by Maryann Reid
“Can you afford to wait longer than five years to break even?”
“Of course. I can outbid my rival for all three and still not pay more than two million dollars total. That’s only a drop in my bucket.” Blake shook her head. “I won’t do it, though, because that drop may make the difference in affording another deal I want to do later. It makes no sense to overpay by more than a certain margin, even if you can afford it. You just limit your future opportunities if you do that.”
Antonio nodded as the taxi stopped at the law firm’s driveway. He opened the door for Blake, waited for her to scoot over to the far seat, and folded his large frame by her side in the backseat. “More sabotage is what it sounds like to me,” he said as the taxi merged with traffic.
Blake considered that through a few blocks of travel. “This does sound like something Lang would do. He has little business savvy, but a lot of mean spirit.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“Let him have Little Haiti. I hate it, but I can’t ruin myself financially just because my ex wants to play competitive games.” She opened a new message to Charles and typed:
When they were back in Blake’s penthouse apartment, she went into her bedroom and shut and locked the door. After putting some Duke Ellington on the turntable, she tapped “3” on her BlackBerry’s speed-dial.
“Johnny Capps Surveillance,” a man’s voice answered.
“Hi, Johnny, Blake here.” She plunked herself down on a corner of her bed.
“Well, hi, Blake! Listen, I don’t have anything new to report about your boy, but I could snap some more pictures.”
Her fingers tightened on the BlackBerry for a moment, the face of “her boy” springing unbidden to mind and paining her heart. “I’d love that, but I’m actually calling you about something else.”
“Oh yeah? What can I do for you?”
“I’m going to email you addresses of three Miami properties I just tried to buy, but an anonymous bidder kept raising their price until I had to give up. I want to know who the anonymous bidder was.”
“Lang, probably.”
“That’s what I think too, but I want to know for sure.” Blake stood and moved back to the turntable, looking out the huge window.
“I’ll get right on it. Talk to you soon.” Johnny clicked the call off.
She couldn’t help herself. Blake pulled the Raven Glory album out of the rack and stood for a while studying every detail of her father’s long, slim face.
Then she shook the vinyl record out of its cover and, with it, several photographs. Each showed a boy whose features resembled Blake’s father.
And Blake’s mother.
And Blake herself.
#
It was almost lunchtime, and Blake couldn’t stop thinking about her lost hopes for Little Haiti. She wanted to think about something else, something still in her power to have a positive influence on. Wanting and doing were two different things, however.
Damn you, Lang. You know how to push my buttons even from hundreds of miles away, don’t you?
Suki wandered into the living room, perspiring from her all-morning jujitsu practice and still in martial arts uniform. “Hi, Boss. After I shower I think I’m going to run out and get some lunch. I’m thinking—”
The sudden silence got Blake’s attention as the words hadn’t. “Hi, Suki. Sorry, I was thinking.”
“I could see that. Matter of fact, you looked like you were thinking of breaking someone’s bones.”
Blake grimaced. “He’d deserve it, but I don’t have it in me to do that.”
“Oh. Him.” Suki swiped one loose sleeve over her forehead to mop up some of the dampness. “Listen, Boss, do you ever go to the gym?”
“Yeah. I mean, I did until my mom’s accident. Since then…”
“…you’re afraid of running into Lang,” Suki finished, after Blake stopped in mid- sentence.
“Am I that obvious?”
Suki regarded Blake without expression or sound, until Blake squirmed under her bodyguard’s gaze. “This isn’t the first time any of us have protected a battered woman,” Suki said at last. “And we all three agree you’ve got a hell of a lot more in you than you realize.”
With what she knew must be a weak smile, Blake murmured, “Thanks.”
“Time to start realizing it, though. Get changed into workout clothes, Boss. We’ll grab a light lunch, and then we’re going to whichever gym is your favorite. I’m going to teach you some basic self-defense moves.” Suki strode into the bathroom adjoining her bedroom, and seconds later Blake heard the shower.
Suited up in a body-skimming Armani jumpsuit that made Suki arch an eyebrow, Blake and her deadliest bodyguard directed their taxi to take them to a corner café for soup and salad to go. From there they cruised over to the Reebok Sports Club.
Together they went through an hour’s worth of warm-up and fitness training. Then Suki led Blake into the boxing studio, and they climbed into an available ring.
For two hours Suki taught Blake two blocks, a kick, and two punches that she said were the most useful moves in combat jujitsu. Over and over Suki commanded Blake to practice each maneuver, and gradually Suki refined Blake’s posture and delivery. Blake noticed a crowd gathering to observe, but Suki kept her too busy to fret about how she must look to the bystanders.
“Exam time,” Suki said, just when Blake felt so exhausted she didn’t think she could lift either hand above her waist again and her legs felt too wobbly to hold her up much longer.
“Please tell me that’s a joke,” Blake groaned.
“I teach self-defense to women and girls, part-time. One woman who’d been taking my classes for only three weeks was attacked just outside her home,” Suki told Blake, folding her arms across her chest and leveling a stern stare at her boss. “She and her attacker traded blows before he finally gave up and ran away. He was a determined motherfucker. What I’m teaching you can save your life from determined motherfuckers. So use it!”
With that Suki lashed out a punch aimed for Blake’s throat. Blake had no time to think, no time to fear. Her left hand swept up in the first block Suki had taught her. A yelp escaped her lips as the bodyguard’s fist smacked into her wrist—if she’d done it correctly the blow would have impacted the side of her hand.
“Sorry,” Blake gasped.
“Why? You stopped me from smashing your windpipe. Again!” Suki struck out at Blake’s abdomen, and Blake’s right hand flipped the bodyguard’s forearm aside and opened her up for the kick Blake had learned. Suki blocked it, of course, but she grinned and exclaimed, “Perfect!”
A round of applause went up from their audience. Blake felt heat rush into her cheeks. For a minute she’d forgotten people were watching them.
“Okay, we’ll stop now,” Suki said. “I’ll call a taxi. But I want you to practice those moves for half an hour tonight. Tomorrow we’re going to practice them some more, and I’m going to teach you a couple of new tricks.”
Blake, bent over with hands braced on knees, muttered, “Fuck me…”
“Don’t mind if I do.” A man’s voice, somehow familiar.
She found the strength to turn around. At one corner of the boxing ring stood a fine-looking specimen, watching her with bright teeth showing in a broad smile and mocha skin still glowing from recent exertion. Blake remembered meeting him at the pre-opening party a week before her divorce was finalized. What she didn’t remember was his name.
“Um, hi.”
“You forgot my name?” He clasped at his heart, eyes going wide in theatrical injury. “Oh, woman, you may as well kill me where I stand. It couldn’t hurt worse than this.”
Blake laughed, even as she glanced at Suki, who was just ending her call for a taxi. “How about you just remind me, and then I can let you live?”
“I suppose that will do. Brett Skeet.
You don’t shake hands, but do you high-five when you’ve put on a kick-ass show?” He lifted a hand, ready if she was willing.
“I hope a smile is good enough?” She smiled hugely at Brett. Suki moved to Blake’s side and glanced from her boss to the gentleman she didn’t know, then back again. The bodyguard took one step back to have them both in view and within reach, but said nothing and stood blank-faced.
“Listen, if you want to wait until you’re back in Miami I’ll understand. But if you’d be willing to do that lunch and shoptalk while we’re both in New York, name a time and place and it’s on me.”
Blake studied his fine face for a moment, then blurted, “How about dinner tonight?”
“If I’d known you had that much energy left, we’d still be practicing,” intoned Suki.
Chapter Six
March 20
New York, New York
At 8 P.M. Blake arrived with Matt at the Vault, a former bank and gentleman’s club located on the Lower East Side that had been remade into a festive trilevel supper club with dance floors. She’d agonized about what to wear, uncertain whether to view this as a business dinner or as a first date. Finally she’d settled on a knee-length, one-shoulder glittery black Calvin Klein dress, along with her Gucci ballet flats.
Matt was wearing a black suit and, under protest, a crimson necktie.
“This is why I like working third shift,” Matt grumbled, tugging at the tie. “I can usually dress for comfort instead of style, and the client doesn’t care because they’re asleep.”
“You’ll survive,” Blake promised him. She spoke to the hostess just inside the door. “Excuse me, but has a gentleman by the name of Brett Skeet already reserved a table?”
“No, ma’am. Shall I find a table for you and your escort, and note that Brett Skeet will be joining you?”
“Yes, please. My name is Blake Bertrand.” Blake shrugged out of her coat and draped it over her arm while the hostess snapped her fingers for a waiter and told him to prep a table for three.
“I thought you looked familiar,” the hostess added, when the waiter hurried away in search of a table. “It’s a pleasure to have you at the Vault, Ms. Bertrand. If you need anything at all, please don’t hesitate to come to me.”
“Thank you.” Blake smiled her appreciation at the hostess, but the smile faded when she noticed Matt tugging at his tie yet again. “Stop that, Matt. It’s all crooked now.”
She was straightening Matt’s tie when Brett’s voice, which reminded her of Duke Ellington’s smoothest jazz pieces, sounded behind her: “Only one woman in the world can look as good sweating and worn out as she does in a little black dress, and that’s Blake Bertrand.”
Blake felt her face grow hot again. I wouldn’t have thought any man could still make me blush, but this man sure has proved me wrong. “Hi, Brett. We just requested a table.”
Brett was examining Matt. “Who is this?”
“Matt Guidry. One of Ms. Bertrand’s bodyguards.” Matt put out a hand and shook Brett’s.
“One of, you say,” Brett commented, but rather than Matt he looked at Blake.
She caught herself about to touch the scar on her forehead hidden by her long bangs. Putting her hand back down, Blake took a deep breath and explained, in a hushed voice almost lost in the dance music playing farther inside the Vault, “My ex-husband beat me up a week before our divorce was finalized.”
Brett let that sink in before asking, “At the party where I met you?”
She nodded. Words wouldn’t come. A chill crept down her spine.
“I should have stayed.” Brett’s words held a hint of a growl, and his shoulders were tense, as if Lang Bertrand stood before him, available to be punched. “I’m tempted to catch the next flight back to Miami and beat his sorry ass right into the ground.”
He sounds like Uncle Thorne. Blake almost felt like smiling.
“Hey, relax, man. Nobody’s going to do that to Ms. Bertrand again. That’s what me and my coworkers are here for.” Matt clapped Brett on the back, and Blake watched Brett gradually calm down again.
Their waiter returned then and introduced himself. “Good evening, I’m Tim, I’ll be your waiter tonight. I’ve got a great table ready for you, just follow me.”
Tim led the way upstairs to the second level, where live rock music was being performed by new superstar Amanda Brown and her band. Blake recognized Brown from the third season of the television show The Voice. Margot had raved about the former backup singer for Adele until Blake watched the show herself for the second half of the season, simply to hear the talent her best friend couldn’t stop talking about. Just wait until Margot hears that I got lucky enough to see her favorite new rock singer giving a concert at a nightclub!
They had a front-row seat, and got to hear Brown’s chart-topping single “Distances” as they looked at the menu. Brett and Matt both decided on prime rib, french fries, and coleslaw, and Blake opted for a Vietnamese beef salad.
While they waited for their food, Matt turned to Brett and asked, “So you met Ms. Bertrand back in Miami? What brings you to New York?”
Brett laughed. “You’ve got yourself a thorough bodyguard, Blake.”
She smiled, but Brett’s comment troubled her a little. He’s talking to me like Matt isn’t here. Like he’s “the help,” someone who should do their job and be ignored. “I was going to ask the same question, Brett. You said you were off to a great start in Miami real estate. How did you end up here?”
“Oh, I grew up in Harlem.” Brett leaned back in his chair, perfectly at ease. “I did get off to a great start—so great I earned a vacation already. So I’ve come home to visit family and friends for a couple of weeks.”
Blake looked Brett over. He was dressed all in Prada. You’ve got to do well to afford that. She smiled again. “Well, congratulations.”
“Thanks! I’ve been wondering—everybody is wondering—what plans are you making for the Wishman Spears?” He leaned in for a confidential talk, and Blake shared an outline of her ideas.
Meanwhile Matt tapped away on his smartphone, seemingly okay with being left out of the conversation. Blake glanced at him often, not really happy with how Brett behaved toward the bodyguard. Matt looked up once and gave her a thumbs-up, so she trusted that he was comfortable.
Their food arrived, and apparently all three of them were ravenous, because they barely spoke a word as they ate. Amanda Brown was rocking the house, her fans and Vault regulars enthusiastically breaking it down on the dance floors. “This is the best night I’ve had in a long time,” Blake said, thinking out loud.
“Let’s make it even better.” Brett stood up, finished eating except for a few fries. “Come on, let’s dance.”
Matt looked up from his plate, watching them. Blake asked him, “Will it make your job too hard if I dance with Brett?”
“Nah. I’ve worked dances, concerts, sports championships, you name it. Go have fun.” Matt gave her a thumbs-up again.
She let Brett lead her to the center of the dance floor. He was quick and elegant on his feet, had a great sense of rhythm, and sensuous moves like no man Blake had ever known. Trying to keep up with him soon tuckered her out, especially after the rough afternoon of self-defense training she’d done with Suki. Her muscles ached in protest, but her hormones screamed for her to impress Brett or die trying.
Blake lost all sense of time. She slipped away from Brett when she noticed how late it was getting, and didn’t want Amanda to leave without getting to her. Amanda Brown took the microphone and announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure to sing for you tonight at the Vault! Please put your hands together for my amazing band. On lead guitar—”
“I’ve got to try to meet her,” Blake managed to say, breathing hard. She rushed back to their table, where Matt sat tapping on his smartphone again. “Matt, come on, let’s find the back door the band will exit through. My best friend is a huge fan of Amanda Brown. I’m going to get her autog
raph for her.”
Matt shook his head. “Sometimes you forget who you are, don’t you, Ms. Bertrand? You don’t have to lurk outside any back door.” He beckoned their waiter, passing by on his way to another table, and said, “Hey, Tim, Ms. Bertrand here would like to ask Amanda Brown for an autograph. Can you ask for a meeting?”
“Sure! I’ve got to go downstairs to the kitchen anyway. I’ll ask the boss.” Their waiter scurried away to the staircase.
Blake slumped into her seat at their table, catching her breath while they waited. Amanda Brown and her band had left the stage, and the roadies were packing up amplifiers and microphones and the drum set and all. Somewhere out of sight, a DJ took over musical entertainment duties and put some contemporary disco on for the crowd to dance to.
A mustached gentleman in slacks and blazer followed Tim back to their table. “Ms. Bertrand, hi, I’m Amanda Brown’s manager. She said she’d be glad to sign an autograph for you. Just come with me.”
“I’ve got to go with her,” Matt informed Brett. Blake heard a firmness in the bodyguard’s voice that she hadn’t before. “Hold our table for us. We won’t be long.”
Matt fell into step behind Blake, who fell into step behind Amanda Brown’s manager. They left Brett sitting with a stunned expression on his face, and Blake couldn’t help giggling a little.
Amanda Brown was waiting at the door to the dressing room, her face lit by a glowing smile. “Girl, congratulations on your freedom!” She surprised Blake with a hug.
“Thank you so much!” Blake grinned. “And congratulations on your success! From backup singer to superstar in three years is quite an accomplishment.”
“Not as much as surviving everything you’ve been through, and I bet the world doesn’t know half of that. Who should I write this to?” Someone behind Amanda handed her a pad of Vault stationery and a fountain pen.
“My best friend’s name is Margot Mills, spelled M-A-R-G-O-T.” Blake watched, with a feeling like she was floating, while Amanda wrote a note in a flowing hand.