A Gentleman's Agreement

by Avery, Joy

  Was she really doing this now? “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m giving you some time to discover what you want.”

  “Is this an ultimatum?”

  “It’s whatever it needs to be.” With that, she disappeared through the door.

  Blake moved to the bed and collapsed onto it, the pillow-top mattress embracing him the way a lover should. “Why in the hell are women so complicated?” he said to the empty room.

  When his phone rang, he snatched it up and checked the caller ID. A smile played at his lips. The one woman who never complicated his life. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Blake, sweetie? Is that you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You sound funny.”

  “It’s been a very long day. I’m exhausted.”

  “Oh, honey, you work too hard. I won’t hold you. You need your rest. I just want to make sure you’re still flying home on Friday.”

  “Of course I am. Do you think I would miss your anniversary party or Thanksgiving feast?”

  “Wonderful. I can’t wait to see you.” She paused a beat. “Will that young lady you’ve been seeing be joining you this year?”

  Blake tossed a glance at the door. “Ah, no. We decided to take a break.” More like it was decided for him, but honestly, he was okay with it. Really okay with it.

  “I am so sorry to hear that, son. But sometimes these things happen for the best.”

  If he didn’t know any better, his mother was smiling on the opposite end of the phone.

  “Since you’re single, I have a nice girl I want you to meet. I think you’ll really like her. She’s really pleasant and as cute as a button.”

  Oh, no. Not again. “Actually, I am kind of seeing someone new.” God, he hated lying to his mother. But this time, it was for a good cause. ’Cause he didn’t want his mother playing matchmaker.

  “Really? Tell me all about her.”

  Shit. Blake muddled along for the next ten minutes describing to his mother his phantom woman. Every detail he supplied seemed to make her happier and happier. He could practically feel the warmth of her smile over the phone.

  “Oh, honey, she sounds absolutely lovely. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you speak so lovingly about a woman you’re dating. And I can’t wait to meet her on Friday.”

  Blake jolted forward. “What? I mean…I’m…not sure she’ll be able to make the trip this go ‘round. With the holiday and all. I’m sure she’ll want to spend Thanksgiving with her own family.”

  “Oh. I understand.”

  The sadness he heard in his mother’s voice pulled at his heartstrings. “I’ll tell you what, pretty lady. I’ll see if she’d be able to fly down for the anniversary party. How’s that?”

  “Wonderful. And she can fly back in time to have Thanksgiving with her family. Though, if she wanted to celebrate with us, we’d be more than happy to have her. Hint. Hint.”

  Blake laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  After saying goodbye to his mother, Blake reflected on the description he’d given her of his imaginary woman. Who in the hell did he know that could encompass all of those qualities? Then it hit him. He hadn’t described a phantom woman at all. She actually existed.

  Eunice.

  His lips curled into a smile. Who better to play his lover than the woman who knew him almost better than he knew himself? He scrubbed a hand over his head. But would she?

  Chapter 2

  Eunice Howard tried to focus on her meal—the term used lightly—and not the buffoon across from her. She hated to label people, but in this instance, it was warranted. The man in front of her exemplified a glowing example of why she didn’t do blind dates.

  Again, she’d allowed her aunt, of all people, to hook her up. A woman notorious for attracting Grade A losers. Eunice groaned to herself. When would she learn? She was beginning to believe attracting losers was hereditary. She’d attracted her fair share and so had her mother.

  Eunice felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach as an image of her mother filled her head. Twenty-two years and she still missed her mother so much she ached. Her aunt had loved her like her own child, but that love had never filled the gaping hole her mother’s death left. With Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, that hole would soon start to feel more like a bottomless well.

  For the first time since Eunice could remember, she would be all alone for the holidays and one of the most difficult times of the year for her. With her aunt on a two week cruise and her best friend, Trevor, spending Thanksgiving abroad, she’d have no one to turn to when the memories of her mother flooded her like a burst dam. Maybe she should plan a trip. But that wouldn’t solve her problem. She’d still be alone.

  “Your food okay, shawty?”

  Her dinner companion freed her from the morbid thoughts. “Excuse me?” she asked absently.

  Clindon Davis, a southern gentleman—as described by her aunt—pointed to her bowl. “Your gumbo any good?”

  Eunice stirred at the brown sludge. When it first arrived, she braved a taste. The mix of vegetables, sausage, shrimp, chicken, and another meat she couldn’t readily identify, tasted more like a blend of sea salt and cardboard than any gumbo she’d ever eaten. “It’s okay.” When his spoon slid across the table and into her bowl, the brazen move stunned her speechless.

  “Let me give it a taste.” He scooped up a spoonful of the slop and shoveled it into his mouth. “Mmm-mmm, that shit is good. Your taste buds must not be working tonight.”

  As he helped himself to another heaping mouthful, Eunice couldn’t decide if she was more shocked by the fact he’d stuck his spoon into her bowl or that he’d actually enjoyed what was in it. The more she thought about it, they equally appalled her.

  “I’m glad you like it.” She pushed the bowl across to him. “Why don’t you finish it off?”

  “Damn,” he said. “I spilled some on my jacket. I just had it cleaned, too.”

  Clindon lifted his lapel and licked the spot in the same manner a kitten did to clean itself. She gagged. Was this really happening? A quick glance to her right revealed she wasn’t the only one displaced by the man’s actions. The only thing to bring her a minute amount of comfort was the notion that no one in this grungy hole in the wall knew her, or could ever remind her of this experience.

  “This is why I wear dark colors to restaurants,” he said.

  The man resembled a chocolate leprechaun in the clover green suit with shiny gold pinstripes. “Are you a sloppy eater?” she asked with mock in her tone.

  “You damn right,” he said with gratuitous pride.

  The leprechaun grinned slyly, revealing a gold-capped front tooth with a cutout of a star in the center. She cringed. What had her aunt been thinking? Eunice groaned to herself again. Have I really become this desperate? At thirty-four, shouldn’t I have a husband, kids, a house with a white picket fence, a dog named Spud or some other ridiculous doggie name? Why am I still sifting through the city’s rejects?

  “I am a slop...py eater,” he said, wetting his plump lips, before reaching across the table and capturing her hand.

  The unwelcomed intimacy caused her to stiffen and her flesh to crawl.

  “I like to get all into it.” He sucked at his bottom lip. “I slurp it like a cherry slushy.” He winked. “I push it…” he added, then flicked his tongue like a rattlesnake.

  Eunice snatched her hand away when it finally dawned on her what the leprechaun was implying. You disgusting bastard. As if she would let his dry, cracked lips anywhere near her pu—”

  “Push it real good,” he continued. He leaned in as if to whisper a secret, but started to sing instead. “I’ll lick you up; I’ll lick you down...” He apparently forgot the next verse of the Marvin Sease song and paused briefly. “I’ll be your candy licker, girl.”

  The only thing more atrocious than the smell of the chitterlings wafting from a nearby table was the man’s breath, which was comparable to the smell of t
he pig intestines.

  “I used to sing in an R&B group. Can’t you tell? I almost opened for R. Kelly.”

  She was sure she would regret asking. “Almost?”

  “One of my kids got sick, so I had to fly back home.”

  “One of your kids...? How many do you have exactly?”

  “Eight...nine. Nah, eight. I don’t think one is mine, but I ain’t got the DNA results back yet. He ain’t got my forehead. All my kids got this forehead. He brushed his hand across his receding hairline.

  Eunice sat erect in her chair. “Eight—?” She sucked in a deep breath, the tainted air she captured strangling her. She coughed ferociously. This date was going to be the death of her.

  Concern pinched Clindon’s expression. “Here. Drink this,” he said, pushing her glass to her.

  Eunice took a sip of the pungent liquid that had been peddled as “the best sweet tea in the state.” It was an insult to quality sweet tea everywhere. “Eight kids,” she said more to herself. “So, you’ve been married before?”

  “Nah. I don’t like to be tied down. My third baby momma almost got close to locking me down, though.” He released a hearty laugh. “Baby girl was a freak in the bedroom. She almost got me.”

  This just keeps getting better and better. “How many...baby momma’s do you have?”

  “Eight…nine. Nah, eight. I don’t—”

  Eunice massaged her temple. “You don’t think one is yours, I remember.” God, please save me.

  Just then, her phone rang. Clearly, the good Lord felt sorry for her. “Excuse me. I need to take this,” she said, standing. “My job. You understand how that goes.”

  “They hiring? I’m in-between jobs right now.”

  Or maybe he didn’t understand. “I’ll ask.”

  She trudged away, never in her life happier to see her boss’s name illuminate her screen. The call more than likely meant there was trouble, but she welcomed the interruption. “Bonjour, Monsieur Farrington.” she said, pushing her way toward the exit of the grease hole where she’d agreed to meet Clindon. She hadn’t noticed it on the way in, distracted by the water stained ceiling, dingy carpeting, and ‘70s era décor, but the place posted a sanitation rating of only eighty. The revelation made her stomach churn.

  “Eunice?” Blake asked as if he was unsure whether or not it was her who’d answered.

  His silky voice put her into an instant state of tranquility. “Oui.”

  “Again with the French. You do know I don’t speak French, right?”

  Switching from French back to English, she said, “I said hello, Mr. Farrington and yes. Hold on one second.” She stopped at the counter and left forty dollars to cover their meal, plus tip, then power walked away from the establishment. Returning to the call, she said, “Perfect timing. You’ve just saved me from the date from hell. Correction, a date in hell would have been better. I owe you.” She looked over her shoulder to make sure the leprechaun wasn’t in pursuit.

  “That’s good to know,” Blake said, “you owing me.”

  Connotation danced in his words, but Eunice ignored it. “I am going straight to hell.” She slid behind the steering wheel, then checked her rearview mirror. “He thinks I’m taking a call. I’m actually in my car about to burn rubber out of here.”

  “You left your date in the restaurant thinking you’ll be returning?”

  Laughter danced over the line. Blake was the only man she knew who could make the joyous noise sound so appealing. She briefly covered her face with her hand. “I know it’s wrong.”

  “That is cold. Even by my standards,” he said.

  “You had to be there to understand. I’ll pray for forgiveness tonight.”

  Blake laughed again. The sound rippled through her like a pleasing vibration.

  “Sooo, Mr. Farrington,” she said, using unnecessary formality, “you typically call me for two reasons. There is trouble or about to be trouble. Which is it?”

  “Neither. Everything is fine. But I do have a...proposition of sorts for you.”

  What was he proposing? Who was she kidding? She didn’t care what he was proposing—have his babies, be his love slave—he had her undivided attention. “A proposition?”

  He went silent, as if considering his next string of words, or contemplating whether or not he should say whatever he needed to say over the phone. Finally he started to speak again.

  “Come to see me in my office first thing in the AM before the meeting.”

  “First thing in the AM? Uh-oh. There’s a problem.”

  “Trust me. Everything is fine. I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Eunice.”

  Only if they’re filled with images of you. “O—” The line clicked. “—kay.” She hated when Blake ended a call so abruptly. Couldn’t he have simply waited until she’d gotten into the office in the morning? Had he really needed to call her with such a cryptic chat? The only thing that’d been accomplished by their conversation…stirring her curiosity.

  She sighed. Her job—the countless ones she performed—wasn’t all glitz and glamour, but she wouldn’t trade it in for the world. Unless, of course, for the opportunity to be the first female agent at Farrington Sports Management. Her ultimate desire.

  Actually, her ultimate desire would be one night with her boss. Like every other woman in the office, she imagined. She chuckled to herself. There was nothing wrong with a healthy dose of fantasy, right?

  Why didn’t a man like Blake ever cross her path? Intelligent, self-sufficient, and dripping with absolute sex-appeal. Just one night. That was probably all she could handle anyway. She’d heard rumors about his performance in the bedroom.

  “He’s your boss, Eunice. That means off-limits.” And he’s damn near married. That puts him even further out of reach.

  She checked her rearview mirror one last time, cranked the engine, and headed home. Alone and lonely. The story of her life.

  Chapter 3

  Sleep had evaded Eunice as a result of spending most of the night contemplating what type of proposition Blake had in mind. She’d hoped the summons centered on the Agent-in-Training program within the company. But judging by the look that’d danced across Blake’s face the second she’d strolled into his office—ten minutes ago—she’d known for a fact he wanted something. Unfortunately, it wasn’t her body. Actually, in a way it was.

  She’d worked for him long enough—three years to be exact—to know that look. The look normally reserved for the athletes he was attempting to sign to his company. But he was insane if he thought it would work on her. No matter how damn fine he looked sitting behind that desk.

  “Run that by me once more, please. You want me to do what?”

  Blake curled his kissable lips into a smile, then rested his arms on top of his cherry-finished desk. The sight of his biceps threatening to rip through the fabric of the crisp white shirt made steadying her breath difficult. And how could the pronounced veins popping in his chocolate forearms be so damn alluring? Her eyes crawled up his body, settling on his wide shoulders.

  “Fly with me to Norfolk for the holiday and pretend to be my new love interest.”

  He repeated the words as if it were a common request. As if bosses asking their subordinates to be their pretend lover happened every day of the week. His delivery rang as flawless as if he were speaking to the press. She snatched her eyes away from his Adam’s apple and met his again.

  Eunice laughed, then sobered, then laughed again. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “We’ll fly out Friday.”

  Four days. Not that it mattered, because she had no intentions of honoring this ridiculous request, she asked, “For how long?”

  “Until next Sunday.”

  She studied him for a moment. Why in the hell was he being so nonchalant about this entire conversation? “Here’s a silly question. Why not take your real girlfriend?”

  When he pulled his arms from his desk, a hint of disappointment rushed through her. If
lusting were a crime, she’d be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole.

  Blake pivoted back in his mocha-colored leather executive chair and drummed his long fingers against the wood. “It’s complicated.”

  “Uh-huh. And…?”

  Another smile touched his lips. This one would have made any woman moan. Luckily, she swallowed hers before it could escape.

  “And, what?” he asked, his dark brown eyes settling hard on her.

  “Blake Ulysses Farrington, if you want me to be a part of your deception, you’d best be a bit more forthcoming with information, so that I’ll have some inkling of what I’m getting myself into.” Not that she’d in any way agree to do something so outlandish. She simply wanted to know what’d prompted such a bizarre appeal.

  Blake leaned forward and rested his arms on his desk again. Why in the hell did he keep doing that?

  “Sasha and I are taking a break.”

  She should have said something comforting, but nothing came. “Congratulations,” danced on her tongue, but she didn’t release it.

  “My mom believes you and I are dating.”

  This snapped her back to the matter at hand. “Wait. What?” She sat forward in the club chair. “You told your parents we—as in you and I—are dating?”

  “No, silly. I didn’t tell my parents we are dating. I told my mom we were dating. But I’m fairly certain she’s told my dad by now. Those two share everything.”

  Was he really playing semantics right now? “Why would you—? How did you—?” She couldn’t form a lucid thought. “Why not just tell your mother you’re happily single?” she asked. Because didn’t that make the most sense?

  “You do not simply tell my mother you are single. The last time I told my mother I was single, when I arrived home, she had all of her friends’ single daughters and granddaughters lined up. I went on so many lunch and dinner dates the week I was home, I gained fifteen pounds.”

  This drew sympathy because her aunt was notorious for playing matchmaker, too. And if Blake’s mother was as lousy at it as her aunt, Eunice completely understood. She pointed to his desk. “You have a thousand women listed in your rolodex, why did you decide to tell your mom we—as in you and I—were dating?” She would never admit it out loud, but it flattered her to an extent.