Sometimes, however, the news made her smile, like a wedding announcement of an athlete or an article touting one of the many charities the players supported. What didn’t make her smile were late night gun possession incidents, DUIs, or scandals of any kind. None of that was on the Web that morning, so she guessed it was safe to begin her day.
Or so she thought until a few moments later when Carole buzzed her on the intercom. “Ms. Blake. Marva Wingate is here.”
JT ran her hands wearily over her eyes. Lord. “Send her in, would you, Carole?”
Marva Wingate was the athlete equivalent of a stage mother. She’d been guiding her son Marvin’s basketball career since middle school. He’d been in the league five years, but only recently had he manned up and taken charge of his own affairs. As a result, Marva was having a hard time letting go of the reins.
“Good morning, JT. How are you?” As always, Marva Wingate was dressed well. No ghetto fabulous for her. From her handbag to her pumps to her designer suit, she was as classy and glamorous as a woman who’d inherited old money.
JT motioned her to a seat on the sofa by the windows. “Doing just fine, Marva. How about you? Can I get you some coffee, juice?”
“Coffee would be fabulous.”
“Be right back.”
JT hustled out to the outer office. As she poured coffee into the dainty china cups she kept around for such occasions, she met Carole’s knowing eyes and acknowledged the look with a simple shake of the head. Marva was a class A pain in the butt, and JT knew why she’d come.
Once they both had cups of coffee, JT made herself comfortable on the copper-colored chair near the sofa where her visitor was sitting. “So what can I help you with, Marva?”
“Have you talked to my son lately?”
It was a loaded question and they both knew it. “A few weeks ago. Yes. Why?”
“I didn’t get a look at his new contract and I want to review it.”
Sighing inside, JT put down her cup. “Legally, I can’t let you see it without his permission, Marva. I’m sorry.”
Mrs. Wingate didn’t seem pleased, but JT had no solutions for her. Marvin was in charge of his life now, and he’d been very specific about keeping his mother out of the loop.
“How much of an increase did you negotiate?” she asked, as if JT hadn’t said what she had.
“Is there something else I can help you with, Marva?”
“Yes, you can tell me who is poisoning my son against me,” she demanded, her voice cracking. Her hand shook as she placed her gold-rimmed cup and saucer on the glass-topped table. “He refuses to talk to me.”
Marva had been a force to reckon with when her son graduated from the University of Indiana five years ago. Refusing to turn his basketball future over to a stranger, she’d eschewed all the high-powered agents who came calling and negotiated Marvin’s first contract herself. Because of her razor sharp brain and take-charge attitude, the league powers had been scared to death of her, and as a result, whatever Marva wanted for her phenom son, Marva got. Now, things had changed. Three months ago Marvin had chosen JT’s agency to negotiate his new contract, and his mother hadn’t been happy.
“Your son’s twenty-six years old, Marva,” JT told her. “He’s taking charge of his own life. No one is poisoning him against you. He just needs some space.” What she didn’t tell Marva was that in addition to wanting to control his own fate, Marvin was tired of being ribbed by his teammates. During his first two years in the league, he’d earned the balls-breaking nickname MB—for Mama’s Boy.
“He’s been my whole life all my life. What am I supposed to do?”
JT spoke as gently as she could, “Get your own life, Marva. You’ve walked through fire for him, and I know how much he appreciates it, because he’s told me so, but he’s in charge now. Let him go. It’s time for you to kick back and enjoy the fruits of your labors. You’ve earned it.”
She could see that the perfectly made-up face and eyes were caught somewhere between anger and sadness.
“This is who you raised him to be. He’s there, Marva. Let him call the shots.”
“You don’t have children. You can’t possibly know how painful this is.”
JT bit down on her temper. “No, I don’t, but I do know that the more you push, the farther and faster your son is going to run. Is that what you want?”
There was no reaction at first, then Marva admitted softly, “No.”
“You’re his mother, always will be, just like he’ll always be your son, but he’s not your baby anymore. Marvin Wingate is a man. He needs you to accept that.”
“He’s not going to marry that hoochie, is he?”
JT grinned. The hoochie in question was Marvin’s latest girl, Atria, a young woman who’d made her living sleeping with ballers and had been passed around by the players more times than a blunt at a rapper’s ball. “I doubt it. You raised him better than that.”
Marva seemed pleased. “Good to know.” She then turned and asked sincerely, “Would you tell him to call me when you talk to him next, please?”
JT nodded. “But you’ll have to promise not to stress him about his business.”
She didn’t respond right away. But then, as if finally resigning herself to the reality, she visibly sighed. “Okay. It’s going to be hard.”
“I know, but he’ll let you back in his life if he feels you trust him to handle his own affairs.”
“I’m just so accustomed to…” Her voice trailed off.
JT remained silent.
Marva gave her a bittersweet smile. “Thanks, JT. He picked a good agent and a good person when he chose you.” She had tears standing in her eyes, and JT prayed Marva wouldn’t start to cry; crying was not allowed in the JT Blake Agency.
Marva pulled it together. “Okay. I’ve taken up enough of your time. I’m flying back home this evening. Guess I’ll try and start a life for myself.”
“Sounds good.”
Marva stood. “Thanks for everything.”
“You’re welcome.”
JT walked her back to the outer office. “Have a good flight.”
Once she was gone, Carole cracked, “Since I didn’t hear any furniture breaking or glass shattering, must mean it went well.”
“It did, surprisingly. I think she’s finally getting it.”
“No more calling you a thousand times a day telling you what to do at the negotiation table?”
“Nope.”
“Hallelujah!”
“Call Marvin and tell him I said to send his mama some flowers.”
“Will do.”
Back in her office, JT sank down into her chair with relief. Speaking of flowers, her eyes strayed to the lone purple tulip sitting in a bud vase on her windowsill. It was the last of the two batches of flowers she’d received from Reese. She hadn’t heard anything from Mr. Investigative Head since the evening she set off the fire alarm. Remembering the verbal faux pas about wanting a relationship with him still brought heat to her cheeks. Add to that the memory of the sound of the soft knowing chuckle he’d responded with made her heart beat fast. He had a voice like mahogany; deep, rich, strong. Like any woman in her situation, she wondered if he’d really show up on Friday.
The buzz of the intercom snapped her back to reality. “Yeah, Carole.”
“Reese the Fine on line one.”
JT froze.
When the silence lengthened, Carole asked, “You still there?”
She shook herself. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”
She took a deep breath to calm herself then hit the button. “Good morning, Mr. Anthony. How may I help you?”
“Morning, Ms. Blake. How are you?”
Mahogany. “Doing well. You?”
“Can’t complain. Just wanted to make sure we’re still on for Friday.”
“Far as I know.” She forced herself not to smile.
“Good. I’ll be at your office around six.”
“Do you remember how to get here
?”
“No, but I have the address. I’ll find it.”
There was silence after that. Enthralled by his voice, she asked, “How’re your brothers, Pinky and the Brain? Did they fix that engine chip?”
“They’re still working on it. They’ll freak when I tell them you asked. Jamal is already talking tickets to the NBA Finals.”
“So, you told them about me?”
“I did,” he said softly. “Had to. Once word got out about my sending you the cherries, everybody and their brother was in my business.”
“The price we pay for having family.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Let Jamal know I got his back. He can be my guest. You, however, Mr. Commissioner’s Man, will have to procure your own.”
“You’re a cold woman.”
“You have no idea. See you Friday. ’Bye, Mr. Anthony.”
His voice rippled with amusement. “’Bye, Lady Blake.”
With the call ended, a smiling JT sank back against the chair again. It was so unlike her to be blown away by anything, let alone a man she barely knew, but she was honest enough with herself to admit that she was looking forward to seeing him again, even if this would be their one and only dinner together. Technically he was out of bounds. She couldn’t afford gossip, not even for a man with a voice like mahogany. She’d worked hard to get to where she was in life. If word got around that she was sleeping with the enemy, she’d have no cred whatsoever; not that any sleeping would be going on, but she had a reputation to maintain. So one dinner. That’s it.
But she was uncharacteristically nervous Friday evening while waiting at her office for Reese to show up. The black silk kimonolike dress she was wearing had been custom made in Chinatown last fall. It was exotic, classy, and fit her curves like a glove. Her hair and makeup were tight, as were the heels her sister Max had sent from Italy last year. Her mama Michele had raised her and Max not to be afraid of their height, so both sisters wore high heels proudly and without guilt. JT couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone to dinner with a man that didn’t involve work, but she didn’t know why she was so nervous. Maybe because you like him, said the voice in her head, or maybe because he’s made it plain that he likes you. Whatever the reason, she was as antsy as a cat in a pen of pit bulls.
He arrived a short while later, carrying lilies. He had a suit coat over his arm, was wearing a black silk tee that showed off his killer build, and well-tailored gray pants. His smile of greeting brought back memories of the truck ride, making her forget he was here to beg her pardon. “Hey JT.”
“Hey Reese.”
He handed her the paper-wrapped flowers. She was glad she’d already sent Carole home. “They’re lovely. Thank you.” And she meant it sincerely. A woman could get real spoiled, real easy, being around him. “Let me put these in water.”
While she went into the small kitchenette to retrieve a vase, Reese forced himself to calm down. The high-necked kimono with its glittering black jeweled buttons was a killer, and he was ready to die.
“Did you fly or drive?” she asked, returning with the flower-filled vase.
When she walked by him and into her inner office, he watched the sexy sway of her behind in the tight black silk. Lord have mercy! “Flew. Flight back to L.A. is Sunday. Thought I’d do some sightseeing while I’m here. Got a room at the airport.”
“Really?” she asked, now standing framed in the doorway. She had no idea he’d be staying for the weekend.
“You sound suspicious.” He ran appreciative eyes over the picture she presented and wondered how long she’d make him wait before he could brush his lips over her soft jawline.
“Should I be?”
“Maybe.”
JT saw the playfulness in his eyes and she shook her head knowingly. “I’m going to leave that alone. Where would you like to eat?”
“You choose.”
“Seafood?”
“Sounds good.”
They were staring. As the silence lengthened, she noted that the air in the office seemed to warm and thicken.
He spoke first. “My apologies for not being truthful the day we met. I didn’t know how you’d react if I told you I worked for McNair.”
“I felt like you played me.”
“I’m sorry for that too, but playing you wasn’t my intent, believe me. I had this beautiful, beautiful lady in my truck, and I didn’t want to mess it up.”
Her heart skipped. “Are you always this truthful?”
“About things important to me, yes.”
In her eyes he was a truly gorgeous man, both inside and out. “Let’s go eat. I’ll drive.”
“No problem. I’ll sightsee.” And the best thing to see was the Lady Blake in her hot black kimono.
She drove them back across the bridge that connected Oakland to San Francisco and pulled up at the curb of a small jazz club downtown. The valet, a brother in a dark suit, hurried to assist with the driver’s door, and he grinned as she stepped out. “Looking good, Lady B. How are you this evening?”
“Fine, Leo. How are you?”
“Seeing you just made life worth living.”
JT chuckled, gave him a tip, and led Reese inside.
The interior was shadowy, and because it was just past 7:00 P.M., early for the club, the place wasn’t crowded yet. Even so, a young sax player was on stage playing like a musician with a gift.
“He’s good.” Reese noted, liking the intimacy of the place.
JT agreed. She came here often because the service was good, the music on jam, and she rarely ran into any of her players. The establishment’s hostess, a middle-aged woman named Wanda, stepped up and picked up a couple of menus. “Evening, Lady B.”
“Hey, Ms. Wanda, how are you?”
Wanda eyed Reese. “Be better if he was my date instead of yours.”
JT saw that he was smiling. “He is kinda cute, isn’t he?”
“Got that right. Regular spot?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
They followed Wanda through the club, and Reese followed the seductive swing of JT’s hips.
Once they were seated in JT’s favorite booth, Wanda said, “Waitress will be right with you.” She shot Reese a wink then left them alone.
In the silence that followed, Reese scanned his menu, but in fact he was checking out JT. He’d never seen a more perfectly put together woman. From her expertly arched brows to the sexy paint on her toes, she made a man want to roar. “So what’s good here?”
“Everything. I’m having the catfish.”
“Then I’ll go with that too.”
The menus were set aside and they turned their attention to the young sax player. He was covering Grover Washington’s “Black Frost” and making it his own. The waitress came over, they gave her their orders, then settled back to wait for their food.
Reese asked the question he’d been wanting to ask since first meeting her. “What’s JT stand for?”
“Jessi Teresa. I’m named after an aunt who lived back in the 1800s. She was a rancher.”
“Really?”
“Yep, married an outlaw named Griffin Blake.”
He stared, she grinned. “Legend says she could shoot the wings off a fly at fifty paces.”
He smiled and shook his head. “Anyone call you Jessi?”
“Only my mother, and only when she’s mad.”
“I like the name. It’s distinctive.”
“It’s old-fashioned.”
“Mind if I call you Jessi?”
She assessed him for a moment. For as far back as she could remember, she’d always insisted on being called JT because growing up she hadn’t particularly cared for her name, but hearing him ask to call her Jessi in that mahogany voice of his made her rethink things. Trying to play it off, she shrugged. “No, I don’t mind.”
“Good.”
She had to look away from his eyes or drown. He made her feel female, and she wasn’t sure she knew how to handle that b
ecause it had been such a long time since she’d had a man truly interested in what lay beneath the JT persona. When she faced him again, he was watching her with muted interest, so to keep her nerves from showing, she asked, “What else should I know about you?”
“That I used to be a cop and am now a lawyer. I’m also part owner of my pops’s trucking company. We operate here in the states and in twelve countries overseas.”
Now it was her turn to stare. “Twelve countries?”
He nodded confidently as he sipped at the water in his glass. “Working on numbers thirteen and fourteen.”
JT scanned the chiseled features of his gorgeous face. “Anything else? No diamond mines? Working on a cure for cancer? Recipe for the perfect barbecue sauce?”
The low-voiced chuckle he responded with made her insides zing.
“I’m serious,” she countered in an amused voice. “Lawyer, huh? Where’d you go to school?”
“Did my undergrad at Western Michigan University. Got my law degree from Northwestern outside Chicago.”
“My sister was a cop in Detroit a few years back.”
“When?”
They discussed that, and found that Max had joined the force after Reese’s departure, so the two never met. Out of the corner of her eye JT saw their waitress approaching, loaded down with their dinner choices. “Here comes our food.”
“Good. I’m hungry.” But Reese was hungrier for more insight into the woman he now called Jessi.
Six
While they ate, they talked about his life as a cop and her life growing up in what she called Little Bitty Texas. “My mother was a cook in one of the state prisons. She didn’t make a lot of money but it was steady. She retired a few years ago.”
“Your father?”
“Died when Maxie and I were small. Construction accident.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks. You and I have that in common, losing a parent.”
He nodded. “My pops never remarried.”
“Neither did my mother. Raised us by herself.”
Deadly Sexy Page 8