Miami After Hours. Yahrah St. John
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to get what he wanted. That’s why he was a transactional broker. He worked as a facilitator between the buyer and seller to close the transaction. He didn’t owe either party his undivided loyalty. Nonetheless, she’d seen him use the utmost skill, care and diligence in all his transactions, dealing honestly and fairly with all the clients he represented.
He was recently featured in Miami magazine as an industry star. Everyone knew who Daniel was, including lots of women. Since she’d arrived six months ago, Angela had seen lots of wannabes sashay into Cobb’s offices trying to meet Daniel or have him show them property personally. She was sure most of them were either in the market to be a Mrs. or looking for a good time, and Daniel certainly fit the bill.
Angela tried not to notice how handsome Daniel was, but she’d failed miserably. Not only was he irrepressibly charming, but he had killer features: chiseled cheekbones, a broad nose, a strong chin and sumptuously full lips. And those eyes...
His eyes dared any woman to look into them and not get burned by their dark brown intensity. Angela always made sure not to stare too closely at him for fear she’d get tangled in the web of attraction like so many women before her.
And then there was the body. She was sure there was a vast expanse of steel-toned chest, rock-hard abs and powerful thighs underneath those designer suits he wore. They were enough to make any woman’s knees wobbly at the prospect of a passionate encounter with the man. Angela shook her head. She mustn’t think that way.
Daniel was her boss and he would remain only her boss, even if he was wearing the heck out of a Tom James suit.
“Angela.” Myrna snapped her out of her musings.
“Yes?”
“You interested in going to lunch? Daisy will cover me while we go out.”
“I just got back to the office,” Angela responded.
“C’mon,” Myrna pleaded, “I’ve been stuck in here all day and I need a break. I can’t wait until the day when I can get out of the office and start showing houses.”
“All right,” Angela conceded, and grabbed the Prada purse that was hanging over her chair. She tossed it over her shoulder and followed the statuesque blonde out of the office, uncaring that she had the attention of the owner of the establishment.
* * *
Once they were seated at an open-air bistro facing the bay and enjoying the warm day in early May, Myrna wasted no time getting to the real reason she’d asked Angela to lunch.
“You have to tell me your secret,” Myrna stated.
“What secret?”
“How you got Daniel to notice you,” Myrna said, sipping on her iced green tea. “I’ve been trying for months, but he just looks right through me as though I’m not there.”
Angela laughed. “As if that were possible.” Myrna was gorgeous and she knew it. Every man sitting outside was giving her sideways glances. Was she really so disturbed that Daniel wasn’t one of them?
“It is,” Myrna said, pushing her Asian salad around on her plate. “I want to be an agent same as you one day, but the state test is god-awful. I’ve failed twice.”
“I’ve heard it can be difficult,” Angela responded, though it hadn’t been for her. She’d passed on her initial try and never looked back. Why? Because she’d finally found what she wanted to do in life after floundering in endless jobs for close to a decade. A career that would showcase her brain for business.
“You have no idea,” Myrna said. “And when I finally pass, I want Daniel to give me a shot, a real shot at working for him. To see me as something more than just a pretty face to wow clients when they walk through the door.”
“Do you really think that’s why he hired you?”
“C’mon, Angela,” Myrna stated, reaching for her bottle of Evian water. She unscrewed the top and drank liberally. “We both know my looks got me the job. But they won’t get me my dream job. You’re so lucky.”
“Yeah, I guess I am,” Angela replied. “But it wasn’t always this way.”
“What do you mean?”
Angela wasn’t about to share her story with Myrna, who was known to gossip in the office. She couldn’t tell her that her parents, both academics, saw Angela as a disappointment because she wasn’t more like her sister, Denise, who was working on her PhD. “I mean that sometimes you have to start at the bottom and work your way up.”
“Is that what you did?” Myrna snorted. “Yet somehow you caught Daniel’s eye.”
“Not in the way that you mean,” Angela said. “He has a new project that he wants me to work on with him.”
“And is that all he wants you to work on?”
Angela raised a brow. “What are you talking about?”
“C’mon, you must know Daniel Cobb has a reputation. He’s quite the ladies’ man, or so I’ve heard.”
“And from whom have you heard that?” Angela queried.
Myrna shrugged. “Around. People talk. And word on the street is that Daniel has an aversion to commitment. So all I’m saying is that I hope this venture is on the up-and-up and that you need to be on your guard. A man as suave and charming as Daniel Cobb just might sneak up on you.”
Angela sat back in her seat. She highly doubted that. She had her eye on the prize. Getting out of her small yet expensive apartment and into one of the luxurious condos she’d set her sights on two years ago when she’d begun saving. And no man, including Daniel Cobb, was going to get her off her game.
Daniel eased his red Ferrari up to the valet station outside a fifty-five-story tower in Brickell, Miami’s financial district, the following day.
A valet greeted him, relieving him of his keys, and Daniel strode inside the formidable tower to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, where he was set to attend the monthly meeting for Prescott George.
Seven years ago, he’d been invited to join the illustrious men’s club by the president, Ashton Rollins. In the seventy-five-year history of the organization, no one actually called it Prescott George. They all referred to it as the Millionaire Moguls Club. Why? Because anyone who was anyone knew that the discreet and powerful club only invited old money and a handful of the nouveau riche to join them. That’s not to say the Millionaire Moguls didn’t give back.
Their motto was From Generation to Generation, Lifting Each Other Up. The club regularly gave college scholarships to needy students and funding to inner-city organizations. It’s why Daniel was here today. They were settling on the charity organization that would be the beneficiary of Prescott George’s upcoming annual fund-raising gala.
As he stood in the elevator, Daniel was sure there were going to be fireworks in today’s meeting between Joshua DeLong, the charity outreach and public relations chair, and Ashton. The two men were like oil and water; they didn’t mix. They had numerous differences, not the least of which was the source of their fortunes, and in that regard Daniel compared himself, as well. Ashton was a rich kid who’d been born into money, unlike Daniel, who’d earned his, and Joshua, who, rumor had it, had stolen his fortune. As a corporate raider, Joshua had a way of taking what he wanted, regardless of if it was from the misfortune of others. Still, he was a likable guy with loads of charisma.
And then there was Ashton.
Daniel wasn’t Ashton’s biggest fan, either, but his animosity went deeper, much deeper, and further back into their shared history.
The ding of the elevator indicated they’d reached the top level and Daniel exited. The doors opened into