Nothing's Sweeter than Candy (2 page)

“No, I don't mind. It'll give me a chance to catch up on the latest gossip. What's new? Have you found a man yet, or are you still doggedly holding onto your ‘wild, single, and free' status, refusing to give in to the power of love?”

“Nothing's changed. I'm still living single.” Candace laughed. “But I
have
sworn off dating for a while.”

“Shut your mouth. I don't believe it. Why?”

“Because, the last guy I was seeing was a jerk. He was great between the sheets, but a total ass on his feet.”

“Girl, when are you going to stop hanging out with losers? We both know you can do
so
much better. I swear, sometimes I think you go out of your way to hook up with the worst guys around. You'll never find Mr. Right when you insist on looking for Mr. Wrong.” Sarona's voice was filled with exasperation. “You've got so much going for you, Candace. You're beautiful
and
crazy smart. I just know there's a great guy out there somewhere who would love to get to know you, if you gave him half a chance.”

“Ah yes, my friend, ever the optimist. Just because you've been lucky in love doesn't mean the rest of us are as fortunate. I've got news for you: the dating pool is pretty shallow, and being ‘crazy smart' isn't in high demand.”

Candace couldn't find a way out of her predicament. The deep end was filled with puffed-up, self-important egotists who had no idea how to spot a great catch. At the other end were timid, afraid-of-their-own-shadow types, with such fragile egos that a strong-willed, outspoken woman scared the hell out of them. Her choices were either assholes or sheep. The chances of finding a decent, eligible, intelligent bachelor who's able to cope with an independent woman were slim to none.

“So I won't be looking for Mr. Right, Mr. Wrong, or Mr. Anybody for a while. I'm taking off the silk thong and putting on my one hundred percent cotton panties, and I'm going to stock up on batteries and become reacquainted with my vibrator.”

“Girl, you are too much.” Sarona laughed. “You can be so cynical sometimes.”

“Cynicism is only one of my endearing qualities. What about you?” Candace asked, deftly changing the subject. “The last time I heard from you, you were away at a work conference with some guy, and I quote, ‘living la vida loca,' and spouting something about ‘shouting hallelujah from the rafters.' Care to share the details?”

“I'd love to, but that would require an entire evening complete with wine, cheese and crackers, and assorted chocolates, as well as a notarized agreement not to divulge any or all parts of the conversation.”

“Whoa. It was that good?”

“Yeah. It was that good.”

“Well, sign me up and swear me in. I can't wait to hear the whole story.” At the sound of a door opening, Candace looked up to see Joyce ushering a couple out of her office.

“As always, it's great talking with you, Sarona.” She softly chuckled. “But Joyce is available now, so I'll put you through.”

“Thanks, Candy. Hey, keep your calendar open. You, Joyce, and I are going to have to get-together when I get back from my trip. It's time for another girls' night out.”

“You're going on another
trip? This is your third one this month. Joyce won't be happy to hear that
.
She's already been complaining about all those canceled lunches and happy hours because of you working overtime. She's actually threatened to force you to choose between her or your job.”

“Yeah, I know. That's why I'm calling. I have to break the news to her.”

“Well, I don't envy you that charming little chore.” Candace laughed as she signaled Joyce and pressed a button to transfer the call.

Pulling files and preparing for the next appointment, Candace replayed her conversation with Sarona in her head. It sounded like she'd had quite an adventure during her recent trip, and that was great. But, unfortunately, whenever any of her friends scored big in the game of love, it didn't bode well for her. It meant they'd want to include her in their world of happiness, which always translated into another round of well-meaning meddling and matchmaking. Somewhere along the way, Joyce and Sarona had made it their self-appointed goal in life to find Candace a “Mr. Right.” The two were determined that she do what was expected of every woman of a certain age—settle down, start a family, and live happily ever after. Because it was their dream to do so, they thought it was only natural she should feel the same way.

She made a face and cringed at the thought. What was all the fuss about anyway, to rush into marriage and motherhood? For Christ's sake, she was only twenty-seven. She loved her freedom and celebrated every moment of it. Ever since she'd begun working for Joyce, she'd watched clients come and go, and sometimes come back again. She'd seen firsthand how difficult it was to make a relationship work, and she wanted no part of that drama.

Besides, there ain't no such thing as Mr. Right.
Suddenly, her mood rapidly descended into a dark and cynical place.
That man is a fairy tale, just like Santa Claus, trumped up and told solely to little girls.
Ultimately, children grew up and stopped believing in Santa Claus, but little girls became women who never stopped believing in Mr. Right. She'd learned that fairy tales were best left to children, not grown-ass women. Andrew Nash was living and breathing proof of that lie.

She hadn't always been so cynical. She'd once held the same blind belief of all women in search of that one man destined to fulfill their fantasy—until selfish, uncaring men like Nash had dashed her dreams and destroyed her hope. The facts of life opened her eyes to the truth: that not everyone gets a happily-ever-after ending; sometimes all they get is “the end.”

Candace stared blankly at the papers spread across her desk, her thoughts anchored in another place and time. Painful memories had been suppressed, but not forgotten. She knew what it was like to be in love. She'd been there, done that—twice. And twice her heart had been broken and handed back to her in pieces.

At sixteen she'd been sweet, sensitive, and naïve, trusting her emotions and believing in the fantasy. She'd given away her heart and her virginity to another sixteen-year-old because of her faith in the fairy tale. She was in love, and love was reason enough to justify her decision. A week later, he was gone. He'd moved on to another girl and left her feeling so hurt, confused, and ashamed that it was hard to breathe. She hid her suffering behind fake smiles and forced laughter, and pretended to agree with others who insisted it was only a teenage crush. Time passed and life went on, and she'd gotten through it. But if it was “only a crush,” why did it still hurt at twenty-seven as bad as it had at sixteen?

At twenty-three she'd deliberately pursued relationships with older men, blaming her earlier heartbreak on her immature partner. Age and experience would make all the difference in the world. Wouldn't it? The second love of her life was a dream come true: handsome, sweet, attentive—and a liar. She wasn't the only woman in his life, just one of many he wined, dined, and used for his selfish entertainment. There'd been plenty of warning signs, but she'd chosen to ignore them, stubbornly fighting to hold onto the dream. Eventually, she'd caught him in one too many lies and had to acknowledge another failure. And her belief in forever-after began to unravel.

It didn't matter that the circumstances were different; the pain was the same. She'd sat alone in the dark with the curtains drawn and her face stuffed in a pillow to soak up her tears and muffle the sobs. Then she crawled under the covers, closed her eyes, and wished she could die, just to make the hurt go away. She didn't die. She endured and made a vow. Never, ever, again. That would be the last time she'd serve herself up on a platter, because she'd never survive heartbreak number three. Sure, it was true that time healed all wounds, but wounds deep enough left scars.

After running away from love, she'd locked away her emotions and hardened her heart, turning toward men like Nash. It didn't take a trained psychiatrist to figure out why. Men like that had no hidden agendas. They didn't smile in your face and tell lies to get into your pants. They made sure she knew up front what they were after, and it was her choice whether or not to go along. They'd taught her two important facts of life: love was a game, and men didn't mature with age—they simply got better at playing the game.

There were no rules set in stone; you made them up as you went along. So, she made a few of her own. Rule number one: no expectations, no disappointments. Rule number two: never make a man responsible for her happiness. Subsequently, all her affairs were purely physical, regulated to booty calls and one-night stands. Emotional entanglements only got in the way. Guys operated just fine following this philosophy, so why couldn't she?

She was lucky; her mixed-race heritage made her a curiosity, an exotic oddity, something to “try for the first time,” so attracting men was easy. Attracting the wrong man was easier. She dated men from different professions and ethnic backgrounds because she'd always been fascinated by “different.” But in the end, it all boiled down to the same thing: it didn't really matter what color a man's skin was—lying, deceiving bastards came in every shade.

“Hey man, it's Brice. I'm just checking in to see what's going on.”

“Everything's cool,” David said. “What's up with you?”

“It's all good. I'm glad you made it back okay, but man, you know I've been waiting for the details on how things went down with you and Sarona. I'm anxious to hear how your game plan played out.”

Brice Coleman and David Broussard had been friends since their college years. Now both in their mid-thirties, the two had recently become business partners in a software and communications security consulting service. They developed antivirus software for high-profile business corporations and made them aware of cybercrime vulnerabilities. They often hacked their way into the computer databases of potential clients, just to get their attention.

Both were alike in a number of ways: same wealthy family background, same striking good looks and athletic build, and same interests in education and technology. Their only real differences had been in their taste in women, until recently.

David usually went for the blonde-haired, blue-eyed model type, all looks, body, and no brains. His latest infatuation, Sarona Maxwell, was a complete departure from his usual sort: African-American, voluptuous, and intelligent. Unlike David, being attracted to women of color was nothing new for Brice. He'd had an affinity for brown skin in every shade, shape, and form since childhood.

“Yeah, I know.” David laughed. “But I'm afraid you might be a little disappointed. Things didn't go exactly as I imagined. Turns out I was no match for Ms. Sarona Maxwell. She beat me at my own game and took my ass down, hard. And I didn't even put up a fight.”

“What? Wait, am I hearing you right? Is this the same man who left here a week ago with every intention to seduce the woman who's driving you crazy?”

“Yeah, you heard right. And, no, I'm not the same man. David the Player no longer exists. My player's card has expired, and I don't plan on renewing it.”

Brice chuckled at the memory of David's scheme to seduce Sarona. The two of them traveled in the same business circles and attended the same conferences, but rarely interacted. According to David, Sarona was polite, friendly, and funny as hell, but she usually avoided him like the plague. Used to being the center of female attention, David was bothered and intrigued to the point of erotic fantasies, and his sex dreams almost drove him crazy. The more she dodged him, the more determined he was to have her. It was a classic case of “wanting what you can't have.”

He'd left town with the intention to use his charm, good looks, and every tactic in the player's handbook to seduce her and fulfill his fantasies. Brice had questioned his judgment on executing his plan away from home, and with such a short time constraint. It had seemed simpler to work his magic here, in Atlanta. But David argued that if Sarona had the home field advantage, she'd also have a million ways to avoid him. At a conference in a hotel on the west coast, hundreds of miles away for a week, there were only so many places she could go to get away from him. No matter how far she ran, she'd always have to come back. And if that didn't work, well, he could use the excuse of a contract proposal to contact her through her company.

But it seemed David's plan had gone just a bit awry.

“That is freaking unbelievable. And scary,” Brice choked out. “I mean, I knew you had it bad, but I had no idea it was that bad. I thought you were just obsessing and needed to get laid. The plan was to get her
in
bed and
out
of your system. What the hell happened?”

“I don't know. You're right. I was obsessing, and I did need to get laid. Once the ball started rolling, though, things took off and got away from me. As I tried to seduce her, everything got turned around, and in the end ... well, in the end, I was the one who was seduced. I think I'm in love, man.”

“I don't know what to say. I'm floored. I guess I should be happy for you, but God, I hope it's not contagious. I'm in no hurry to get tangled up and tied down by some woman. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“Damn, I can't believe it. You, of all people.”

“I know. I can't believe it either, but I guess it had to happen sooner or later. And for all your blustering denial, don't be surprised when it creeps up on you and bites you in the ass. But don't worry, I'll be the first to hand you a beer, slap you on the back, and say I told you so. I'll welcome you into the brotherhood of the fallen with open arms.”

“Screw that. I'm telling you right now—I don't want any part of your ‘brotherhood.' Unlike you, my man, there's no way in hell I'm going down without a fight. Anyway, I also called to tell you I've scheduled an appointment for next week at Peterson, Powell, and Lambert. Our sales department made the pitch a few days ago, but the IT director wanted a personal interview with one of the partners, so I'm going in to close the deal. But by all rights, we both know it should be you, since it was your idea to approach the company in the first place. It was your, what did you call it, ‘backup plan,' right?”