by A. C. Arthur
There were three of them, each over five feet tall and Logan had no clue how much they’d weighed. All he’d known was that the first punch to his jaw rattled everything in his head. Logan had felt as if his head might actually fall off his shoulders that punch had been so powerful. But when the fog cleared and another one of the guys was coming in for a punch, a switch inside Logan turned on. He’d only ever recalled throwing punch after punch. He’d had no idea how many he landed or how many he’d sustained, all Logan had known was that he couldn’t back down and he couldn’t stop swinging. By the end of it Logan was dragged to the police station with adults talking about things like assault and assault with intent to murder. They mentioned jail time, jury trials and juvenile justice. Two days later when Logan had awakened his mind had been totally clear for the first time. He’d lay in a room with a cream-colored tile floor, a twin-size bed and a table and chair. The door to that room had been locked when he’d tried to walk out.
His mother and Michael walked through that same door a long time later. It had been Michael who’d told Logan that they were going to get him some help. Despite their size and age, Logan had managed to break one of the guys’ nose. When blood had spurted into his face, the guy had run off, leaving only two behind to continue their assault against Logan. One of the two had attempted to grab Logan from behind and hold him down for the other one, but Logan had elbowed him so hard in his groin the doctors hadn’t ruled out permanent damage. The last one standing, so to speak, had continued to punch Logan, until he tripped on something and fell to the ground. At that point it was over. Logan had climbed on top of him and continued to punch the guy in the face until he was unconscious. By that time one of the many bystanders had called the police and an officer had arrived to pull Logan off the guy. Now Logan was being charged with three counts of assault, assault with intent to murder and theft because one of the guys apparently told the police the altercation was a result of them confronting Logan about stealing their basketball the day before.
Abiding by the no snitching policy of the street, none of the bystanders had given statements about the fight, so it had been the three guys’ word against Logan’s. Michael had hired a lawyer. That lawyer had worked out a plea deal—Logan was charged as a juvenile and in lieu of a term in the juvenile detention center, he was awarded probation because this was his first serious offense. The probation included community service which Logan carried out at the community center in their neighborhood and some hours he logged in at the church where he attended with his family. The last component of Logan’s sentence was anger management assessment and treatment. For that, he’d sat in the room with a therapist every other Friday afternoon for six months. And he’d been introduced to Jack, a retired professional boxing coach who spent all his time at the community gym.
Jack had saved Logan all those years ago. He’d taught him how to use boxing to channel his anger and turn it into positive energy that he could use to become successful. Without Michael’s lawyer and Jack’s hard, but necessary discipline, Logan would have become just what most people had warned his mother about. He would have been the angry black boy that was put out of school, leaving him on the corner to sell drugs and eventually commit other crimes. He would have been one of the exaggerated statistics politicians liked to quote when they were running for office, or the subject of a distorted news story that would have eventually gone viral.
“Remember who you are, Logan.” Jack’s voice pulled him back to the present. “Remember all the work you’ve done to get where you are.”
Logan’s shoulders sagged. He did remember. And he knew just how important it was for him to continue to grow and succeed, and to prove all of those small-minded people that had judged him prematurely wrong. It was important, not just for Logan, but for every other black boy in every other inner city neighborhood across the country.
When the bell rang again, Logan stood from the stool. He turned so that Peabo could insert the mouthguard and moved to the center of the ring again. This time he looked Jai directly in the eyes and said in a tone that sounded normal and focused, “Let’s do this.”
Each punch from that point on was delivered with specific purpose, not to punish or to injure, but to heal and regroup. In the end, Logan was still uncomfortable about the idea of Jai and Cassie having a baby together and he was still hurting over Cheyna walking away from what they’d just started to build. But he was going to get through those things in the same way he’d gotten through countless others—with his head held high and his eye on the prize.
On Monday, eleven days before the wedding, Cheyna and Boyd sat in her office going over a list of must-have pictures Monica requested and Cheyna’s separate list of shots she always requested for her clients. She’d gone through this process with Boyd on a few occasions during other weddings and so she’d expected it to go smoothly. The past few weeks should have proven that her expectations as of late were out of whack.
“How much time will I have with the bridal party before the ceremony begins?” Boyd asked. He sat across from Cheyna on the navy blue couch in her office.
“Ninety minutes, max. There are two suites booked at the Warwick where the bridal party will spend the night before the wedding and get dressed the day-of. The limo will drop them off at the venue at six o’clock where they’ll wait in the bridal suite until six-fifty. Monica is adamant about starting on time.” Cheyna had a tentative schedule for the day printed and attached to the clipboard on her lap.
“More than enough time to get this first section of shots.” Boyd circled the top half of Monica’s list and three of the bullet points on Cheyna’s.
Before the meeting Cheyna had contemplated combining the lists to make it easier, but she wanted to make sure Boyd saw them separately so that he could prioritize accordingly. Of course, everything on Monica’s list trumped Cheyna’s requests, but she knew that Boyd would find a way to work them all in. In this regard he’d never let her down before.
“My assistant will drive us to the venue so that we arrive before the limos with the bridal party. And I’ll get these shots you requested then.”
Cheyna watched Boyd circle a couple more of the requests on her list and write a number three beside them. She’d always been impressed by his organizational skills. Other photographers that she’d worked with had been more fly-by-the-seat-of-their-pants and ended up forgetting most of the things she’d asked them to do.
“Evan will be at the hotel with the bridal party. Sarah and I will be at the venue. Let Evan know if you’re having any problems with time and we’ll work it out. If it’s just group shots we can probably get those at the hotel. But we need to specifically get the shots of the bride with her mother and aunt, in addition to multiple shots with the sisters. Logan wants to use some of those in his campaign as well.” Cheyna flipped over the first page of the tentative itinerary and went to the page detailing the reception.
“You’re really focused on pleasing him aren’t you?”
The question came out of nowhere and Cheyna looked up slowly from the clipboard to see Boyd staring at her.
He wore a black turtleneck today, with slim-fit black jeans and tie-up boots that made him look more like a rebel than a photographer.
“Focused on pleasing who?” she asked.
He sat back, pen still in hand and gave her a look of disbelief and boredom. “You know I’m referring to Logan Williams.”
“Logan is the brand exec working on a campaign for Paul Lakefield. Of course, I’m trying to please him. In case you missed it, Logan’s campaign is also for the gallery that Monica manages. At the end of the day we both have similar and intertwining goals.” The explanation was sound enough to her ears.
Boyd was not convinced. “And what about romantically? Do you both have similar goals in that arena too?”
“I’m almost positive my personal life is none of your business,” she snapped.
He shrugged. “It’s my business if I have to be in the
same proximity as the two of you watching how his gaze gobbles you up every five seconds.”
Boyd’s tone was definitely irritated and bordering on pissed off. Cheyna held in the exasperated sigh and replaced it with calm disregard.
“I presume you and your assistant will be strategically placed to capture the entire ceremony. The videographer you recommended states that he’ll have cameramen in three different areas of the ballroom throughout the entire night.” For Cheyna, it was always about the event.
“I’ve got my job covered. But let me offer you a word of advice. If you plan to keep up this “work only” persona, then you probably shouldn’t be sleeping with the guy whose job creates intertwining goals for you both. And you should definitely tell that guy to lay off with the protective gazes and comments to others working around you because that sort of spills the beans on your personal involvement.” Boyd was definitely pissed off and he was on the brink of being rude.
Cheyna set her clipboard and pen on the table.
“You are out of line. The only thing you need to concern yourself with is that the relationship between you and I is, and will always be, business only.” A situation that she was carefully reconsidering at this point. “I don’t have to act a certain way to prove to you or any other man that I do not want a romantic entanglement with you. My “no” should speak for itself.”
“You’re an immature tease. If you want men that you work with to keep their hands off, you should try not sleeping with some of them some of the time and then brushing others off as if they don’t meet your ridiculously high standards.”
Cheyna didn’t know who or what specifically Boyd was referring to and she didn’t care. If he weren’t already under contract and the wedding wasn’t such a short time away, she would fire him, kick him out of her office and never recommend him again. But as things stood, she couldn’t do that. She could however, stand her ground.
“This meeting is over. The final payment has been made to your company. Unless you have another question about this wedding, I do not need to hear from you. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have other business to tend to today.” She stood from her seat and went to open the door of her office.
Boyd grabbed his papers and stuffed them into a bag. He stood and glared at her. “I’m warning you for your own benefit, Cheyna. You can’t go around getting restraining orders and suing every guy that you lead on when he goes beyond your pretend boundaries.”
“And you cannot go around using your bruised ego as an excuse to harass women who simply aren’t interested in what you’re offering,” she countered.
Boyd’s teeth clenched so hard she could see the muscle in his jaw twitch. Cheyna didn’t care. He’d started this and she’d be damned if she was going to take his slaps lying down.
“Everything good here?” Evan asked as he walked up to where Cheyna and Boyd now stood in the doorway of her office.
“Everything is perfectly fine,” she stated evenly. “Boyd was just leaving.”
He did leave at that point, but not without giving her one last seething glare. Once he was completely out of her office Cheyna went to her desk and sat down heavily in the chair. She let her head fall back on the seat and closed her eyes, but could hear Evan and Sarah coming into her office.
“What the hell was that about?” Sarah asked.
“He’s an asshole,” was Cheyna’s retort.
Evan nodded. “I can see that. But did he make a move on you? Touch you? Violate you in any way?”
Cheyna looked up at Evan’s questions. “No. Why would you say that?”
“Because you were looking at him the same way you used to look at Liam and Zeke at the other office,” Evan replied.
They’d always referred to ZV Events as the “other office” as neither of them had a particularly pleasant experience there. But even with the events of the past weeks Cheyna had been careful not to mention Liam, Zeke or the other office to Evan or Sarah. She didn’t want them to have to take sides if the police ever came to them with questions.
“This isn’t the other office and I don’t want to talk about what happened there. Boyd is contracted to do the Lakefield wedding. After that we will not be using him again. Case closed.” She was not going to discuss how totally exposed and despicable Boyd’s words had made her feel.
“Did you get a chance to tell him about the rehearsal dinner?” Sarah asked. “Remember, Monica called the office yesterday afternoon while you were out to request that he be there to take pictures.”
Cheyna had forgotten. She’d made a note on her list of things to go over with Boyd, but he’d acted out before she could get to it. “No. I didn’t get a chance to mention it.”
“You want me to call and tell him?” Evan asked.
“No.” Cheyna shook her head. “I’ll do it. And then I think I’m going to take the rest of the day off. I want to head over to the dance studio. I haven’t been in a while and I think I need the change in scenery to clear my head.” She picked up her cell phone and began scrolling for Boyd’s number.
“Great. That means it’ll be quiet here this afternoon. Do you mind if I cut out and meet with my new investor?” Evan asked.
Cheyna paused and gave Evan her complete attention. “Oh. Sure. That’s no problem. I hope that’s going well.”
“I think so. She’s very connected in the fashion and event industry so in addition to throwing some money my way, she’s willing to help plan the events and promote them. I think this can be very big.” Excitement was clear in Evan’s tone and the way his eyes lit up when he spoke.
Cheyna was very happy for him. “Then, I’m very happy for you, Evan.”
They filed out of her office and Cheyna made the call to Boyd. She was supremely grateful when his voice mail picked up and Cheyna left him a message about the rehearsal dinner. She told him she would follow the message up with an email and she did. When she’d shut down her computer, grabbed her coat, phone and bag, Cheyna stood to leave her office. Sarah was still sitting behind her desk in the reception area.
“You can leave early too,” Cheyna told her. “No need in you sticking around if we don’t have anything pressing.”
Sarah was about to respond when the office phone rang. Cheyna stood at the desk while Sarah answered in case she’d spoken too soon and something important had come up.
“He’s gone for the day,” Sarah was saying on the phone. “Yes. That’s no problem, Ms. Watson. I can get a message to him.”
When she hung up the phone, Cheyna immediately asked. “Who was that?”
“Oh, that was just Evan’s investor. Her name is Ms. Watson and she wanted him to know that she would be running a little late for their meeting today.”
Cheyna said a quick goodbye to Sarah, reiterating that she did not have to stay in the office for the rest of the day before she left and headed for the elevator. Once the doors closed Cheyna let out the breath she’d been holding since hearing Sarah say that name.
There was more than one Ms. Watson in New York, she was certain of that fact. Besides, Evan would not be meeting with Fiona Watson because as far as Cheyna knew she was an event director for ZV Events. She wasn’t a promoter, nor could her starting salary at ZV Events give her enough capital to constitute being an investor of high-end fashion events that Evan liked to produce.
No, she was wrong. Again. Evan was not involved in whatever was going on. He couldn’t be.
Chapter 14
Five days before the wedding Cheyna walked into the garden room at the estate of Paul and Noreen Lakefield. This past week she’d been swamped with last minute details and corporate Christmas parties she’d also planned. Tonight was an informal gathering with Monica, her mother and sisters. To be honest, Cheyna wasn’t at all certain why she’d been invited. Monica was a taskmaster, there was no more subtle way to put it. So there was not one detail regarding this wedding that they did not have covered. It was perhaps one of the most efficient and detail-oriented weddi
ng plans that Cheyna had ever experienced. More reasons she did not know why she was here at this gorgeous estate intruding on yet another family gathering.
“Thank you so much for coming.” Noreen pulled Cheyna into a hug the moment she walked into the room.
A member of the Lakefield staff had escorted her through a grand foyer and a short hallway before leading her down three steps into this elegantly designed room. It was after four and the light outside had already began to wane. Today had been overcast and the dreary gray color still seeped into the space through the partial glass roof and full glass wall of the space. The walls to the left and the right and on the side of the entryway Cheyna had just used, were cream-painted brick with foliage from the flowers lining the perimeter of the room crawling upward and across steel beams that stretched across the ceiling.
A light-colored smooth-surface wood table sat in the center of the room and wood-backed chairs with green and white floral print cushions circled it. In the center of the table was a sterling silver tray and two matching carafes. Deena, Karena and Monica remained seated while Noreen ushered Cheyna to a seat at the end of the table. She sat and smiled even though she felt more than a little uncomfortable now as this looked to be some sort of intervention instead of an informal gathering to discuss the wedding.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Cheyna,” Monica began the moment Noreen had taken her seat.