“Uh . . .” Michael wasn’t sure what to do, but seemed to be getting over his shock.
Billie watched with interest as he lowered his arm and stepped aside, opening the door wider. He looked at her and Billie wasn’t sure what she saw in his eyes. He clearly had no idea she was coming.
“Would you like to come in?” he asked.
“I don’t want to interrupt you tonight,” she said. “I just . . .”
“It’s okay,” Michael said.
She took one step inside and Billie took a more in-depth look at her. Now that she knew who she was, Billie was looking at her in a whole new light.
Darina looked around and nodded. “Nice place.”
Billie wondered if that was judgment or genuine. From everything Michael had told her, Darina didn’t like displays of wealth, and their hallway was well decorated with an English Tudor oval table and two Harlem Renaissance paintings that cost a pretty penny.
“Thank you.” Billie would decide she was being genuine until given a reason otherwise.
She looked at Michael and wondered if he was embarrassed for Darina to see his wealth.
“I guess congratulations are in order,” Darina said, clutching tightly to her Navajo-style purse. “Dee Dee says you’re engaged.”
Billie was actually surprised that Dee Dee was sharing that news with anyone, considering she wasn’t happy about it.
“Thank you,” Billie and Michael both said at the same time.
They shared an awkward glance before turning their attention back to their guest.
“You said my mother told you where to find me,” Michael said. “You’re still in Atlanta?”
“No,” Darina replied. “I’ve been living in Opelika, Alabama, for the last eight years.”
So what was she doing here, Billie wanted to know.
“You came from Alabama to D.C. looking for Michael?” Billie asked.
The smile on her face faded as she grew serious. “I need to talk to you, Michael.”
“I’m kind of at a loss for words,” he said. “I haven’t seen you in . . . eight years.”
“Eight?” Billie asked. “You mean eleven, right? You came to D.C. eleven years ago.”
“We broke up eleven years ago,” Darina informed her. “But it’s been eight years since we’ve seen each other.”
Billie didn’t like the sound of that. She could have sworn Michael told her that he hadn’t seen her since they broke up and he left Atlanta.
“That’s kind of what I need to talk to you about.” Darina’s voice sounded a bit hesitant.
Darina looked nervously in Billie’s direction before looking down at the floor. Billie knew what she wanted. She wanted Billie to leave them alone. To hell with that.
“Billie is my fiancée,” Michael said. “She knows everything about me.”
Not exactly, Billie thought.
“Whatever you want to say,” he continued, “you can say in front of her.”
Darina didn’t seem too happy about that, but she nodded with a smile of acceptance before turning to Billie.
“Eight years ago, Michael came home to Atlanta and we met. We were both dating new people. It had been two years, so it was just a friendly lunch.”
“Darina.” Michael held up his hand. “What are you trying to get at?”
“You said I could talk in front of her,” Darina said.
“What does us having lunch eight years ago have to do with why you’re here now?”
She looked at him as if disappointed that he didn’t get it. “Because that lunch turned into something more.”
“Wait a second,” Michael said, not a happy man.
“What’s going on?” Billie asked. She knew exactly what Darina was alluding to, but she didn’t want any more beating around the bush. “You’re saying you hooked up? That was eight years ago. Why would I need to know that?”
“It was just once,” Michael said, his eyes pleading for Billie’s understanding. “Why are you bringing that up, Darina? Why are you here?”
“We never saw each other after that day,” Darina said. “We never talked or emailed or anything.”
He swallowed hard like a man who was nervous that his past was coming back to bite him in the ass. “We agreed that was a mistake and we didn’t want to make it again.”
“But it wasn’t a mistake,” Darina countered.
“Excuse me?” Billie asked.
Darina turned to Michael. “We didn’t make a mistake. We made a miracle and his name is Duncan. And Duncan wants to meet his father.”
9
As she walked down the hallway toward Jerry’s office at headquarters, Sherise was feeling extremely proud of herself. If he had called her there for the reason she thought, it meant that she had beaten her own deadline for getting rid of Maurice.
It had only been a few days since Maurice’s outburst, but everyone was still talking about it. Not only that, but it was starting to leak to the outside that there was discord within Jerry’s transition staff.
Discussions about the outburst led to other discussions about his inappropriate behavior elsewhere. Just that morning, Winnie had told Sherise that one of Tom’s assistants, a very young beautiful blonde named Shelly, had threatened to quit if Maurice hit on her one more time.
Maurice had made this easier on her than Sherise could have ever expected. She knew he wasn’t competent enough for her job, but she didn’t expect him to be this obvious, this sloppy. Even someone as lacking as him had to know the chance he’d been given was a once in a lifetime opportunity. It amazed her that he almost seemed eager to lose the job, but the second he felt it was threatened, he reacted fiercely.
Secret Service replaced Maryland State Police as Jerry’s security once he became the Democratic nominee. They were always present, but it was easy to forget that they were there. Which was why Sherise was a little taken aback when the man with the standard black suit, stone face, and earpiece standing outside Jerry’s office held up a hand to stop her from going in.
“I have an appointment with the president-elect,” she assured him.
“I know Mrs. Robinson, but there’s someone inside right now,” the man said in a smooth, low voice.
“Dammit!” yelled a male voice from the other side of the door.
“Enough, Stephen!”
This came from Jerry, Sherise recognized. Stephen and Jerry were arguing.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Just one moment,” the man said. “The governor asked not to be disturbed yet.”
Sherise looked around for Diana, Jerry’s assistant, but she was nowhere in sight. She sighed as she struggled to hear the words that were fading in and out. She suspected that the men were moving toward and away from the door during their argument.
“It’s not fair,” Stephen yelled. “It’s messed up. It’s not right!”
“Enough, Stephen,” Jerry ordered with hint of a plea.
“So you’re not going to do anything?” Stephen asked.
“It’s none of your business!”
It sounded to Sherise that Stephen was laughing now.
“I can’t believe you just said that!”
“Stephen,” Jerry said, “I want you to go home now. Just go home and . . . just do something with your life!”
“You want me to do something?” Stephen asked. “While you do nothing!”
“This conversation is over!” Jerry yelled.
“Go to hell!” Stephen yelled back.
Just a second later, the door to Jerry’s office flew open and Stephen came face-to-face with Sherise. The look of anguish on his face suddenly turned to surprise and then embarrassment.
“Sherise,” he said. “I . . . Um . . . Hi.”
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“He’s an asshole.” Stephen’s voice was very shaky. “He doesn’t understand anything. He’s a coward.”
“Why would you say that about your dad?” Sherise asked.
Th
is was confusing. From everything she had witnessed, Stephen had a great relationship with his father. Even when they argued, it was always lighthearted.
“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize to me,” Sherise said. “I just think you might want to rethink running away from your problems with him. Things are very stressful for all of—”
“I know,” he snapped. “I get it. He’s under a lot of stress. Leave him alone! I’ve heard it a million times.”
“I didn’t mean that,” she said.
Stephen sighed, looking away for a moment. He looked exhausted and frustrated.
“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” he said. “I like you, Sherise. I actually like you the most out of everyone here. They’re all phonies and fakes.”
“Your father isn’t fake,” Sherise said. “I know that. He’s as genuine as they come.”
Stephen looked confused. “I can’t believe you still have faith in him after he gave your job to that asshole, Maurice Blair.”
Sherise’s antenna went up. “Is that what you were arguing about? Maurice Blair?”
Stephen shook his head. “I don’t want to . . .”
Sherise suddenly remembered something. Stephen liked Shelly, Tom’s assistant!
“Stephen, did Shelly tell you about Maurice hitting on her?”
He nodded. “He’s been hitting on her nonstop. She didn’t want to tell me, but, she finally did this morning. He disgusts her. I told Dad and he won’t do anything! He can’t—”
“Stephen!” Jerry said his son’s name with a sternness that alarmed both Stephen and Sherise. He stood in the doorway to his office, looking unusually haggard. “That’s enough,” Jerry said to his son. “Go home.”
Stephen looked at him, as if he was debating whether or not to listen.
“Now,” Jerry added with authority.
Stephen didn’t acknowledge Sherise as he lowered his head and walked off.
“Come in, Sherise,” Jerry said, in a calmer voice, as he turned and walked into his office.
She entered, closing the door behind her.
“He’s very upset,” Sherise said. “He likes Shelly a lot. You’re honestly not going to do—”
“Stay out of it!” Jerry snapped. “You shouldn’t have been snooping.”
“I wasn’t,” she said, although that was sort of a lie. “I could clearly hear you well outside the door.”
“That was between me and my son.”
“I’m sorry,” Sherise said. “It was just a shock to hear that. I thought you called me here to—”
“I love my son,” Jerry attested. “I love him more than words can say. Nothing means more to me than my children. Don’t ever question that, Sherise.”
“I wasn’t,” she insisted.
“I know what you’re doing.” He turned to her, leaning against the front of his desk. “And it has to stop, Sherise.”
“If you’re somehow saying that I’m responsible for what’s going on between Shelly and Maurice, I’ve got to say that’s ridiculous.”
He eyed her in a way that told her this was a serious moment and she wasn’t going to be able to talk around him. It wasn’t Jerry and Sherise talking honestly now. It was an employee talking to her very powerful and important boss. She had to straighten it up.
“Sir, I warned you about Maurice,” she said.
“I can deal with Maurice,” Jerry said. “But I need you to stop making the situation worse. You’re setting him up.”
“That’s what he told you?” Sherise shook her head. “All of the damage he’s done, he’s done to himself. And it’s all damage that anyone could have predicted, considering his very public past.”
Jerry rolled his eyes, shaking his head as if he was tired of having this conversation. Sherise imagined several of his top advisors had been telling him the same things she was right now. Why wasn’t it making a difference?
“And honestly,” she continued, “would you really believe him over me?”
“I know you feel betrayed,” Jerry said. “But I’ve told you that patience will work in your favor.”
She leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. “Patience isn’t my strong point. Especially when so much more than just what I want is in jeopardy.”
Jerry slammed his fist on the desk and Sherise inhaled quickly. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him this angry. Well, not with her at least.
“I won’t tolerate any more of this!” he shouted. “I’m about to become the president of the United States. Not to mention transferring my gubernatorial duties over to my lieutenant governor.”
“I know you’re under immense pressure, sir.”
“Much of it is your doing,” he insisted.
“That’s not true,” she protested, even though that sort of was. “I’m doing what you would expect of someone who has the incoming administration’s best interest at heart.”
“You’re supposed to be what I need you to be,” he said. “Right now, I need a team player.”
“I’m thinking of the team,” she said. “I’m trying to keep everyone focused and not distracted with staff problems.”
“Maurice fucks up a lot,” Jerry admitted. “But I need you to help him. You cover for him. You don’t let him flounder.”
“I’m supposed to do his job and my own?” she asked.
“You do everyone’s job if that’s what I ask you!” he demanded.
“Maybe I can help him sound more competent to the press,” she said, even though she had absolutely no intention of ever doing that. “But I can’t make him keep his hands off young girls’ asses.”
“You can keep him busy enough that he doesn’t have time for that shit,” Jerry said. “You can keep him away from them.”
“So now I’m his keeper too?” she asked. “His babysitter. His moral conscience?”
“You’re whatever you need to be in order to make things go more smoothly in communications. You do your job. Just like everyone else.”
“But Maurice,” she corrected. “Just like everyone else but Maurice.” She sighed, frustrated with the direction this was going and feeling unable to steer it another way.
“Do you actually think that this will get better?” she asked. “That he won’t get worse later if he gets away with this now?”
“I said I can deal with Maurice.”
“But a lot of other people here can’t,” she responded flatly.
They eyed each other for several seconds before Jerry’s expression grew resolute.
“Sherise, I’m going to be president. If you want to be a part of that, you’ll do what I say. You’ll stop questioning me. You’ll help Maurice. You’ll play along.”
“Jerry, I—”
“Or you’re gone.”
After wiping his mouth, Corey placed the napkin on the table and sat back in his chair. He sighed a heavy, satisfied sigh.
“Man,” he said. “Erica, you did that up.”
Erica smiled as she watched him, feeling complete inside at the sight of his satisfaction. She had done it up. She cooked up a storm when she was frustrated, and after her showdown with Juliet and Elizabeth a few days ago, her frustration had only grown stronger.
It confused her. When she’d walked out of that country club, Erica was elated. She had stuck it to both of them. Elizabeth’s reaction alone, when she took a jab at her about the life insurance, made the trip a success. She’d embarrassed them and frightened them and made them acknowledge her. She was real. That confrontation made that abundantly clear.
Yet, just a few hours afterward, the satisfaction subsided and feelings of frustration and anger returned. In fact, Erica felt it even stronger. That, coupled with the complete lack of understanding and support from Sherise and Billie, left her feeling resentful.
So she cooked and cooked. Tonight, for dinner at her place with Corey, she’d broiled marinated chicken breast smothered in mozzarella cheese, olive oil,
garlic, and cherry tomatoes with a side of broccoli sautéed in butter. It was a cheap meal that looked expensive. It was filling and delicious.
They were sitting on the small table against the window in her dining area. It wasn’t very romantic. The window faced the brick building next door. It didn’t matter. Being with Corey was the first time in days that Erica actually felt good. They had made out a little before eating and it made her forget her problems. It made her feel like a schoolgirl, and the only reason they stopped was because the oven timer went off. Erica briefly considered letting the food burn. It felt so good to escape it all.
He reached for his bottle of beer and pointed to her plate. “You better eat a little faster or I’m gonna steal what’s left.”
“Here.” She picked up her plate and slid her chair closer to his under the table. “You can finish it. I’m full.”
He ignored the plate. “Now that you’re sitting this close to me, I’m really not thinking about food anymore.”
He leaned forward to kiss her and she met him halfway. She felt a tingling sensation rush through her body at the taste of his full lips, his sexy, masculine scent arousing her senses.
Then the doorbell rang.
“Dammit,” Erica said, rolling her eyes.
“Were you expecting someone?” Corey asked.
“No.”
She turned toward the door, tempted to yell out for who it was, but knew that probably wasn’t the lady like thing to do. So she got up and walked over to the door and took a look in the peephole. Expecting one of her nosy neighbors, she was surprised to see Tyler, Jonah’s estate lawyer, on the other side.
She opened the door and said, “You really don’t believe in calling ahead, do you?”
He shrugged with a smile. “I was on my way home.”
“You expect me to believe you live around here?” she asked with a smirk.
“For your information, I live five blocks from you.”
Erica imagined he lived in one of the regentrified parts of the neighborhood, an issue causing great contention with the people who had been living here for several decades. The new condos were kicking all of the longtime residents out, razing everything and building up new apartments, restaurants, and bars that only wealthy professionals could afford.
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