Page 1 of Savannah Heat
Chapter One
Jenna Myers got off the plane in Savannah and took a deep breath. Yes, the heat and humidity reminded her she landed in the South, but she didn’t mind. Savannah, the city she loved most, was now before her. Home—well, sort of home. She spent many summers here with her grandmother. Savannah, a special place in her past, and it still had the ability to somehow make her feel safe, secure, special, and at home. Her grandmother was fond of saying that her New York fell away by day three. She wasn’t far off. By the end of every summer, that special Savannah-style Southern accent would soften her New York tongue.
Jenna dressed for comfort to make the trip. She chose her favorite jeans and Harvard sweatshirt. The black ribbon used to hold back her long auburn hair, making her look younger than her thirty-eight years, had escaped. She made her way through the busy airport hoping Brock would be waiting with a car, one with the air conditioner running. As if reading her mind, his text popped up telling her he was in the limo area waiting.
Though getting to know Brock on a deeper level, still an on-going process, she liked that he never let her down. He was dependable. Unlike Dan, to whom she somehow managed to compare every man she dated for the last five years, and even though he proved to be unreliable in almost every way. The fact she thought of him often, and almost hourly in the last few days, was driving her to distraction. She blamed it on being back in Savannah, where he left her nearly five years before.
As if her constant thoughts of Dan conjured him, she gasped as the man twenty feet ahead turned to the left, and she got a look at his profile. She stopped so suddenly the woman behind almost crashed into her. Jenna apologized to the scowling woman and rushed toward the exit door leading to transportation area. No, it couldn’t be him. By the time she made it to the door, she almost convinced herself she’d made a mistake. After all, what would he be doing here in Savannah? Then it hit her—maybe he was here for the jewels.
The Georgia senator’s Black-and-White Masked Ball would bring out every wealthy woman in the state, and some of his friends from out of state. The men would do what men always do, and the women would show off their expensive dresses and even more expensive jewelry. The event was all about being seen, photographed, and written about. Every socialite wanted to get her picture in the news coverage photos from such an event. But the real reason for the event was so the senator could raise money for his upcoming campaign and keep those political contacts healthy.
Brock, his blond hair shining like a beacon, waved, and opened the limo door as the driver opened the trunk for her suitcase.
Jenna dared a glance around the area before getting into the car, afraid she would see Dan, and maybe afraid she wouldn’t. Am I losing my mind? Chill, you’re just tired.
Brock did his usual up-and-down assessment of her outfit. “I see you dressed for comfort today.”
Jenna scowled as she got into the car. “Yes, I did, and I’m not apologizing. No one on the plane complained. Why are you so obsessed with my wardrobe?” Jenna watched Brock’s usual shrug and grin, to imply he was joking, But she knew he wasn’t. If he had a flaw, this was it. He was overly concerned about what everyone else thought. To Brock, what one looked like and appeared to be, was the main thing, true or not. This trait was on the verge of annoying her.
Brock sighed and put his hand on Jenna’s as their driver pulled out into traffic. “Image is everything, Jenna. I keep telling you that, and I can’t believe that in your line of work, you can be so unconcerned about it. You, roaming the fashion scene for years, should know this.”
Jenna rolled her eyes. “Who did I need to impress on the plane, in the airport, or will I need to impress at the hotel front desk when we check in?”
Brock sighed and shook his head as he sat back with a sigh. “A sweatshirt, Jenna, even a Harvard one. What does that say about you? What do you want others to think of you? Your image is everything, you know. I try, and I try.”
“Well, stop trying and cut out the drama. I dress for the occasion, and this is what a plane ride called for—comfort.” After some long minutes of silence, Jenna tamped down her annoyance. Thinking it best to change the subject, she dug into her bag and pulled out a small gold box from Clancy’s, Brock’s favorite jewelers. Jenna leaned in and kissed him. “Happy forty-one, Brock, you are officially old.”
He opened the box and smiled. “Ah, you were paying attention. The cufflinks I lost in Ireland. These are identical. And I am not old. Forty is the new thirty, so they say.”
Jenna grinned. Brock was touchy about his age. “It’s not like I could avoid your moaning about the loss of the cufflinks all the way back from Dublin to New York. Glad I guessed right; they had another pair very similar. And you are forty-one not forty.” She couldn’t resist saying.
Brock put the box into his jacket pocket and closed the window between them and the driver. “We have a suite on the same floor as the senator’s two main guests, a congressman and some media guy. All the security is a bit of a pain, but our suite is huge.”
Jenna nodded and smiled at Brock but hardly heard him. She looked at the passing scenery, waiting for that moment when downtown Savannah would show its face. The busyness of the airport area soon fell away to be replaced by the city she loved. She was greeted by the moss-covered trees, and the uneven streets bordered on both sides with houses still standing after many decades. The view was like a warm hug.
Jenna turned her attention back to Brock. “A lot of security is to be expected. This Black-and-White Masked Ball is one of the biggest fund-raisers for Senator Roseland’s reelection and for his party in general. Not to mention the two big parties leading up to it, the dinner party with some singer, I forget who, and the offsite events, golf, and the art auction.”
Brock took his buzzing phone from his pocket. “The golf, I’m looking forward to, but you can keep the rest. Speaking of golf, that was my text alert to sign up for times and teams. But yeah, so lots of rich people carrying lots of expensive stuff. I’m sure everyone who is anyone will be in town.”
“Ah, the important things in life.”
Brock grinned and eyed Jenna’s sweatshirt again. His gaze traveled to the jewelry she wore, and he put his hand on her bracelet. “Yes, it makes me feel safe, having all this security. But how about you and your stuff?”
Jenna held up her right hand. “My stuff, as you put it, is not a problem. I don’t travel with expensive jewels. I have fakes of all my good stuff, and that is what I wear except for a couple of sentimental pieces like my emerald ring my gran gave me.”
Brock looked at Jenna’s ring and shook his head. “I’ve never understood why people pay so much money for jewelry and then are afraid to wear it. And on top of that, pay another truckload of money to have fakes made up to look just like them. It’s crazy.”
“Diamonds and gems are an investment, and it’s the fun of collecting and having something no one else has.” Jenna sat back in her seat and looked out the window again. She was always shocked at how much she missed Savannah every time she came back for a visit. She didn’t expect Brock to understand her love of diamonds and gems or her love of Savannah. The only person who could was one she couldn’t afford to think about too much, and she refused to think about him any more today.
“Collecting jewelry that you can’t wear sounds boring and slightly nuts. There must be better ways to make money and better things to collect.” Brock looked at her ring again and frowned. “That bracelet looks expensive. You wear it a lot. Is it a family heirloom or something?”
Jenna turned her face back to the window. “No, I just like it.”
“Well, I still don’t get the thrill of collecting pretty rocks.”
Jenna kept her eyes on the passing scenery. “Yes, I know. It’s all about buying real estate for you. And I don’t get a thrill from watching grown men hit a little white ball across grass.”
Brock laughed. “Yes, well, first, real estate is practical, and no one is going to take it from you. And second, hitting the little white ball relieves tension and offers opportunity to make connections that lead to money—and more real estate deals.”