The Hot Spot

by Niobia Bryant

  Like the wedding she was planning today.

  Although she planned out every minute detail to the likes of her clients—and to ensure that her signature taste level was achieved—there still was a lot to do.

  She rushed across the living room and down the short hall to her master bedroom. Her cell phone was vibrating on the center of her unmade all-white bed. She never took it or her house phone onto the roof. She considered that her time to unwind and get her thoughts clear for the day ahead or to sit under the stars and reflect on the day behind her.

  Slipping out of her robe, she grabbed up her cell just long enough to answer the call and put it on speakerphone before sitting on her ebony dresser. “Hey, Tashi,” she said, reaching into the long drawer to remove undergarments. She selected a deep purple sheer bra and matching thong.

  “You haven’t changed your mind about letting me slip into the wedding today?”

  Love rolled her eyes and smiled as she sprayed her favorite perfume, Lovely by Sarah Jessica Parker, all over her body. “Tashi, you know I am not letting you crash these people’s wedding. You can forget about it.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Tashi sang through the line, very off-key.

  “I offered to let you work for me and you turned me down,” Love said, walking across the room to her closet—the one complaint of the apartment. It was more of a step-in than a walk-in.

  “Work? It’s Saturday! I did my forty hours for the man this week,” she balked.

  Love just laughed as she shook her head. “Talk to you later, Tashi,” she said, grabbing a tailored black satin skirt and a top with sheer blouson sleeves.

  “Guess I’ll have a spa day or something . . . but you . . . um, you take care. I know how weddings get to you.”

  Love paused in pulling the skirt up over her hips to lock eyes with her reflection in the mirror hanging on the inside of the door. Tashi was her best friend and she had been there through all the mess and stress of Byron’s betrayal. “I’m good . . . but thanks, girl,” she said, before moving over to pick up her cell. “I’ll call you later.”

  She ended the call and forced herself not to think about the past as she finished getting dressed.

  “Girl, you were born to fulfill dreams.”

  “I’m glad we were able to bring your vision to life.” Love smiled warmly as she eyed the look of pleasure on the bride and groom’s faces. She always could tell if she truly hit the mark with her event planning and design by the look on a client’s face. Another satisfied customer, Love thought as she rubbed her slender hands together in front of her.

  When she moved from small-town Holtsville, South Carolina, to New York to attend college, her plan was to take the city by storm. She loved her down-home raising, but she always felt that there was so much more of the world to explore out of the small-town limits. Ever since she could remember, she knew she was headed up north first chance she got. College was her way out.

  And it was the best four years of her life, living on campus, studying, exploring the city, and planning the small events of friends, on-campus clubs, and some of the faculty. Once she graduated, she was filled with big dreams, a huge sense of style, and a head for business. She eventually set up her own event-planning business on the side, and within a few years, her business began to grow through word of mouth and press for her uniquely planned events.

  But then she met Byron at one of her charity events and everything changed. Everything. Love happened. Big-time. His jet-set life and powerful friends became hers as well. Two years later they wed. Their contacts helped her expand her brand and her business. She never thought she would go from being a small-town girl just making it in NYC to being both the wife of an R & B superstar and one of the premiere event planners in New York, catering to celebrities, athletes, and the wealthy elite.

  In their marriage, her career had thrived; unfortunately, her heart hadn’t fared that well.

  Love pushed away any sad thoughts of love lost—or rather crushed—as she guided the couple out of the elaborately decorated ballroom to an outer room designed with subtle hints of their chocolate and ivory wedding colors, a bottle of their favorite Veuve Clicquot champagne, and light appetizers.

  “Just relax and enjoy the moment as we finish up the cocktail hour and then get all of your guests seated,” Love told them, her soft voice very calming and relaxing. “We should be ready to announce you in about ten to fifteen minutes, and again, congratulations—here’s to the rest of your lives together.”

  With one final reassuring smile, Love slid her slender figure out the door just as the multimillionaire football quarterback and his new bride shared a deep kiss. As soon as the door closed, her smile faded just a bit. It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her clients; she just wasn’t disillusioned about how long the happiness would last.

  Been there. Done that.

  As an event planner, it was Love’s job to plot, plan, and execute every detail for charity events, awards galas, dinner parties, and red-carpet events . . . but weddings were the worst for her since her divorce a few years back. Everyone focused on the wedding and not many gave a bootie-toot about the marriage. And with him being a high-profile athlete, the battle was going to be even tougher for them with the world’s focus on celebrity and fame.

  But her job was to focus on the wedding day, not warn them about how tenuous love could be under the spotlight.

  Love paused at the entrance to the ballroom and placed a hand to her chest as she took a moment to get herself together. This day—and any day she was at an event for a client—wasn’t about her. Her issues. Her problems. Her drama.

  She let nothing affect her professionalism.

  Love always stayed cool, calm, and totally collected.

  Always.

  After a quick walk-through of the cocktail hour in the spacious library, Love quickly checked in with her staff to ensure they were following her strict instructions. She took a moment to look out the large floor-to-ceiling windows of the semicircle foyer. It was a beautiful day out, but she was glad they opted against any outdoor activities. That would’ve meant more work and more challenges for her. More planning. More—

  Love did a double take, locking her wide expressive eyes on the tall and slender man climbing out of the back of a huge SUV with blacked-out windows. Her heart pounded as he turned, but she didn’t need to see his face or his two burly bodyguards to know it was her ex-husband. They began to walk up the steps together toward the front door.

  “Shit,” she swore.

  Flustered, she made an un-Love move and clumsily backed away from the window before she turned and fled into the guest bathroom off the foyer. She pressed the button on her wireless headset. “Faryn, um . . . is . . . is . . . my ex-husband on the guest list for the reception? I know he wasn’t at the wedding. Was he?” she asked, nearly slipping on a wet spot in four-inch vintage Gucci heels.

  “No, Ms. Lovely. Let me check something. One sec.”

  Love paced.

  “It had to happen, Love,” she advised herself. “You couldn’t avoid him forever.”

  Love hadn’t been alone with her ex since the day the story broke about his cheating. She stayed with Tashi until he moved out of their penthouse, and anytime after that, they were accompanied by their lawyers hammering out their divorce. He was always busy touring or in the studio, and she always made sure to steer clear of any red-carpet events, parties, or premieres that she knew he would attend.

  “Shit,” she swore again, hating the unexpected. The unplanned. The sudden pothole in the road.

  The press would have a week or two worth of speculations about the awkward meeting between Byron Bilton and his done-wrong ex-wife. Love hated to be in the press outside of mentions or blurbs about her events. She wanted her personal life to be . . . personal.

  She turned on the gold faucets and lightly dampened a hand towel to moisten her neck and behind her ears. Now she wished Tashi were there with her. They met w
hen she hired her as her personal assistant just a little over three years ago. After just four short months, Tashi moved on to a less stressful job, but their friendship had lasted. Her friend was the bold one with the quick wit and snappy comebacks for days. Tashi would know what to say. What to do.

  Love licked the peach-tinted lip gloss on her full heart-shaped mouth before releasing a stream of air through pursed lips. There was the slightest tinge of warmth and color around her long slender neck and high cheekbones. She used her fingertips to smooth her shaped brows and the soft edges of her jet-black hair pulled up into a loose topknot. “Okay. All right. No biggie, Love,” she said to her reflection, smoothing her satin skirt over her hips before she turned and left the restroom.

  Beep.

  “Go, Faryn,” she instructed, closing the door behind her.

  “Mr. Bilton was the last-minute plus one for one of the bride’s guests . . . a Sasha Kilmore.”

  Love’s steps faltered as she caught sight of her ex, and a woman she presumed to be Sasha, in the corner enjoying an impassioned embrace while his bodyguards pretended not to watch.

  “Yes, I see that, Faryn,” she dryly told her assistant. “Thanks.”

  Everyone turned at the sound of her voice, and all of the men’s faces shaped with surprise.

  Love locked eyes with her ex and then shifted them away. She took some pleasure in knowing the desire to slap the taste out of his mouth was gone. She hadn’t known if she would ever get over that. “Excuse me,” she said, polite and reserved.

  Byron stepped away from his date. “Nylah, you’re the event planner?” he asked, his voice just as husky and soulful as when he sang.

  Byron was the only person to call her Nylah. The only one. All her family and friends back in Holtsville called her Love. The tradition continued once she went to school in New York. Back then, she thought it was endearing that he called her by her given name, but now she, ironically, realized that love—her name or the emotion—was no way in his vocabulary. She had loved and trusted this man with her heart, her soul, and her body. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

  She spotted the dark-skinned beauty trying to step forward, but both the guards blocked her path. Love rolled her eyes heavenward before she turned to walk down the hall.

  “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Nylah,” Byron said from behind her.

  Love paused, her back still to him.

  “So I’ll leave. Okay?”

  Surprise and relief washed over her. She nodded. “Thank you,” she said over her shoulder before hurrying forward, away from her past.

  DAFINA BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2011 by Niobia Bryant

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  ISBN: 978-0-7582-6535-7