn-rowed Bo Derek running on the beach in the movie that made her one of the biggest stars of the ’80s.

  Rashida laughed at the familiar joke. “Have you met Number Thirteen?” If the mystery woman wouldn’t divulge her name, perhaps Charles would do the honors.

  “Of course I’ve met Miss Destiny.” Charles patted the woman—Destiny—on the shoulder. “She’s one of my new regulars. I’m surprised you two haven’t run into each other before now. Now that you have, I’ll let you get back to your little love connection. Destiny’s looking for a job, Rashida. Maybe you can help the girl out.”

  Rashida watched out of the corner of her eye as Seaton opened the blinds in his office and placed an eight-inch egret on the windowsill. Good boy. She turned back to Destiny and looked at the coffee-stained want ads resting on the table. Several entries were circled. “What kind of jobs are you seeking?”

  “Anything.” Destiny’s hands tightened around her coffee cup. “It’s been much too long since I’ve seen a paycheck. I’m starting to fall behind on some things. If I’m offered a gig that pays, I’ll take it, even if it’s only temporary. But times are tough, and there are more people looking for work than there are jobs available. I’m competing with people who are way out of my league.”

  Rashida nodded sympathetically. “I may c
omplain about my job, but I’m thankful to have one to complain about when there are so many unfortunate people who can’t say the same.”

  Destiny brushed the classifieds off the table as if she wished they had never become a topic of conversation. “I have a few leads. We’ll see if any of them pan out.”

  Sensing Destiny’s discomfort, Rashida dutifully changed the subject.

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

  “Makes me sound like a stripper or a porn star, doesn’t it?” She flashed a grateful smile. “I’ve heard all the jokes at least once. The one about having a date with destiny continues to be the frontrunner. My friends call me DJ.”

  “DJ.” Rashida cocked her head. “That’s nice, but Destiny suits you better.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you feel like something that’s meant to be,” Rashida said before she could stop herself. “That didn’t come out right.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it did.” Destiny ran her index finger along the rim of her coffee cup. Rashida had never been so envious of recycled paper. “You seem like a busy woman so I won’t waste your time asking if you’re free for dinner tonight. The bank’s closed tomorrow. Are you free then?”

  “Actually, I’m going out of town in the morning and won’t be back until late tomorrow night.”

  “How about brunch on Sunday? You have to eat sometime.”

  Rashida grimaced. Her calendar had been free every weekend for months, and the one weekend she plans something she runs into a scheduling conflict. “A friend and I are having a spa day on Sunday. She has a gift certificate that’s about to expire so she signed us up for a bunch of services. Manicures, pedicures, massages. The works. I’ll be tied up for hours.”

  “I see.”

  Some of the light seemed to go out of Destiny’s eyes. Rashida hoped she didn’t think she was making excuses not to see her because of her job situation. She tried to think of a tactful way to explain that wasn’t the case. She normally crossed someone off the list of prospective partners if she didn’t have the three G’s—the gift of gab, great moves in the sack, and gainful employment. Destiny, for some reason, made her want to revise her selection criteria.

  “Sorry I’m late.” Jackie squeezed into the booth next to Rashida. “I just couldn’t get going this morning.” She stared at the two cups on the table as if she couldn’t believe there wasn’t a third. “Where’s my mocha Frappuccino?”

  Destiny’s eyes darted from Rashida’s face to Jackie’s and back again. “I see,” she said quietly. “Let me save both of us from further embarrassment and get out while the getting’s good.” She placed her palms on the table and pushed herself to her feet. “Thank you for the coffee. Both cups.” Her hand grazed her stained shirtfront. “Have a nice day.” She did that back-and-forth thing with her eyes again, indicating she thought Rashida and Jackie were a couple. “Both of you.”

  As Destiny walked away, Rashida was left with the uneasy feeling she had unintentionally ruined much more than a shirt.

  Chapter Two

  Friday, March 3

  1:45 p.m.

  Springfield, Georgia

  Rashida sorted the pile of women’s accessories on the table by color. She felt a bit like a vendor setting up shop at a flea market.

  “Tell me again who this box belongs to,” Jackie said.

  Rashida checked the name on the lease. “Rev. Gary Isaacson.”

  “So why does Rev. Isaacson own one hundred women’s barrettes and a custom-designed necklace with a stuffed Chihuahua’s head on it? On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know. Hit me with another shot of the hand sanitizer. I feel a case of the hives coming on.”

  Rashida squeezed a generous dollop of sanitizer into Jackie’s palm. Jackie stared at her over the top of her half-moon reading glasses as she coated her hands with the pungent alcohol-based solution. “What’s with the look?”

  “Are you finally going to tell me about the tall drink of water with the Rorschach stain on her shirt or do I have to drag it out of you?” Jackie asked.

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Yeah and I’m married to Denzel Washington. Come on. Dish. What did I miss this morning?”

  “A marriage license, a divorce decree, and three deposit receipts.”

  “Huh?”

  Rashida pointed to the spreadsheet Jackie was supposed to be completing. The audit of the Savannah branch had gone relatively quickly, but inventorying the contents of the unpaid safe deposit box in Springfield was taking longer than expected. The fifteen-by-twenty inch box was packed with dozens of items that had to be meticulously catalogued under dual control. She and Jackie had been at it for over an hour with no end in sight. She was supposed to meet with her boss in fifteen minutes, but she wasn’t going to be able to keep the appointment. Not by a long shot. Richmond Hill was an hour away, and she and Jackie had to put in at least another hour here before she could even think about hitting I-95.

  “A marriage license, a divorce decree, and three deposit receipts.”

  Jackie placed her pen on the fourth of what was turning out to be an infinite number of inventory sheets. Soon they would need to make more copies. “Are you going to be this bitchy all weekend or do you plan on getting it out of your system today?”

  Jackie was forty-three and the mother of college-age twins. Jade and Jabari were sophomores at the University of Georgia. Jade was majoring in criminal justice, Jabari in business. Both were straight-A students. Jackie loved to boast the twins got their brains from their mama, but their father—Jackie’s husband James—was no intellectual slouch either. He was one of the civil engineers in charge of preparing Savannah’s infrastructure for the future while remaining respectful of its historic past.

  Jackie had seen her through so many hard times Rashida sometimes felt like her third child. She closed her eyes and gave herself a mental reboot. Jackie didn’t deserve to bear the brunt of her bad mood. “Sorry. I’m anxious about tomorrow and…other things.”

  “Such as?”

  “The tall drink of water with the Rorschach stain on her shirt?”

  “Mmm hmm?” Jackie folded her arms and leaned forward in her seat like she was watching a slow-building movie that had finally gotten to the good part.

  “She asked me out.”

  “Did you say yes?”

  “No.”

  “Why the hell not?” Jackie’s voice echoed off the walls of the cavernous conference room. She leaned back in her chair to see if any of the customers in the lobby had heard her. Outside the double doors, business continued as usual. Customers were lined up to make deposits, cash checks, apply for loans, or simply make conversation with their favorite tellers. “Why the hell not?” Jackie repeated in a stage whisper as she pushed the doors shut. “Even though I’m strictly dickly, I could be persuaded to turn over a new leaf for Miss Tall, Dark, and Handsome. That sister was fine.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Then why did you turn her down when she asked you for a date?”

  “Because I have to drive to Atlanta tomorrow to see Diana and I’m spending Sunday at the spa with you.”

  “Did I mention the sister was fine? Your box of crap has been sitting in Diana’s closet for two years. It can sit there for another week. As far as the trip to the spa is concerned, my gift certificate doesn’t expire this weekend. We have ten more days to play with.”

  “My ‘box of crap,’ as you call it, is Diana’s excuse for getting me to come to Atlanta, but it’s not the reason I’m going. As for Sunday, it’s been a long time since I had a good massage.”

  “It’s been a long time since you had a good roll in the hay, too. Which do you want more?”

  “Maybe if I toss in a few extra bucks, the masseuse will give me a happy ending. What do you think?”

  “I think if you make her an offer like that, I’ll end up spending my Sunday afternoon bailing
your ass out of jail.” Jackie removed her blazer and tossed it on the back of a nearby chair. “I’m going to tell you what I tell my kids. If you ever get into a situation where you’re allowed only one phone call, don’t waste your quarter on me. I’m not going to come and get you. I’m going to let you sit in a holding cell overnight so you can think about what you did wrong.”

  “It’s good to know I have friends I can count on to be there for me no matter what.”

  Jackie chuckled, an earthy sound that always reminded Rashida of family reunions and backyard barbecues. “Whether I feel like giving you a hug or wringing your neck, I’ll always have your back, girl.”

  Rashida wished the people in her life who could honestly say the same numbered more than three. Except for her grandmother, who would give her the shirt off her back, the only people she could depend on were Jackie and Diana. Her best friend and her ex-lover. Her relatives could only be counted on to alternately criticize her lifestyle and beg for money. Where were they when she needed them? Conveniently MIA, that’s where. In many ways, Jackie was closer to her than most members of her family—and even more loyal. Diana, even though they were no longer an item, was still in her corner, too. She hoped nothing would happen tomorrow to change that fact.

  “Refresh my memory,” Jackie said. “Why did you and Diana break up?”

  Rashida temporarily set work aside as she tried once again to unravel her knotty personal life. “It’s hard to explain. The sex was great and I loved her dearly, but I always felt like something was missing. That spark people mention when they talk about the loves of their lives. She was everything I thought I wanted—beautiful, smart, successful, and ambitious—but it didn’t work.”

  “Maybe you’re looking for the wrong things. You’re looking for someone who’s at your level or above it. Maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to rule out someone who’s a few rungs beneath you on the success ladder but has the potential to move up.”

  “Are you saying I should lower my standards?”

  “Not lower them. Relax them enough to let someone knock the dust off your kitty cat, even if she doesn’t make six figures a year or have a fancy title attached to her name.”