Prize of a Lifetime

Prize of a Lifetime

Donna Hill

To all my readers who have ever dreamed of that one-in-a-million opportunity in love and life, this book is for you!

And to my brand-new grandson, Caylib, who is truly a blessing to us.

Enjoy,

Donna

Special thanks to my ever-patient editor, Glenda Howard, and my intrepid agent, Pattie, for always finding a way to work through my drama, LOL. Thanks, ladies.

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 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 1

The letter weighed heavily in Sasha Carrington’s purse. For two weeks she’d carried it around like a talisman, still not believing the words she’d read over and over at least a dozen times. The only person she’d shared her good fortune with was her best friend, April Harris, and only because it was April who’d insisted that she submit her name and qualifications. Sasha had been reluctant to say the least. I’ve never won anything in my life, she’d groused to herself even as she’d sealed the envelope and dropped it in the mailbox more than five months earlier. Now her future was only a plane ride away, that is, if she could ever get off work, tie up some loose ends and pack her bags.

The instant Sasha spotted Brenda sauntering through the door, she signed off her computer with a swipe of her Summit Hotel identification card. She purposely ignored Brenda’s syrupy-sweet greeting which she should have given almost an hour earlier. That was no one’s fault but John Ellis, the manager, Sasha inwardly fumed. Brenda got away with murder and John turned a blind eye. Had it been her coming into work even ten minutes late, he’d be threatening to write her up.

“Anything I need to know about reservations?” Brenda asked while she settled in behind the counter.

Sasha cut her a look sharp enough to slice glass. “Guess what, I really don’t have the time to explain—with you getting here so late and all,” she added just loud enough for Carol, the reservationist at the end of the counter to hear.

Brenda flushed momentarily and tossed her head, flipping her very expensive weave over her shoulder. “Fine.” She dismissed Sasha with an arched brow, put on her commercial-ready smile and moved into greeting mode as a handsome, well-dressed man approached the desk.

Sasha sighed as she watched Brenda work her usual spell around him, the way she did with every man who came within sniffing distance. His soft brown eyes didn’t even register that Sasha was on the same planet. She retrieved her purse from beneath the desk, said goodbye to Carol and pushed through the revolving doors and out into the humid Savannah evening. She adjusted the strap on her purse higher on her shoulder and headed for the parking lot across the street from the four-story hotel.

“Humph, humph, humph,” a man who appeared to be in his early thirties murmured as she passed. “Love a sistah with some meat on her bones.” He licked his lips like the wolf with Little Red Riding Hood on his plate.

Sasha’s stomach flipped when he grinned, baring a row of missing teeth. She shook her head and kept walking, trying not to let the obvious get her down. A fine looking businessman walks into the hotel and doesn’t blink in her direction, yet a toothless, my-job-is-to-stand-on-this-corner man gives her a big shout-out. What is wrong with that picture? she thought as she deactivated the alarm on her car.

She slid behind the wheel, leaving the door open while she turned the ignition of her ten-year-old Honda Accord in the hope of releasing some of the tightly-packed heat trapped inside. She pressed the button for the air conditioning and inhaled a blast of hot air.

“Damn, it’s hot.” She pulled open the glove compartment and took out a wad of napkins that she’d collected from her various pit stops. She flipped down the visor mirror and peered at her reflection before dabbing her face. Hmmm, she needed a touch-up—badly. And when was the last time she’d tweezed her brows? She’d all but chewed off her lipstick. No wonder the only catcall she could get was from a toothless hobo. She flipped the mirror back in place.

When the car had sufficiently cooled she closed the door, buckled up and headed for her second job—the family catering business, Carrington Caterers. Between her real job at the hotel, the evenings at the family business and the classes two weekends per month for her certification in Hospitality Management and Food Preparation, it was no wonder she looked the way she did. She didn’t have a moment to spare for herself, or for anyone else for that matter. Neville, her ex, simply couldn’t understand that she wanted more than to spend the rest of her life at the beck and call of someone else, working at something that would never be her own, which was why their ten-month relationship had ground to a halt. She had a plan for herself and she couldn’t be distracted by anything or anyone that was not part of her plan.

It was bad enough that she was off target by two years. By thirty she’d wanted to have finished her advanced degree and have her business off the ground so that she could tell the folks at the Summit Hotel just what they could kiss. Then she could buy that little house she’d had her eye on for almost five years.

In another six months she’d be finished with school and her business plan was almost completed, she mused, feeling mildly placated as she turned onto Charles Street. She zipped through a yellow light and made a right at the next corner.

She truly loved Savannah. She loved the way the late-afternoon sunlight showcased the scenery outside her window. She loved the antebellum architecture, lush greenery, landmark mansions and quaint shops. She was a Southern girl to the bone. She’d been up North a few times—New York specifically—to visit relatives. It was certainly a fabulous place, with nightlife that never seemed to end. But before her week-long visits were over, she was always ready to come home. The hustle and bustle of the Big Apple shaved a good five years off her life. The madmen behind the wheels of yellow cabs, not to mention the ludicrous policy of moving your car from one side of the street to the other on alternate days. She chuckled at the memory of her Aunt Linda jumping out of bed and running outside in her pajamas to move her car in the morning. And the noise never seemed to stop: honking horns, music blasting from car windows and she couldn’t imagine that the police and the fire department could possibly be called as often as they were in New York. It was a great city to visit, but she could never live there.

The bright blue-and-gold awning with the double C logo for Carrington Caterers loomed ahead. Sasha slowed, eyeing the street for an open parking space, the closer to the front the better. She zipped her midnight-blue Honda into a spot vacated by a gas-guzzling Suburban, beating out a Lexus by a mere bumper.

Sasha bit back a chuckle and kept her eyes straight ahead as the Lexus crawled by her. She could almost feel the cuss words bouncing off her driver’s-side window. She turned off the car, gathered her purse and tote bag and went inside as quickly as she could, eager to get out of the sticky heat and into the cool interior of the family domain.

CC had been in business for more than twenty years, starting off in her mother Grace’s kitchen on Kennisaw Road where she did “favors” for close friends who were having small gatherings or surprise family events. Grace Carrington’s homemade soul-food dinners and desserts became so popular that she outgrew her kitchen and rented the space CC now occupied. Once they were old enough, Sasha and her younger sister, Tristan, helped out. Their dad, Frank, who also knew his way around a stove, handled the books and the deliveries.

Fortunately, the recession had been kind to them. While many businesses in downtown Savannah were suffering or had closed, CC still managed to do well, all things considered, and maintained a profit. Grace firmly believed that food was the best comforter in good times and more so in bad. However, with more people becoming health-conscious and a flurry of government studies on obesity in the U.S., Sasha had been trying to convince her mother and her sister to broaden their menu to include some healthy alternatives. She urged them to serve more than the fried, buttered, gravy-laden, ham-hock-seasoned, sugar-coated foods that CC had built its reputation on. Grace and Tristan were not interested.

Sasha opened the heavy wood door and was greeted by the mouth-watering aroma of CC’s famous seasoned collard greens. Her stomach jumped in delight, but she fought back the urge. For the past four months she’d quietly embarked upon a lifestyle change, cutting back or eliminating many of the foods she’d grown up on. It was a struggle, but she was slowly winning the battle, having lost nearly twenty pounds for her efforts. Her mother’s high blood pressure, her sister huffing and puffing over the simplest activity, not to mention her Aunt Shelia’s heart attack a year earlier had put Sasha on notice. She’d gone from a solid size eighteen to a curvaceous size fourteen. She had plans, and she wanted to be around to see them fulfilled, and if she had to take her mother and her sister with her kicking and screaming, she was going to make sure that they were around to enjoy her success.

“Hey, Charise. My mom around?” Charise was Sasha’s first cousin on her mother’s side, her Aunt Shelia’s daughter. She came in after school to help out a couple of days a week.

Charise was busy on her iPhone. She didn’t make a move without it, and she barely glanced up. “In the back.” She angled her head toward the kitchen.

“Thanks. How’s school?” She patted her cousin’s shoulder as she came around the front counter.

“Graduate next year,” Charise said, as if by rote.

Sasha smiled, shook her head and walked toward the kitchen. At least Charise was still in school and didn’t have an infant on her hip like so many of the young girls in the city.

“Hey, Mom.”

Grace looked up for an instant from her task of rolling dough for the crust of her famous peach cobbler. “Hey, baby. Hand me that brown sugar,” she said with a slight lift of her double chin.

Sasha did as she was asked to the tune of banging pots and stirring spoons coming from the other side of the wall that divided the baking area from the ovens, supervised by Clyde, the only person who wasn’t family that Grace allowed in her kitchen. “Hey, Clyde,” she called out.

Clyde poked his head out, his dark brown face gleaming with sweat. He flashed her a toothy grin. “Hey, yourself. How you be?” His eyes rolled up and down her body. “Get any thinner you gone blow away.” He chuckled.

“I doubt it,” she tossed back. The Hasting women were all “big-boned” as they liked to call themselves. Her mother’s sisters, Linda and Shelia, were both double-Ds and size twenty-plus. Her grandmother had been big, too, and Sasha’s sister, Tristan, was well on her way to winning top prize. Sasha worried about all of them, but they swore that their men loved it and no one could pay them enough to pass up a good meal.

“So when are you leaving?” her mother asked, not interested in hearing another one of Sasha’s lectures on food.

Sasha leaned her hip against the counter. “My flight to Antigua leaves at seven tomorrow night.”

“You sure picked a fine time to take off on vacation. You know this is a busy time of year for us, with graduations and weddings,” her mother complained as she wiped sweat from her brow with a paper towel.

“I know. But if I don’t take my vacation now I won’t get a chance to go.”

“I still don’t know why you have to go to some island.”

Sasha had no intention of telling her family the real reason for her trip. If things didn’t work out, she didn’t want to hear “I told you so.”

Sasha went to the sink and washed her hands. She moved next to her mother and began kneading dough for the pies. “I know this is a busy time, Mom,” she began, “but this is really important to me.”

Her mother turned and looked at her daughter curiously. Her brows drew together. “What’s so important about a vacation in Antigua?”

Sasha drew in a breath. “It’s just that I’ve planned this for a while. I can’t back out now. This is the first time I’ve been out of the country.” Her voice began to bubble with enthusiasm even as she hoped her mother would share in her excitement.

Grace’s full lips were tightly pursed before the glimmer of a smile loosened them. “Be sure to bring me something. And I don’t mean a T-shirt,” she warned, wagging a rolling pin at Sasha.

The two women laughed.

“I promise I’ll do better than a T-shirt.” Sasha rolled out some dough. “Is Tristan stopping by? I was hoping to say goodbye.”

Grace shook her head slowly as she poured fresh peaches into the pan. “I sure wish you would talk to your sister. Tristan won’t listen to me.”

Sasha stopped rolling the dough and looked at her mother. “What happened now?”

“Gary again…staying out until all hours. Won’t hardly talk to Tristan. She’s making herself crazy, crying all the time.” Her mother’s heavy chest heaved as she took a breath.

“I’ll talk to her. I’ll give her a call before I leave.”

“Thank you, baby. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Sasha offered a faint smile as they worked side by side. What her mother really meant was that she depended on Sasha for everything, she always had. It was Sasha who had taken care of the house and her younger sister while their parents built the business. Even after Sasha and Tristan were old enough to help out, it was up to Sasha to make sure that Tristan was looked after, got up in time for school, dressed, did her homework, ate and attended her activities.

She must have done a pretty lousy job, Sasha thought, seeing as how Tristan had wound up with a creep like Gary. A part of her felt guilty for leaving, but it was finally time that she did something for herself.

After they’d finished with the pies, Sasha prepared to leave.

“I’ll call you before I leave. Okay?” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “If I’m not running behind, I’ll try to swing by before I go to the airport. I want to see Daddy.”

“He wouldn’t forgive you if you left without him seeing you first.”

“I know. I was hoping he would have been back by now with the deliveries.”

“Well, you go on. Just be sure to see him tomorrow. I’ll let him know you were here.”

“Thanks, Mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, sugar.” She pulled Sasha into a hug and kissed her forehead. “Be sure to call,” she said releasing her.

“I will.”

Back inside her car, Sasha had a momentary flash of guilt. What if something happened while she was gone? What if her brother-in-law did something crazy, and she wasn’t there to look after her sister? What if her mother’s worrying about Tristan made her blood pressure skyrocket even higher? Sasha looked toward the storefront. Maybe her mother was right. Although she didn’t come right out and say that Sasha was being selfish, it was implied in her tone and her reference to this being a “busy time.” She glanced at her purse on the passenger seat. The letter beckoned her, strengthened her resolve:

Dear Ms. Carrington, Congratulations! The producers of Heartbreak Hotel have unanimously selected you for the first-round competition…

Sasha drew in a deep breath, stuck the key in the ignition and pulled out into the light evening traffic. She had things to do. Tomorrow she was going to Antigua!

The moment Sasha stepped through the door of her one-bedroom apartment, she kicked off her shoes and turned on the air-conditioning. Instinctively, she ran her hand over her bulging ponytail that had been struggling to be released from its hair clip all day. She passed by the hall mirror and winced. Her face was framed with a thick halo of damp, unrelaxed hair and the ball at the nape of her neck resembled a mini Afro-puff. Fortunately her hair appointment was for nine in the morning and her stylist had promised that she’d hook her up with a style that would withstand the sun, heat and seawater and even some good loving.

“Humph, this I gotta see,” she mumbled peering a bit closer at her reflection.

As she headed for her bedroom she began stripping out of her standard white blouse, navy-blue skirt and matching pumps. By the time she hit the threshold she was down to her black lace undies and feeling cooler by the minute. She tossed her discarded clothing on the armchair in the corner of her room. Passing by the full-length mirror that hung on the back of her bedroom door, Sasha did a double-take. A smile broke the tight lines of her mouth as she gazed in appreciation at what her hard work and discipline had wrought. Her upper arms, which were once on the verge of “doing the bird,” were firm, with just a soft ripple. Her stomach, which normally had to be held in place by the strongest body shaper on the market, was flat and firm, curving out to the swell of her hips—not much she wanted to do about that—down to her still thick but tight thighs and dancer’s legs. She unhooked her bra and beamed when her 38Cs pointed out, not down. Then she turned sideways and—BAM. Yes, yes, yes! She did the happy dance all the way into the shower. She couldn’t wait to show off her new and improved self on the beaches of Antigua.

Chapter 2

“I am so excited for you,” April said as the airport came into view. “I know you are going to kick butt.” She made the turn into the departure lane. “I wish I could be there with you, but I’m there in spirit.”

Sasha and April had met in sixth grade, and for reasons that they could never put their fingers on, they had simply clicked. They complemented each other. Where Sasha was more reserved, April was outgoing and never hesitated to say what was on her mind. Sasha was always “thick,” as the saying goes, and April could eat a grown man under the table and never gain an ounce. April was flamboyant and Sasha was understated, preferring to stay in the background. It was April who had always been able to draw Sasha out of her shell, push her when she otherwise would have stood still. She believed in Sasha’s dreams and ambitions when not even her own family did. Had it not been for April, Sasha would have never gone through with submitting her application to the Heartbreak Hotel competition.

Sasha glanced at her friend. “I know. My stomach is doing flips. This is the first time I’ve ever been out of the country, not to mention a contestant on a reality television show.”

April patted Sasha’s balled-up fist. “You’ll be fine. If you didn’t have what they were looking for they would have never picked you. The main thing is to have a good time. Enjoy the experience, girl. Getting away from Savannah will do you a world of good no matter what happens. And I’m only a phone call away.”

Sasha drew in a deep breath. “Thanks,” she said, suddenly doubting the logic of what she was about to do.

“And you look fantastic! Just like the star you’re going to be.”

April was always good for a pep talk. Whenever Sasha felt down or doubted herself, it was April who reminded her of all of her strengths: great personality, intelligent, ambitious, pretty and a wonderful friend.

“The months in the gym and sticking to my diet have sure made a difference,” Sasha had to admit.

“You are going to have dem island boys salivating,” April said in a really bad Caribbean accent.

They laughed.

April pulled up behind a white SUV in front of Delta’s international departure gate.

“Well, here we are.” April turned to Sasha. “Ready?”

“As I will ever be.”

They hopped out of the car and took Sasha’s luggage from the trunk. She had two suitcases and a carry-on, all loaded with brand-new everything, from undies to beachwear, casual to spectacular, shoes, makeup and accessories. The duo had been shopping for weeks to make sure that whatever the occasion, Sasha would be ready and fierce.

April gathered Sasha in a tight hug. “It’s going to be great. Enjoy every minute of it,” she said in her friend’s ear. “And make sure you keep me posted on your every move. I want to live vicariously.”

“I promise.”

April signaled for a skycap to help with the bags. “You have all of your important papers, phone and personal items in your carry-on, right? Something to read?”

Sasha nodded.

“Condoms? A smart girl always carries her own.”

Sasha blushed. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, laughing.

“Good. Well…this is it, girl.”

“Did I tell you thank-you?” Sasha said.

April grinned. “About a dozen times.”

“I wish you were coming.”

“Chile, you gonna meet some fine island man and forget all about me,” April teased. “Just remember poor old me when you win that million!”

The friends embraced one last time, fighting back tears with smiles, before Sasha pushed through the revolving doors and was swallowed up amongst the crowd of travelers.

Sasha checked her luggage before moving through the long line of security, and sent up a silent prayer that it would arrive in the same place that she did. After being nearly stripped naked, she put back on her sandals, her jacket, her wristwatch and belt, returned her laptop to her bag and finally emerged into the waiting area. For a while there she’d thought she was going to have to take off her lipstick, too. She pulled her carry-on behind her, hoisted her purse up on her shoulder and went in search of an empty seat, preferably one with a view. There was still an hour to wait before her flight departed and she wanted to be as comfortable as possible.

She spotted three vacant seats in the corner near the check-in counter. Maneuvering around outstretched legs and luggage she made it to the other side of the counter and plopped down in a seat with a sigh of relief. She took a quick look around at the passengers, sizing up who was with whom and who was single, who was on vacation and who was traveling on business. She wondered how many were going all the way to Antigua and how many were getting off at the stopover in Puerto Rico. From what she could tell there was a nice cross-section, but no one that really stuck out. To occupy herself she began making up stories about the passengers, pairing up those who were single, and conjuring up images of the couples and what their lives were like. She checked her watch. A whole ten minutes had gone by. Sighing, she shifted in her seat then dug in her purse for the novel she’d brought with her.

“Anyone sitting here?”

She looked up and her heart jumped in her chest. A chocolate-brown Adonis stood above her, almost a dead ringer for Michael Jordan. “Uh, no.”

“Mind if I sit next to you?”

His voice was rich, like maple syrup with a slight drawl, she thought. “Sure. I mean, no,” she sputtered nervously.

He smiled and lowered his long, lean body into the seat, spread his thighs and pulled his bag between them.

Sasha zeroed in on her book and tried to concentrate on words that were making no sense over the tantalizing scent of his cologne. Heat pooled at her neck and flooded her face as she watched from the corner of her eye, as his slender fingers tapped against his thigh.

“That’s what I should have done,” he said.