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Whatever Lola Wants
By Niqui Stanhope St. Martin's Press
Copyright © 2004 Niqui Stanhope
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4668-6211-1
CHAPTER 1
Lola looked at the papers for a moment. "I think the wording in the contract is very clear," and she stood so that he could get a good look at her. She was a tall satin brown woman, a striking beauty with shoulder-length raven black hair, a curvy Coke bottle body, and fine Ethiopian features. Her legs were long, her thighs were thick, and her derriere was just large and rounded enough to send most red-blooded adult males into a serious case of conniptions. She had the look of a woman who was well used to getting exactly what she wanted. And, in most cases, she did.
She stood just a pace away from Chaz, a hand perched neatly against her right hip. Her eyes flickered over him in a quick little analytical sweep, and she noted with some amount of irritation that he didn't seem at all impressed by her body. Her lips tightened by just a bit. OK. Fine. So he wasn't going to be easy, but she had broken harder men than he. A little smile curved the corners of her mouth. She was going to make him want her. And not only that, but he was going to love every moment of it before she sent him packing.
Chaz cleared his throat and then said in an extremely pleasing baritone, "It says here," and he flipped a page with a thick finger, "that the compensation for completing this job is one million dollars? And there's also a discretionary bonus?"
Lola nodded and one of her eyebrows lifted. "Were you hoping for a little more than that?"
Chaz laughed. "More? No. I think the million will be sufficient."
Lola folded her arms. "Then what's the problem?"
He came to his feet, so that Lola was forced to look up at him.
"What kind of discretionary bonus are we talking about? I mean, is it a time-dependent kind of thing? You want this job done by a certain date and if I bring it in on schedule there's a little more cash involved?"
Lola met his eyes. "Actually, no. The bonus has nothing to do with how quickly you finish the job. It has to do with something else entirely."
She could see that she had captured his interest with that, and she gave him a deliberate moment to consider exactly what she might mean.
"I'm guessing that whatever it is, it's too far outside the letter of the law for you to include it in the contract."
Lola chuckled. Oh, it was going to be so much fun taking him down. What would he think? What would he really think about it if he knew that she, Lola St. James, was Sadie Green? The same fat little girl he had once referred to as "not flashy. Ordinary."
"You're right," she said. "I think you'll probably find my request a little, shall we say, unorthodox?"
"Well, as long as it doesn't involve anything illegal, I'm willing to at least listen to what you have to say."
"I'll give you an extra twenty thousand dollars if during the completion of this project, you agree to put any possible marital plans that you might have on hold." She leaned forward. "I mean, I have no idea of what you might be doing in your personal life, of course, and really, when it comes right down to it, it's neither here nor there to me what you do. But what I do care about is the job, and the quality of work. And I've found that whenever there's a woman involved ..." She let the rest of her sentence hang. It was a lie, of course. She did care very much about everything he did in his personal life. A long time ago she had had to stand by and watch another woman take him. But she wouldn't be standing on the sidelines this time. She, Lola St. James, was going to have him for as long as she liked. And judging by the way he looked in those tight jeans and white T-shirt, that might turn out to be a very long time.
Chaz looked at her for a long moment, and Lola waited, her face calm, cool. Whenever the need was there, she could play a mean hand of poker.
"You're serious about this," he finally said. "Twenty thousand dollars extra for not doing something that I had no plans to do in the first place?"
Lola released the breath she'd been holding. "Twenty thousand dollars extra. Call me eccentric. But those are my terms."
Chaz stretched his legs before him, and Lola's eyes followed the ripple of muscle in his thighs.
"I need the money. There's no question about that. But I'm not sure about this. It doesn't feel right, taking bonus money in this way."
Lola gritted her teeth. He had to agree to this. He had to. She didn't want to have to divert her energies toward getting rid of another woman.
"I'm a rich woman. So don't concern yourself about the money. This bonus is my personal stipulation. Think about it before you decide to turn it down. You can still do a few things these days with twenty thousand dollars."
Chaz drew his feet in, stood. "OK. I'll think about everything you've said. I'll let you know tomorrow, if that's OK with you? I'd like my lawyer to have a look at ..." And he began to move toward the door to the sleek oak-paneled office.
"You don't have a steady woman, do you?" Lola stopped his progress with a deceptively soft query.
Chaz turned. "What?"
"She's not part of the deal, even if you do."
The doorway leading to the short flight of stone stairs was partially open, and hot sunshine cast a puddle of bright light on the wooden floor.
"Excuse me?"
And for the first time in their hour-long meeting Lola heard the hint of steel in his voice.
"You can't move any of your female friends in here. Onto the property, I mean. The guesthouse is really only properly equipped for a bachelor. A woman wouldn't be happy there. Besides, as I said before, I don't want anything to distract you from your work." She took a breath and waited half a beat to see how this new stipulation struck him. Thus far he had weathered the entire affair with remarkable equanimity. But this, this would be another matter entirely, and hence the reason she had saved it for the very end.
"I don't understand you."
"It's simple. What I'm saying is whatever you do off the property is your own business, but I won't agree to you having women living here with you. And I'm not flexible at all about that." Now there was steel in her voice.
Their eyes did battle for a moment, and then Chaz said in a hard, flat voice, "Not that it's any of your business either way. But I'm trying to raise my son up with the right moral values ... and living together with a woman I'm not married to is not one that I want to pass along to him."
Lola blinked rapidly. So did that mean he didn't have a girlfriend? Or that he just didn't let her stay overnight with him? Lord, but he was a slippery talker.
"You have a son?" she asked now with what she hoped was the adequate amount of surprise in her voice. Of course it hadn't been anything new to hear him say he did. She had known about the boy all along. But Chaz couldn't know that.
Chaz allowed the half-open door to rest against the curve of his boot, and he said in a manner that almost brought a flush of embarrassment to Lola's cheeks, "Yes, I do. And I hope one of your requirements won't be that I can't bring him along with me. Because if that's the case, I'll tell you now that —"
"No, no, no," Lola interrupted him hastily. "Of course you can bring your child along with you. I'm not heartless, you know ... regardless of what you might have heard."
"Right," Chaz said, and the tone in his voice made Lola tighten her lips. It didn't matter if every other man in the world thought of her as a cold, ruthless barracuda. She didn't want this one to. She didn't want Chaz Kelly to think so, too.
"I think you'll find, once you start working with me, that I'm a very reasonable and understanding woman."
He nodded at her and said in a manner that set Lola's nerves on edge, "Yes. I'm sure I will. Well, see you tomorrow."
From the floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows Lola followed him with thoughtful eyes as he walked down the stone stairs and across the well-kept green lawns. Tomorrow. Yes. Everything would begin tomorrow.
CHAPTER 2
Chaz Kelly got into his ten-year-old Toyota truck and closed the door. Lord, if that hadn't been a meeting for the record books. When he had received the summons from Lola St. James's office, he had been of two minds whether to accept the offer of a meeting. But of late his landscaping and pool design business had really begun to struggle. Most months he barely managed to pay the skeleton crew of employees who worked for him. In fact, things had gotten so very bad in the last six months that he had seriously considered closing shop altogether.
He reversed down the curved pink gravel drive. This wasn't supposed to be his life. If the fates had been fair at all, he would be playing pro ball right now and living the good life out in California. That had been how he had planned his life. Since high school he had had dreams of playing for the NFL. And he had had the talent to do it, too. He had played ball on a full scholarship at USC and had been a first-round draft pick with the 49ers in his junior year. He had received a thick eight-figure contract for five years. And the sweet life had swept him up. He had married Veronica Simms, a girl he'd met in high school, bought a big house out in the Bay Area, and settled in to live long and hard, doing all of the things that young sports celebrities with way too much money tend to do. But just when everything seemed to be going his way, life had gone and changed the program on him. On a perfectly simple pass, on a perfectly ordinary day, he had slipped, fallen, severely injured his knee, and ended his NFL career. Looking back on it now, he still couldn't understand how the accident had happened. It had taken him many years to come to grips with the reality that the life he had planned and worked so hard for was no more. His wife, who had grown quite accustomed to a certain standard of living, a certain way of life, had realized, too, that the life they had been living was no more. And very shortly after he received the lump sum settlement on his five-year contract, she had informed him that she was leaving him for another NFL player. Their son, Jamie, was just a few months old at the time.
Chaz shifted gears with some difficulty, checked his rearview mirror, and then pulled onto the black tar street. Life, frankly, had been much less than fair to him. But he wasn't complaining. In the big scheme of things, it really could have been much worse. Much worse. At least he still had his health. He was thirty-six years old. He had a ten-year-old son who was the spitting image of him at that age and he had an ordinary relationship with the kind of woman who would probably be a good wife for him and a decent mother to his son. Admittedly, there was no great passion between them. But they were both beyond that silly stage where they believed in sparks, chemistry, and true love anyway. And, frankly, if love hadn't bitten by the grand old age of thirty-six, it was highly unlikely that it was ever going to bite. That was the pure and simple truth of it.
As a teenager tore by on a motorcycle Chaz shrugged and glanced into his side-view mirror. He didn't have the time for all of that foolishness anyway. He was a grown man with the problems and concerns of a grown man. So now he had the chance to make an amazing chunk of money over the next twelve months and to make some very valuable connections, too, in the bargain. It was a well-known fact in certain circles that if Lola St. James recommended you on a job, it was as good as yours. And the good Lord knew that Chaz needed more than a few good solid jobs. He was currently living in a tiny utility apartment in the Washington, D.C., metro area. A place that was no good at all to raise a young boy. A fond smile flickered across his face. It wasn't easy raising a child alone, but Jamie was a good kid, even though of late he had started giving Chaz a bit of trouble. It still amazed him that the boy was his. He shuddered whenever he thought back on his own childhood. At ten years old, he had been a little monster. The things he had gotten into at that age horrified him to even think about now. What he had needed, though, was a strong paternal hand. A father to straighten him out. But he had never known the man who had fathered him, and his mother, poor thing, had done the best she could with what she had. And raising a headstrong son all alone in Washington, D.C., hadn't been easy.
He slowed the flatbed truck as he approached an intersection. This was one of the ways he picked up a lot of business. Many days he drove around wealthy neighborhoods in the Maryland and Virginia areas just looking at houses. If he saw anything promising, he would pull over to the curb, write down the location of the house, and then stick a business card and brochure in the mailbox. Very often, the owner ended up calling. But it was a slow process, and with a growing boy and Chaz's small staff to support, it was hard. Even after ten years of steady struggle to stay afloat, it still wasn't substantially easier than when he had first gotten into the business. But maybe things were about to change.
A rambling Victorian house came into view as he rounded a thickly treed corner, and Chaz slowed the truck so that he could take a good look at it. His keen eye took in the neatly manicured green lawns, the smooth stone fountains spouting crystal clear water, the symmetrically pruned bushes. It was a beautiful property; there was no question about that. But the grounds needed a bit of landscaping help.
He pulled over to the curb, cut the engine, and climbed out. He stuffed some promotional material into the fancy mailbox and then hopped back into the truck. The engine started with a surprised cough, and Chaz noted with a frown that his final stack of brochures was beginning to run a bit thin. He wiped a calloused hand across his jaw. Lord almighty, it was so hard to succeed as a small businessman these days. It was almost as though the system was set up to ensure failure. He couldn't get the kind of loan that he needed because he didn't have enough collateral. And he couldn't get enough collateral because he couldn't get himself a decent loan. A wry expression pulled at the corner of his mouth. He would have to accept Lola St. James's offer, bizarre stipulations and all. As far as he could see, he really didn't have a choice. His little ploy about wanting to have his lawyer look over the contract she had presented him with had been nothing more than a stalling technique. He couldn't afford to hire a lawyer even if his life depended on it. He routinely handled his own contracts. It wasn't always the wisest thing to do, but it was something that he had had to do. And, over the years, he had become a pro of sorts. He knew what kinds of things to look for. And he could spot a potential rip-off as fast as most trained lawyers could.
He shifted gears, grimacing at the sound his gearbox made.
Of course he would accept the offer, there was no other way that he could manage to keep body and soul together. So the fact that she appeared to have some sort of a personal interest in him was an unwelcome little problem that he would just have to deal with. He knew her by reputation of course. Most people in the business did. She was a well-known player. A ruthless, coldhearted iron woman whose climb to the top of the construction world had been nothing short of legendary. She had stepped on, outwitted, and outmaneuvered some of the best people in the business. It was even rumored that she had ties to organized crime (which he was sure was just a rumor). But whatever dirty deals she had made to get to where she was today, they had all been nicely sanitized away by her high-priced team of Ivy League lawyers. Now she was squeaky clean and perfectly respectable. Just last week her photograph had appeared in one of the local scandal sheets. Chaz had noticed the screaming headline while standing in line at the checkout counter: "LOCAL SENATOR TO WED CONSTRUCTION QUEEN." And it had all made perfect sense to him. People who sought power were attracted to power. Lola St. James had gotten herself all the money; now she was going for influence, respectability. A senator's wife. What could be better than that?
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Whatever Lola Wants by Niqui Stanhope. Copyright © 2004 Niqui Stanhope. Excerpted by permission of St. Martin's Press.
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