Love's Legacy in St. Augustine

Chapter 2

"Justine!"

Diana, the paper's chief finance officer and my oldest friend, bursts out the front door, belly-first. She's pregnant. Very, very pregnant. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, and her tanned skinI keep telling her to use sunscreen or else she'l look like an alligator in ten years-is shiny with sweat.

"Hey. Watch out for the pirate."

My hand instinctively goes to my forehead, and my thumb circles my temple. I shouldn't have had that second glass of chardonnay last night while preparing for today's meeting.

"Oh, hell." She steps around himn and rushes to me, breathless. Why is she in such a hurry? She's never in a hurry, pregnant or not.

"Yeah, we need to get him out of here. Do you know if Larry's calling the cops?"

"No idea. Did you see the Wall Street Journal this morning?"

She flips a copy of the paper at me. It's folded twice to a manageable rectangle.

"No. Only had tỉme to read our paper, get ready, and guzzle a gallon of coffee. And stress about today. What's up?"

"Florida Capital."

"What about it?" I snatch the paper from her.

"Read the article."

"Later. The meeting's in fifteen minutes. I'm waiting for the VP to show up. I don't want him to see that drunk"

"I know when the meeting is. That's why you need to read this." She points to the bottom of page one with a chubby finger. Pregnancy and humidity have conspired to make her fingers look like sausages, but I won't tell her that.

Squinting, I read the first sentences aloud. "In a surprise move, MDA of Miami has agreed to buy a majority stake in Florida Capital. As part of the $800 million cash deal, MDA will assume all of Florida Capital's investments and continue to expand its acquisition of media properties and other companies throughout Florida and Latin America. Assets under MDA are valued at $18 billion."

The article jumps onto another page, and I don't bother to search for it.I look up into Diana's wide, blue eyes and shrug. "So? Sounds like this is good news. They'l be more likely to take a chance on giving us money. Score!"

She takes the paper and smacks my arm with it. "Read the rest."

I shove the paper toward her. "I need to deal with this pirate. Do you think you, me, and Larry can haul him across the street? Wait, no. You can't.

You're too pregnant. Is anyone in the newsrOom?"

"A couple of guys. But keep reading. Second paragraph. Top left column."

Diana's lilting Southern accent is uncharacteristically blunt.

"Okay, Jesus, you're pushy today." I grab the paper, flip it over, and read fast, out loud in a buzzy voice.

"Founded just one year ago, MDA backs midmarket companies in a variety of industries, including media, consumer and business services, consumer products, distribution, and financial services. MDA is owned by Florida's wealthiest man and number 275 on the Forbes 500, Miami condo king Rafael Menendez de Aviles..."

My voice trails off, and my chest tightens. My eyes read the name five times. I haven't said it aloud in years.

"Oh God," I whisper. It's suddenly hotter than hell and half of Florida.

I fan myself with the newspaper and look around. My headache erupts with a vengeance. "Oh God."

"I think it's the same Rafael,"

"Thanks. Of course it's the same Rafael." For a second, I suspecta vein in my temple is going to burst. I inhale.

This is bad. Worse than bad. Disastrous.

Connect to the internet to load media I park the Tesla in front of the newspaper, and there she is. She's standing over a man sprawled on the sidewalk. I can only see her from behind, and what an incredible view it is.

Her hair is long, pin-straight and halfway down her back. She puts her hands on her hips, a move that accentuates her little waist. Her ass is still apple-shaped. The tight, black skirt does nothing to hide it or her long legs.

Ive always loved her ass. Well, and everything else about her, too. I loved Justine from the moment I saw her in that class at the University of Miami.

When I looked at her, I felt wild, tender and overwhelmed. All at once.

Something I've never felt with anyone else, which is why her betrayal cut so deep.

And why I don't love her anymore. Still, my eyes skim her body possessively because that's how I view her: as mine. By modern standards, my feelings are sexist, wrong and inappropriate. I know this without question and would never admit it to anyone. Except I would have revealed it to Justine at one time, long ago. She probably would have scolded me, then laughed.

It isn't that I think of her as property.

No, she's more ofa primal extension of me. Even after all these years.

She's as much mine as my own arm or leg. Though I'm not here for fun, I can't help but grin as I watch her tap her foot. I guess she's still impatient.

When she was younger, she always wanted more.More experiences, more s*x, more from her career.

Wait. Is she ... kicking that guy on the ground? No, she appears to be prodding him with the tip of her shoe. I frown and take my foot off thebrake to turn off the car the Tesla's electric, state of the art, no ignition key needed and I'm ready to beat the guy senseless. I go to unbuckle a cuff link so I can roll up my shirt sleeve.

Of all the ways I fantasized about seeing Justine for the first time after all these years, I didn't think it would be like this.

She steps away from the guy, who hasn't moved, and throws her hands in the air in an exasperated motion.

I stop undoing my cuff. Jesus, is the guy dead? I reluctantly take my eyes off her and squint at the man on the ground. No, I can see him breathing.

He's probably a bum.

My eyes go back to her. Now I can see her profile. I sit in the driver's seat of my Tesla, studying her little nose, the familiar line of her jaw, the pouty mouth. She's even more beautiful now than she'd been when we were in school. Part of me hoped she'd let herself go, that she'd somehow turned hideous in the years since I'd last seen her.

I'm ashamed to admit that I still crave her kiss.

The air inside my car is ice-cold after I'd blasted the air conditioner on my five-hour drive from Miami. And yet, I'm sweating because I'm nervous.

That's what Justine does to me, Rafael Menendez de Aviles, the richest man in Miamni. Makes me feel like a college kid again.

I'm not even sure if I'd talked to girls before I'd met Justine. If I had, I'd forgotten about all of them. There was nothing before Justine, and after...well, after has been years of the same. The same women, parroting the same sentiments with the same fake laugh. All in hopes of snagging me as a husband, or at the least, a steady hookup with benefits.

Because of this, or in spite of it, I've never gotten over Justine.

When I saw her that day in class at UM, I don't even know how I'd found the courage to even speak to her.

She was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen, all bare legs and plush lips and big eyes. My mind flashes in quick succession to a fraction of my memories. The good ones.

Hugging her for the first time and how she'd trembled in my arms. Rafa, she'd say in her southern accent, I was scared at first because you're so much taller than me, because you rode a motorcycle, because you looked like you wanted to devour me.

The way her eyes were the color of sea glass when the setting Miami sun hit them just the right way.

How Id wake up with her in my arms and how her soft, satisfied sighs in her sleep would make me feel whole.