Working Man
Funny and feisty true-crime writer Dakota Phillips has almost everything she wants. She's still looking for the perfect man: very tall, very educated and very cultured–all wrapped up in rich chocolate brown. So far, her insecurities about her generous curves and her independent streak have kept her searching.Nick is a self-made mogul who works hard, plays hard and loves life's finer things. He's not perfect, but he makes Dakota feel beautiful, desirable–and maybe a little too vulnerable. Dakota can't surrender to a take-charge man, and Nick has worked too hard for everything to give up control. Moving on would be easy–except for a little complication called love.
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To the wonderful women and two good-looking men of my
online group. Through the darkest days you were there for me, when there is cause to celebrate, youâre there for me, and when prayer is needed youâre always there. I wish I had enough room to name you all, but you know who you are. Thanks for the laughter, the friendship, the spiritual support and all the love.
And a special thank-you to Kim Patrice Tookas.
She knows why!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 1
Dakota took a look at her reflection in the rearview mirror and cringed. âGood googa-moo, I look like the Queen of the Undead,â she said with a sigh. And it was true, although she had a good reason. Driving from Washington, D.C., to Chicago all by herself was a daunting task, especially since she was the sole driver of an SUV crammed full of books, clothes and a computer as well as a truly crabby cat. The cat, a large vain Somali female with big green eyes, let out a low yowl to remind Dakota how much she disliked car travel.
âCha-Cha, Iâve heard it all before so please put a lid on it. Weâre here, okay? I just have to stop to get gas and we can be on our way home, all right?â
âRrrrrowrrr!â Cha-Chaâs response seemed disdainful at best, something that actually stung Dakota.
âYouâre a mean olâ critter, you know that? I just happen to be a very well-known writer and you should treat me with some respect, you hairy little snot. How do you think I pay for all that gourmet cat food and Evian water you consume? Youâd better be nice to me or youâll find yourself eating dry kibble from now on.â
As she often did, Cha-Cha seemed to understand exactly what Dakota was saying. She looked rather put out but clamped her jaws shut and curled up in her carrier while she feigned sleep. Dakota brightened as she saw a gas station that looked new and clean and, furthermore, boasted a mini-mart. She pulled up to a pump and got out of the car, gratefully stretching. She looked down at her wrinkled jeans and sighed. Nothing to be done about it now; she looked like a bag of rumpled laundry. She filled her tank with premium, muttering under her breath at the obscene total, and then went inside to pay for the gas and use the ladiesâ room. It was all she could do to keep from screaming when she saw how really bad she looked. She wasnât a vain woman, but she always liked to look her best, and today she was far off the mark. Way far off.
Her long black hair had gone wild from blowing in the breeze as she rode with the windows down much of the way. It was now a mass of wild ringlets à la early Chaka Khan. She didnât have on a speck of makeup, although her classic features looked perfectly fine without it. She was wearing a pair of boot-cut jeans, her favorite Nike Shox, a pinstriped cotton shirt that bore the evidence of the hotdog sheâd consumed earlier and worst of all, she didnât have on a drop of perfume. Dakota loved smelling good and if she wasnât mistaken, she now smelled like super premium gasoline as she always managed to get a drop or two on herself whenever she filled up her car, which is why sheâd usually pay for full service.
Rummaging in her tote bag, she unearthed a huge blue-and-white batik cotton scarf sheâd bought years and years ago on sale at Neiman Marcus. It had come to her rescue many times before and it wasnât going to fail her now. Folding it crossways until it was about three inches wide, she tied it on like a headband and sighed at the result. With her big gold hoop earrings, her headband gave her a rather Bohemian air if one didnât look too closely at the wrinkled shirt and the ketchup stain. âAw, who am I trying to kid? I look like I just got off the bus from a six-month stint at a womenâs correctional facility,â she said, putting her chic little glasses back on her slender nose. âItâs a good thing Iâm going straight to my place and no one will see me.â
Casting a last look over her shoulder she groaned as she beheld the bane of her existence, her generous bottom. If she could just get rid of her big boobs and her equally big butt, she might have a passable figure, but it wasnât happening, at least not today. She left the ladiesâ room, paid for a bottle of Evian to share with Cha-Cha and strolled back to her pride and joy, her new Chevy HHR.
Her forehead puckered in anxiety as she got behind the steering wheel and stared at the map sheâd downloaded from MapQuest. Map-reading was not one of her favorite things, so she concentrated on the page intently. Setting the creased paper aside, she put her vehicle in Reverse and turned to exit the station. She was waiting for a space to open up so she could merge into traffic when a loud thud sounded from the rear. The noise was accompanied by a jolt that shook her hard and sent Cha-Cha into a frenzy. She put the car in Park and turned it off while she collected herself. She was breathing hard with her hand over her bosom when suddenly a shadow crossed her. A deep voice asked if she was all right.
