Can't Stand the Heat (5 page)

For the Gibbons girls, men were just a means to an end. They bought you houses. They bought you cars. They gave you children and they gave you money. But that was about it. The only thing that mattered was your family and that meant your sisters, your mother, and your children.

Lauren had never met her father, nor had any of her sisters met theirs. But their mother said it wasn't necessary to meet them.

“As long as he takes care of his financial obligations to you, what difference does it make whether you see him?” Yolanda would ask when the girls were younger and they openly wondered why they had not received so much as a birthday card or telephone call from any of their dads.
“We're
important,” Yolanda would insist. “Not a man who knows absolutely nothing about you.”

The belief that men were just a means to an end had been so deeply ingrained in all of them that even Lauren had fallen under its spell . . . for a while. She had started off on the same path as her sisters. Back then, she had used men and their money with only fleeting misgivings about what she was doing. She probably would be married and divorced by now and have moved on to the next man if it wasn't for James Sayers. She wasn't sure if it was her good fortune or bad luck to have ended up with the likes of him.

J
ames was twenty-two years Lauren's senior. He was one of the most powerful men in town and had an air about him that drew respect and sometimes awe from those around him. He had his own law firm whose clients included Fortune 500 companies with offices in Dulles and other parts of the technology corridor in northern Virginia. He had a sprawling estate that was bigger than the Gibbons manor, a brownstone in New York, a condo in DC, and a summer home in St. Bart's. He owned six cars that included a Ferrari and Bentley, and a yacht that he kept docked along the Chesapeake Bay. It seemed that there wasn't anything that James wanted that he couldn't buy or hadn't bought already.

When Lauren met him, he had let her know instantly that he was attracted to her, and something about him seemed so much unlike the other men she had dated. He was not only romantic but protective. She didn't have to pretend with James. He understood her and their arrangement instantly. He let her know that he
wanted
to take care of her and give her money and shelter. All she had to do was be the beautiful young woman on his arm, cook his food, and warm his bed at night. Lauren agreed to those terms and moved into his home.

It had seemed like a good arrangement . . . in the beginning. Lauren was happy to play the trophy girlfriend, and he seemed happy to be her sugar daddy. But after less than a year, things started to change.

Lauren began to notice it first in the little patronizing jokes James made about her. He began to call some of the dresses she wore “slutty” and tell her whenever she talked to his friends and business associates that she should keep her thoughts to herself. He ridiculed her for enrolling in culinary school. He said her talent was in looking beautiful and nothing else.

“Don't stretch yourself, honey,” he would say before patting her lightly on the behind.

Later she often wondered if, in some ways, he had been jealous of her desire to become a chef. After all, how could she focus completely on catering to him if she pursued dreams of her own?

His protectiveness slowly took on a darker tone and Lauren began to wonder if James wanted to protect her—or control her. He started to text her constantly. When she arrived home, he wanted a rundown of what she'd done that day and whom she'd spoken to. She found out that he was monitoring her cell phone calls through their monthly phone bills. She started to hide her purse after she discovered him digging through it one day after she left it sitting on her vanity. By the end of the second year, Lauren had had enough. But by then, it was too late. The verbal abuse became physical.

The night he beat her, she bolted. She ran barefoot in her silk nightgown out the bedroom, down the hallway, and down the winding staircase of the East Wing. She found the hiding place for her purse, grabbed her car keys, and ran into the frigid November night.

It was seven months later, yet she could still remember that night perfectly: how the light flakes of snow fell around her while she puffed gusts of air with each panicked breath she took, and how the freezing gravel driveway dug needles of pain into the soles of her bare feet as she ran from his house. She didn't stop to go back inside and get a pair of shoes or a coat. She felt like she
couldn't
stop until she got far away from there.

Lauren had pulled off in her car just as James swung open the front door. He had bellowed after her while her tires screeched and sent gravel flying. She glanced over her shoulder to find him running after the car like a madman. She drove at nearly sixty miles per hour to the opened front gate.

As Lauren drove away, she had sobbed, both angry and hurt that James had done that to her. She cried even harder when she realized that she had really done it to herself. She had let him abuse and manipulate her for two years in exchange for what
? Money? Expensive cars? Trendy clothes?

“But I didn't know any better,” she had quietly lamented, feeling sorry for herself.

She had been taught to play this game and now it had come back to bite her in the ass.

“But now you
do
know better,” a new part of her replied. “And you will never let this happen to you again.”

Lauren's tears began to fade with the emergence of her new resolve. She would change herself. She would change her life. She wouldn't hunt men anymore for their money. She wasn't going to depend on anyone but herself for a sense of security.

As the snow continued to fall, Lauren felt lighter. She had finally shaken off the shackles of her old life. She was finally free.

 

“Lauren,” her mother said after they made their way around the table and all the other sisters had shared stories of their recent conquests. “What about you, honey?”

Lauren shoved her scrambled eggs around her plate with her fork. “I don't have anything to share.”

Her mother gave a heavy sigh, removing her dinner napkin from her lap. She placed it on the vintage chenille tablecloth. “It's been seven months now, baby. I think it's been long enough for you to get back out there again.”

“I told you that this wasn't temporary, Mama. I'm done. OK, I'm done! I'm not doing it anymore!”

“Oh, Laurie, Laurie, Laurie. Don't let that man do this to you, honey! He's already moved on. I heard he's dating some twenty-year-old paralegal. Don't let him make you give up like this. You made a mistake! All right? It's that simple. What do I always tell you girls? Don't give a man too much power! It's one of the oldest rules in the family book . . . and you broke it. You handed over the reins to him and before you knew it, the buggy lost control. But we all learn from our mistakes,” Yolanda said, looking around the table. “Don't we, ladies?”

Cynthia, Dawn, and Stephanie quickly nodded in agreement.

Cynthia turned and nudged Clarissa, who had been gazing listlessly at her plate. The young girl looked up surprised and nodded distractedly.

She shouldn't be here,
Lauren thought as she gazed at Clarissa's innocent face.
She shouldn't hear this nonsense!

Yolanda smiled as she held up the newspaper that had been neatly folded near her plate. “I have a tip to help you along, Laurie, and it's a good one. He's a man I think would be perfect for you.” She shook the newspaper open. “Are you
sure
you aren't interested?”

“I said ‘no.' ”

“Oh, hell!” Cynthia exclaimed. “If she isn't interested in him, than
I am!
Who is he, Mama?”

Dawn sucked her teeth. “What do you mean ‘who is he'? I thought you said you were working on the bigwig over at Landview Bank!”

“Honey, I'm a multitasker!”

“Multitasker? Please! I swear you think you should get first dibs on everything.”

“I'm the oldest!
Why shouldn't I?”

It quickly devolved into bickering, with Cynthia and Dawn going at one another's throats. Their mother calmly raised her teaspoon and tapped it on the edge of her teacup again. At the sound of the clinking, all the sisters stopped arguing.

“No one
gets first dibs on this one,” their mother said firmly. “He was reserved for Lauren and she turned him down, so now it's whichever one of you makes headway with him first.”

“Well,
who
is he, Mama?” Cynthia repeated impatiently.

All the sisters, with the exception of Lauren, listened eagerly.

“He's a football star,” Yolanda said as she stared down at a newspaper article and sipped her tea. “Well, I guess
ex
-football star. He's newly retired. His name is Cris Weaver. The first name has a funny spelling for some reason. C-R-I-S
not
C-H-R-I-S.”

“From where do I know that name?” Dawn paused. “Mama, did he play for the Dallas Cowboys?”

Yolanda nodded. “He did, but he retired last year. He's the one that bought the old Holston place. He's been renovating it for a while now.” She tapped at a paragraph in the article. “It says here that in addition to being a football player, Cris made several good investments in dot.com start-ups and a music label. He was listed last year on Forbes's Most Powerful Celebrities list. Between money from his old sponsorships, his stock portfolio, and investments, he's estimated to be worth more than forty
million
dollars.”

Their eyes widened collectively.

Stephanie let out a long, low whistle. “Damn, that beats James Sayers by a good twenty mil,” she muttered.

Lauren's eyes instantly shot up from her plate at the mention of James's name. She glared at her sister.

Stephanie demured as she nibbled at a piece of toast. “I'm sorry, Laurie. I know James is an asshole, but it's true!” she whispered.

Lauren watched as her mother looked down at the photograph of Cris Weaver.

“Getting this one would mean you
definitely
hit the jackpot, girls,” Yolanda said.

With mild interest, Lauren glanced at his picture. When she saw it, she gaped.

It was the same guy from yesterday, the one who had come into the kitchen to compliment her on the food!

“But it'll be a challenge,” Yolanda continued, oblivious to Lauren's amazement. “My sources tell me that he officially moved into town about a week ago, but I heard he's elusive. He's rarely at his home and no one has seen him in any of the shops on Main Street. Good luck tracking him down.”

“I've se—”

Lauren stopped herself.

Everyone at the table turned to look at her, but she quickly clamped her mouth shut.

Her mother stared at her expectantly. “You what, honey?”

Lauren was going to say that she had seen him at her restaurant only yesterday—in fact, she had even spoken to him—but something held her back from sharing her news. Lauren was sure that it wasn't possessiveness.

No,
Lauren told herself. She couldn't covet a man she barely knew. Just because he made her heart pound like she was hopped-up on caffeine when she looked at him, and she had been thinking about him off and on since yesterday, didn't mean that she wanted to keep him to herself.

I said I wasn't interested in him and I meant it. I'm not interested in any man right now. I'm just . . . I'm just trying to protect him
.

When her sisters got their hooks in a man, they could be brutal—especially Cynthia. He seemed like a nice guy. He didn't deserve to be chewed up and spit out.

“I was . . . I was just going to say that”—she tried her best to think up a quick lie—“that I have no doubt one of you will probably track him down. You've got noses like bloodhounds when it comes to sniffing out a rich man.”

“Just because you lost the fight in you,” Cynthia muttered, “doesn't mean you can make fun of the rest of us. You gave up, but that doesn't mean all of us have to.”

“Cynthia! Apologize to your sister for saying that!”

Lauren stood from the table. “Don't worry, Mama. I'll just take that as my cue to leave.”

“Oh, sweetheart, don't rush off. Cynthia didn't mean that. Tell her you didn't mean it, Cynthia!”

“I'm not rushing off. I said when I arrived that I couldn't stay long. I have to get to the restaurant.” She leaned down and kissed her mother's cheek. “I guess I'll see you again next weekend.”

She turned, pushed her chair back to the table, and rushed out before her mother had the chance to ask again for her to stay.

S
tephanie Gibbons pulled to a stop in front of the scrolled wrought-iron gate, pressed the button to lower the driver's-side window of her silver BMW, and smiled at the stocky, uniformed guard who had been sitting on his stool at the gatepost. He had been idly flipping through a car magazine when she pulled up. He slowly raised his eyes from the tricked-out Land Rover on the page spread, saw Stephanie, and instantly perked up. His plump face brightened into a grin.

“Good afternoon,” she said, pushing back her sunglasses to the crown of her head. “I'm Stephanie Gibbons. I'm here for the Baylor event.”

“Uh, yeah . . . umm . . .” He fumbled as he rose from his stool, dropping his magazine to the glass booth's floor. “Umm . . . let me just . . . just check that here.”

She watched as he reached for a clipboard on his small, cluttered desk. He quickly flipped its pages and scanned the names on the list. “You said Stephanie Gibbons?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, I got you right here.” He tapped one of the pages with a ballpoint pen. “Go right ahead.”

“Thanks.”

A natural flirt, Stephanie gave him a saucy wink. She lowered her sunglasses back to her nose and pulled off as the gate slid open.

“Hey! Hey!” he shouted over the sound of her car's revving engine. “Wait, baby! Come back! Can I get your number?”

She slowly shook her head and laughed.

Sorry, honey,
Stephanie thought.

A gated-community security guard wasn't exactly the caliber of man she was interested in. Now, Cris Weaver—
that
was a man who was definitely more her style! She'd be more than happy to hang off of his strong arm.

While her sisters were busy bickering at today's brunch at Mama's, Stephanie had managed to snag the newspaper with the article about the rich ex-NFL player. She now glanced at the article as she drove past several cookie-cutter houses with the same impressive facades and perfect lawns. The newspaper was folded in the passenger seat near her purse and a brightly colored gift bag.

Their mother was right: If any of the Gibbons girls managed to snag Weaver, that would definitely be a major coup. But competition for such a guy would be stiff. At least Lauren was dropping out of the contest, though that wasn't a surprise. She hadn't chased after anyone since her ugly breakup with James. But it looked like Cynthia wasn't backing down. She already had her boxing gloves on and was ready to come out swinging, taking out any woman who even bothered to look Weaver's way.

Stephanie pulled into a concrete driveway, turned off the engine, grabbed the newspaper, and looked down at Weaver's photograph.

Hmm, cute
, she thought. But was he worth the battle?

Weaver certainly was, on paper, but Stephanie didn't know if she was up to challenging Cynthia. Their eldest sister had always ranked as Queen Bee in their family, and knowing Cynthia, that schemer was already drawing up plans to woo and win over Weaver in three months flat!

Nah,
Stephanie thought, slowly shaking her head and tossing the newspaper aside. She'd let Cynthia have a go at Weaver first. Then—if her sister crashed and burned—Stephanie would give him a try. It was only fair and part of the family's rules of conduct. Cynthia couldn't argue with that.

Stephanie flipped down her visor and examined her reflection, making sure everything looked perfect.

“Not a hair out of place,” Stephanie said, whispering Grandmother Althea's mantra, “not a frown on your face.”

She flipped up her visor, pasted on a smile, and opened her car door.

A trail of people slowly made their way up the brick pathway to the front door of the Tudor-style home. A very pregnant Tisha Baylor stood in the doorway, greeting everyone. The instant she saw Stephanie, the pretty, dark-skinned woman smiled.

“Hey, girl!” Tisha shouted as Stephanie strode toward her in her stilettos, carrying the oversized gift bag.

“How are you?” Stephanie embraced Tisha and lightly kissed her cheek. She handed the gift bag to her. “Just a little something!”

“Oh, thank you! You shouldn't have!”

Stephanie looked around the impressively decorated foyer. “Honey, I just love your home!”

“You should! You sold it to us!”

Stephanie tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “I did, didn't I? Well, I guess that means it
is
fabulous, then!”

The girls in the Gibbons family might be avid gold diggers, but that didn't mean they didn't believe in also having a backup plan. They all had their own careers. Some even had their own businesses. Lauren was a chef, Cynthia was the director of the local historical society, Dawn was an art gallery director, and Stephanie was a real-estate agent—one of the top agents in Chesterton.

Stephanie had helped the Baylor family purchase their house less than a month ago. The couple had been looking for a larger home now that they were going to have their second child and had hired Stephanie as their agent. The Baylors hadn't been easy to please; they had very specific, high-end tastes and had nitpicked over every detail. But it took her less than four months to find and close on the sweeping three-story house in which they were now settled. Stephanie heard the baby room was already painted a tasteful pale pink in honor of the little girl they planned to have in July. Today they were holding a house blessing for their new home and had invited Stephanie, among many other guests, to the event.

Tisha grinned and ushered Stephanie inside. “Go introduce yourself to everyone! We're serving hors d'oeuvres in the living room.”

Stephanie nodded and walked inside before strolling past the winding staircase.

“Try the cabernet!” Tisha called after her. “We had it shipped in especially from Napa!”

Stephanie made her way through the nicely dressed crowd, who sipped from wineglasses and shared polite conversation while mellow jazz music played in the background. This certainly wasn't a “down-home” house blessing by any estimation. If anyone got the Holy Spirit, Stephanie was sure a crowd like this would be aghast and disgusted. They'd probably faint.

Though not all partygoers were local, Stephanie spotted an assortment of the upper crust of Chesterton around the room: the business leaders, lawyers, and doctors who held the most power (and money) in their small town. Stephanie glanced inside her purse and discretely made sure her business cards were handy. She could very well find several new clients this afternoon.

She smiled at a group of men who were huddled in one of the living room corners, behind the sofa. One of the men—a tall, handsome brother with a goatee—looked up at her and smiled back.

Maybe I'll find a lot more than a client today,
she thought as he tipped his wineglass to her.

Stephanie was always on the lookout for a new man—
especially
if he was a rich one.

Mr. Goatee murmured something to his friends before walking toward her, but then he stopped. His eager smile disappeared. She watched, confused, as he veered in another direction and walked off.

Stephanie didn't have any further chance to speculate on his sudden loss of interest. She felt someone grab her by the elbow. She turned in surprise to find James Sayers, of all people, grinning down at her.

“Steph! Hello, gorgeous! I didn't expect to see you here. How are you?”

Stephanie cringed. She was well aware of what James had done to Lauren. She had seen the bruises, scratches, and blood that November night. She, Dawn, and Cynthia had tended to Lauren's wounds. Lauren had even stayed with Stephanie for a few weeks before she found a place of her own.

Like Lauren, none of them had chosen to take a public stand against James. Their little sister wanted to keep quiet the story of what he had done to her. He was just too powerful in town, Lauren had argued. Stephanie respected Lauren's decision. It was her choice. But just because Stephanie didn't openly show her distaste for the man, didn't mean she had to like him or be around him. He made her skin crawl.

“Hey, James,” she said flatly, pulling out of his grasp.

“I haven't seen you in quite a while, Steph.” He shoved one of his hands into his pants pocket and drank from his wineglass. “It's been . . . I don't know . . . more than six months.”

“Yes, it has.” She looked away, pretending to be fascinated with one of the modernist paintings on the wall, hoping he would take the hint.

“You and your sisters used to visit all the time.” He chuckled. “You were at my place so often, I was going to charge you rent!”

“Well, now that Lauren no longer lives with you, there's no reason to visit, now, is there?”

He finished what was left of his wine. His cordial smile disappeared. “Speaking of Lauren . . . how is your lovely sister? Doing well, I hope.”

Stephanie slowly turned away from the painting and narrowed her eyes up at James.

This guy has got some huge balls,
she thought angrily.

“She's fine, James. Just . . .
fine.”

“That's good to hear. Can I speak with you privately for a second?”

James didn't give her a chance to reply. He dropped his hand to her back and steered her to one of the empty corners of the crowded room. Again, she tried to ease out of his grasp, but this time, he linked an arm around her waist. His hold tightened. Stephanie glanced nervously around her, hoping that James wouldn't do anything to her in front of all these people.

“I wonder if you could pass a message along to Lauren for me,” he whispered into her ear.

“Why don't you tell her your goddamn self?” she snarled, trying to twist away from him.

He laughed again and faced her. “Oh, you know how stubborn your sister is! She hasn't been returning my phone calls or any of my messages. How could I possibly speak to her?”

Soon after Lauren had left him, James had called her endlessly, leaving so many messages on her voice mail that he filled the message box to capacity. He had sent bouquet after bouquet of flowers and expensive gifts to Yolanda's home, hoping that Lauren's mother would pass them along. Finally, after months of Lauren's silence, and after all the gifts were returned to his mansion, the calls had trickled off, then stopped completely. Lauren had assumed James had finally understood that she wasn't coming back. But judging by the way he was behaving now, that obviously wasn't the case.

“Why don't you just leave her alone? Just move on!”

“I'd love to do that, sweetheart,” he said tightly, “but you see Lauren and I have a few financial entanglements that need to be taken care of before I can.”

“Tell your sister to give me a call. It's in her best interest to do so . . . in
all
your best interests,” he corrected and grinned. “Tell her I have something to give her.”

He then walked off, leaving Stephanie standing alone at the party, completely dumbfounded.

 

“All right! All right, everyone!” Tisha Baylor said, tapping on the edge of her water glass with a spoon. “Please gather around for the blessing!”

Conversation throughout the first floor gradually quieted as everyone made their way to the living room. Tisha stood next to a baby grand piano that featured several framed photographs of herself and her family on its glossy ebony ledge. Her husband, Derrick, stood next to her with his arm looped around her ample waist. Tisha beckoned the crowd forward.

“First, I would like to thank each and every one for coming today,” Tisha said as she gazed around the room. “We're so honored that you would all attend our house blessing. Second, Derrick and I would like to thank our wonderful,
fab
ulous real-estate agent, Miss Stephanie Gibbons. Stephanie, please come up front and introduce yourself to everyone!”

Stephanie set aside her wineglass and excused herself through the throng of people. She proudly walked to the front of the room where Tisha and Derrick stood. She turned back around to face the crowd and smiled.

Stephanie noticed a few women in the crowd rolling their eyes heavenward or exchange a look as she waved, but she didn't care. She knew she and her sisters weren't going to have any fan clubs started in their honor among the women in Chesterton anytime soon. It was best just to ignore the other women's looks and comments.

“Stephanie got us this lovely home, and we are ever so grateful for all her hard work!”

“Thank you, Tisha!”

“Now, without further ado, we'd like the Honorable Deacon Montgomery to come forward and do the blessing,” Tisha said.

Stephanie was astonished when the crowd parted and handsome Mr. Goatee from earlier stepped forward.

So he's a deacon, huh?
Well, she hadn't figured on that one.
Interesting,
Stephanie thought.

Her eyes momentarily locked with his before his gaze shifted to Tisha and Derrick. He shook Derrick's hand and gave Tisha a warm hug. He then gave one final heated glance at Stephanie before closing his eyes and lowering his head.

“Let us bow our heads in prayer,” his baritone voice boomed to the room of people. He then began the blessing.

Soon after the prayer, the partygoers slowly began to disperse.

Overall, it had been a good evening for Stephanie. She had handed out about half a dozen business cards and got at least one credible sales lead. As the party finally began to wind down, she made sure to say good-bye to Tisha and Derrick and to avoid running into James again when she noticed him talking to another couple. She had just stepped through the door and was walking down the brick pathway that led to the driveway when she felt someone lightly tap her on the shoulder. She turned to find Mr. Goatee/Deacon Montgomery smiling at her.