Free Swindled in Paradise by Deborah Brown Page A

dining with nameless people with a need to be seen. Who could be so important that you’d be willing to eat at an overpriced restaurant where the food sometimes made you wish for a greasy hamburger?
    One afternoon, while I was shopping with Fab, she’d chosen a low-cut, black dress for me that required a strapless bra, which I was now adjusting. The owner of the lingerie store I frequented had talked me into the newest addition to the bra line, the ultimate push-up, instantly adding two cup sizes. I poked the top of my cleavage, knowing it would disappear as soon as I unhooked the back.
    Fab had insisted that the dress was a must-have—every woman needed more than one in her closet. I tried to curb her enthusiasm pointing out that I had three such dresses, but she wasn’t listening. So I bought it with every intention of returning it, but soon discovered she’d thrown away the receipt. I slid my wincing toes into two-inch black heels, the highest I could manage without falling. They had been a gift from Fab, along with a threat that if I didn’t wear them, she would burn my flip-flops.
    Creole, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looked up when my foot hit the first step. His eyes glittered with heat, turning deep blue, promising an interesting evening. I flew into his open arms, and the rush of his breath on my neck calmed me.
    I wanted to whisper, Throw me over your shoulder and take me to your lair. Instead, I pushed my diamond encrusted heart necklace, a recent gift from Creole, into his palm and turned, holding up my hair.
    “It’s about time,” Fab muttered. Draped across Didier’s lap, she flicked her watch. Didier tugged on her hair.
    I winked at her, tactfully not reminding her of all the times she kept us waiting. The woman wasn’t acquainted with “on time.” She looked perfectly put together, as usual. Her long brown hair cascaded down her back in loose curls, and her black designer dress clung to her slender frame like a glove.
    “How is it that you got to pick the restaurant twice in a row?” Creole asked Fab in a suspicion-laced voice.
    “The restaurant is owned by Didier’s friend, Balcazar, and we’re going to support him. What’s wrong, Neanderthal? Too much dress up for you?” Fab snickered.
    This should be interesting, I thought.
    “Babe, I think you look hot-hot,” I said with admiration, leisurely perusing him from head to toe before turning to Didier. “You come in a very close second.”
    Both men were dressed in black dress pants and Italian loafers, only differing in shirt choice. Didier wore a long-sleeved black dress shirt and Creole had on the shirt Mother had got him from an upscale boutique that had become a favorite now that she had men in her life to dress.
    Fab buried her head in Didier’s chest and made an unidentifiable noise. Didier laughed and jerked her to his side, clamping an arm around her. He whispered something in her ear, and she cooed up at him. “I apologize. It seems my girlfriend forgot to give you all the details.” He looked down at Fab. “I appreciate your going. Not sure why I got the invite, as the relationship between Balcazar and me has been strained since Lauren’s death.”
    “Let’s go.” Fab grabbed Didier’s arm and practically dragged him out the door.
    It surprised me when Fab jumped behind the wheel of the Hummer. I would’ve thought she’d choose her Mercedes.
    I snuggled up to Creole in the backseat, and we did little talking, sneaking a kiss or two.
    * * *
    Fab was a completely different driver with her boyfriend sitting next to her; she didn’t turn unless there was plenty of room, slowed at every yellow light, and ran only slightly over the speed limit. Finally, she pulled up in front of a valet stand, and the door was quickly opened by a young hottie. Fab handed the keys to the twenty-something with beach boy looks.
    “You joyride,” she said, glaring at the guy, “and I’ll have you arrested.”
    He looked