Plain Jane and the Billionaire (Plain Jane Series)

by Tmonique Stephens

  Calista ignored the growing cacophony and concentrated on her form. Focused, sweat rolled down her back, and collected between her breasts, the crack of her ass, and her groin. She shouldn’t but couldn’t stop her mind from wandering to Julius. Was he in pain? Was he happy to be home? Had he slept through the night? Any nightmares? In the hospital he’d had a few. He’d toss and turn, and just when she was about to reach over, he’d wake, and she’d pretend to be asleep, or entering the room. No one wanted their vulnerabilities exposed to a stranger, even if that stranger guarded your life. That’s what she had to remember, she was a stranger. They were strangers and their relationship would never be more than completely professional, regardless of what she desired.

  She couldn’t go back. Calling Harden and terminating the employment was the right thing to do for both of them. She was distracted and that meant she was compromised. A distracted bodyguard could equal a dead client. Being a bodyguard was hard enough with an active client. It was ten times worse with a house-bound client who couldn’t leave their house for numerous reasons. And a million times worse for a bodyguard in lust with their client.

  “Who pissed you off, mama?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the slab of chocolate beefcake waiting behind her. He eyed her, taking in her ample ass and double D’s. She got ’em both from her mama and no amount of dieting and working out had whittled either area. To say she had an hourly love/hate relationship with her body put it mildly.

  Who pissed her off? he asked. That would be her. She’d been a bodyguard for ten years, slowly rising in the esteem of the Handler. Rule number one: Don’t sleep with the client. Huge no-no.

  Look! Thinking about another man isn’t the same as calling out his name while screwing another man.

  Beefcake folded his arms and waited for her answer. She didn’t owe him a reply. However, she didn’t need bad blood with a regular gym member. Joe had a strict no drama policy. Last thing she needed was to be banned. “Just taking care of business.”

  He moved around her and grabbed the swaying bag, steadying it for her abuse, as if she needed his help. “You gonna be done soon?”

  She could’ve said no. The truth was, her knuckles hurt. It had been a few months since she worked the bag, preferring jogging and the firing range. She was done and it was only 7:00 a.m. “Have at it.”

  She stepped away and began unraveling the tape from her knuckles.

  “I didn’t mean to run you off.” His gaze hungry.

  “Don’t worry about it.” She kept it brief, her mind already on her plans for the rest of the day. Today was a good day for a trip to Long Island. If she left early enough traffic wouldn’t be horrendous.

  “What’s your name, mama?”

  Same dude. Patience running thin, she snapped. “Not mama.” He chuckled. Why, when she found nothing amusing.

  He shrugged and grinned at her as he leaned on the bag. “Just being friendly.”

  So, because he wanted to be friendly, she had to answer. No use getting tied in knots about it when the argument was pointless and timeless. Every single female probably all the way back to Eve had to deal with the friendly guy taking up their personal space and demanding attention.

  Calista had a few choices. Go off or… play along. She let her gaze travel over the man, assessing. She didn’t have a type. White, black, or somewhere between the two. Muscular or dad bod. Tall or… Nah, she couldn’t date someone shorter than her. She could definitely see herself spending a few nights with the man, maybe more if he was cool being a fuckboy. Her mind drifted to Julius until she yanked it back. She was not in the market for a new lover.

  “Name’s Calista, and I’m late for an appointment.”

  “Steve.” He stretched out his hand.

  Damn, why did her mother teach her manners. She shook it and snatched up her jacket from a bench against the mirrored wall. He was going to ask her out and she’d turn him down and hope it didn’t get awkward.

  Full of confidence, he said, “I’d like to take you to breakfast,” instead of asking.

  “I’m gonna take a hard pass, though I do appreciate the offer. Maybe next time.” She left him a little hope because you never know. Shrugging on her jacket, she headed for the exit. Once on the other side of the door, she inhaled a cleansing breath, certain she did the right thing.

  Her phone rang two blocks into her journey home. A glance at the screen had her hand trembling. “Calista Coleman here.”

  “Ms. Coleman, this is Jackie Abline, the director of Lakehurst Assisted Living.”

  This couldn’t be good news if the director of her mother’s living facility was calling early in the morning. She’d visited her mother before she accepted the position of Julius’ bodyguard and had spoken to her four days ago. As usual, the conversation was stilted and mostly one-way due to her condition, but nothing was abnormal.

  A police car flew past her, sirens blaring.

  “Did I catch you at a bad time?” the director asked.

  “No. No. I’m outside jogging. Is my mother alright?” Calista cut to the point. Her mother was only sixty-eight but the last ten years hadn’t been kind. Early onset dementia. The diagnosis had been devastating, but her mother hid it for five years. She didn’t want to burden her twenty-year-old daughter who had recently moved out and was beginning her life.

  “First, let me say, your mother is fine.”

  Acute relief had Calista leaning against a light pole.

  “But she is getting worse.”

  That didn’t sound good. “What do you mean she’s getting worse?”

  “Last night, she punched Mr. Wilson during movie night.”

  Oh God. “I’ll be right there.”

  Chapter 10

  Rush hour traffic turned I’ll be right there into three hours later.

  “Cali, como esta?” Dacia, the receptionist, gave Calista a warm, yet tentative grin.

  “I’ll let you know after I speak to director Jackie.” She dropped the box of bagels on the counter. She brought the baker’s dozen in hopes of smoothing the way. “This is for everyone.”

  Dacia took the box and hid it under the counter. “I promise to share after I take my pick.”

  Calista leaned in, and whispered, “Do you know what happened last night?”

  Dacia shook her head. “I’m day shift. Though, I heard all about the brawl this morning.”

  Calista reared back startled. “Brawl?”

  “That’s what’s going around.” She patted Calista’s hand. “I’m sure they made it sound worse than it is.”

  Calista smiled because it was the polite thing to do and it was expected, not because she had anything to be happy about. “Is my cousin here?” Laverne should be. Calista had called her right after the director’s call.

  “No. Laverne isn’t here,” Dacia said.

  It was just like her cousin. Laverne was born late, and she’d probably die late. Waiting wasn’t an option today.

  Dacia picked up the desk phone and pressed a button. “Ms. Coleman is here… Okay.” She hung up the phone. “The director is waiting for you.”

  The assisted living facility was a gated community with everything the residents could possibly want—housekeeping, salon, spa, library, game room, fitness center, swimming pool, and day trips to the mall and movie theater.

  At the end of the walkway, Mrs. Abline waited. She was an older woman, mid-fifties Calista guessed, with silver in her black hair. A floral skirt matched with a navy shirt complimented her short stature. She exuded warmth and compassion, and a no-nonsense iron will an administrator had to have to navigate the red tape associated with running the facility.

  They shook hands, and Calista allowed herself to be ushered into the woman’s office looking out onto a square courtyard filled with tennis courts and walking paths. Functional, institutional brown furniture filled the office with touches of greenery from succulents poised around the room.

  “Thank you for coming. I w
on’t take up too much of your time. I know you want to see your mother.” She sat behind her tidy desk.

  Calista sat and crossed her legs to keep them from shaking. Her mind automatically went to the worst-case scenario, her mother being removed from the facility. A combative resident would not be allowed to remain. The facility couldn’t accommodate them. When she moved her mother into her apartment, both completely agreed with the rule. She absolutely didn’t want a violent resident anywhere near her mother. Now, her mother was the violent patient. “Please tell me what happened.” Maybe her mother was provoked and had good reason to punch the man.

  “It was movie night. Since it was such a beautiful evening, we set up a screen and projector on the tennis court and provided chairs and snacks, etcetera.” The director folded her hands on the blotter. “About ten minutes into the movie, your mother became agitated. One of the staff members calmed her. That lasted for approximately a half an hour, then she began shouting. We calmed her again and started leading her back to her apartment when she lunged at Mr. Wilson, a new resident, and punched him in the jaw.”

  “Why didn’t you call me right away?”

  The director reached for a file on the corner of her desk. Front and center, she opened it. “There is a note in her records to only call you in a medical emergency. No one needed medical attention. Mr. Wilson suffered a glancing blow, though we did call the doctor out to exam both residents. His fee will be forwarded to you.”

  “Of course,” Calista murmured, at a loss for words. She had instructed to call her only in a medical emergency. The nature of her job demanded her full attention. She couldn’t be distracted when a client’s life was on the line. Her job paid for her mother’s care. Without it, her mother would be at the mercy of Social Security and she’d be on the streets.

  “While this is the first incident of its kind, your mother’s agitation has increased. She’s getting worse, which is to be expected with dementia. The combative aspect is unfortunate. If she remains here, she will need twenty-four-hour care. If you choose not to…” Mrs. Abline slid a handful of brochures across her desk. “I’m sorry, Ms. Coleman.”

  So was Calista. She sighed, suddenly exhausted. But hey, at least she had options.

  “We realize this is not an easy, one-two-three thing to accomplish. I put in a call to a few facilities whose specialty is combative patients in altered states. They aren’t cheap.” She tacked on.

  Calista clutched the brochures in her hand to examine later.

  “For her to remain here while you find suitable arrangements, she will need to start twenty-four-hour care immediately.”

  Her throat dried. “Of course.” Calista stood. She’d heard enough. Now, she wanted to see her mother. “Thank you, Mrs. Abline.”

  “You’re welcome, dear.” They shook hands.

  Calista used her key to enter the spacious one-bedroom apartment on the ground floor of a duplex. “Mom?” she called out, not wanting to frighten her by suddenly appearing.

  “We’re on the terrace,” the aide replied.

  Located off the small dining room, the terrace faced the gazebo in the picnic area. It was a serene slice of green her mother loved when she moved in. At least that hadn’t changed, Calista thought seeing the small smile on her mother’s face as she stepped through the French doors and her mother turned to face her.

  “Mom.”

  Mavis Coleman was blessed with an eternal beauty women of color seemed to have. At sixty, crows grace collected in the outer corners of her eyes, and that’s it. The rest of her face was a smooth landscape of unblemished melanted skin. Gray sprinkled the cornrows in her hair, which helped give a clue to her age, along with the hands folded in her lap. Those hands had wiped the drool off Calista’s chin and the shit off her ass. Those hands had cleaned toilets during the day and fried chicken for dinner because that was her daughter’s favorite night. Those hands had braided her daughter’s hair, spanked her unruly daughter’s ass, dried her daughter’s tears after her first broken heart. Those hands had tucked her in, held her when she first learned how to walk, and when she finally walked away.

  Watery brown eyes studied her. Calista wasn’t overly religious. She didn’t go to church, though she believed in a higher being when it suited her needs, which was right now. She prayed her mother recognized her only child.

  Gaze narrowed, brow furrowed, then… “Calico?” A smile broke across Mavis’ beautiful face. That was the smile that stopped men in their tracks in awe.

  Warmth spread through Calista at the sound of her nickname. She went to her knees in tears. Damn she didn’t mean to cry, but nothing touched her soul like her mother’s love. Those impossibly strong hands brought her in for a hug and she basked in the shea butter lotion wafting from her mother’s skin and the hint of white musk oil she’d used since time began.

  “Why you crying, Calico?” Rough palms cupped her cheeks.

  Because you remember me. “Just happy, Mom. Just happy to visit.” Calista took the seat the aide vacated and pulled it closer to her mother.

  “You look good, baby. Healthy. Seeing someone?” Her mother hedged.

  God, it was like old times, the time before dementia stole her mother away. “No,” Calista said as Julius’ image flashed in her mind.

  “Them eggs gonna be scrambled before you put them to use.”

  Not the first time Calista had heard this. At twenty-five she thought she had all the time in the world to find a man she could tolerate enough to co-parent with. At thirty, being a single parent now seemed the likely option. It would be the same road her mother had traveled, and Calista had turned out fine. Could she do the same for her future child if she decided to forgo marital bliss and buy someone’s DNA to mix with her twenty-three chromosomes?

  “What’s wrong, Calico? You can’t hide anything from me. I know you too well.” Her mother chucked her under the chin.

  Calista captured her mother’s hand in her own and stroked the warm, wrinkled skin. “What movie did you watch last night?” Her mother’s memory was a flighty thing. The past tended to be crisp while recent events usually escaped her.

  Gaze suddenly distant, a few seconds passed. “That movie with Bette Midler.”

  Beaches? Hocus Pocus? The Rose? The movie list was long. The chance of her mother remembering—

  “The First Wives Club.” She slapped her thigh, proud of herself. “I love when they sing at the end. ‘You Don’t Own Me.’” She sang and swayed to the tune in her head.

  “Did you stay to the end of the movie this time?”

  Her mother’s brow furrowed again, and the light concentration switched to frustration, then anger. She yanked her hand out of Calista’s grasp and shoved her chair back, as if her daughter was a stranger.

  The confusion in her mother’s gaze killed Calista, but sadly it wasn’t anything she hadn’t experienced before. It started about ten years ago. Her mother had always been forgetful, absentminded, was how she put it. It was normal to forget little things. It wasn’t normal to forget your address or the name of your only child.

  “Do you know what happened? Were you there?” Calista asked the aide.

  The aide nodded. “I worked overtime. Everything was fine, then she jumped up, screamed ‘Go to hell, Harvey,’ and punched Mr. Wilson. She barely tapped him because he pulled back in surprise, but not because she didn’t try. Shocked everyone. Afterward, she stomped off. By the time she got home, she’d forgotten everything.”

  Oh no. There was only one Harvey in their lives…who wasn’t in their lives. Why would her mind suddenly pluck him from the cobwebs after twenty-four years? Fucking dementia, that’s why. She took her mother’s hand. “Harvey, Mom?”

  Mavis studied her daughter. She blinked several times, and Calista thought Mavis had faded away again. “He wouldn’t look at me. I-I called him. Called him and he ignored me.” Anger tainted her voice. “And kissed Suzette. Kissed her like I wasn’t there. Wasn’t anybody.” She chewed her bo
ttom lip. Her mother wasn’t violent, even with the dementia, she’d shown no signs. Until now. Calista understood why.

  “It’s okay, Mom.” It wasn’t, but that was Calista’s problem, not her mother’s. She squeezed her mother’s hand. Mavis didn’t squeeze back. Instead, she snatched her hand away again, confusion filling her eyes. “Do I know you?”

  Calista swallowed her sob. Those four words never got easier to hear. She turned to the nurse. “Do you know where Mr. Wilson is? I’d like to apologize to him.” And hopefully stave off being sued.

  “Yes.” The aide pointed to the gazebo. “The Wilsons are over there. They walk to the gazebo every day.”

  Right in view of her mother. Hmm. Could that have been a trigger, and if so, why? “Thanks.”

  Sitting serenely watching a flock of pigeons sunning themselves on the grass, her mother was a Nubian queen. Calista wanted to kiss her goodbye, but she was still a stranger to her mother. That special dagger in her heart continued to bleed. “Can you tell her I was here, and we had a good visit.”

  “Of course.”

  Heavy-hearted, Calista exited the apartment and headed for the gazebo. The June heat warmed her skin even as anxiety chilled her heart. Her mother had lived a frugal life. Though Calista had a roof over her head and food in her belly, there was nothing extra that wasn’t free. She learned Tae Kwan Do at the Y along with her don’t fuck with me attitude. Their neighborhood skirted middle class and ghetto. The Y reflected both sides of the coin, black kids played with black kids and white kids played with white.

  Calista landed somewhere in the middle. Her mastery of the defensive skill didn’t earn her acceptance. Ostracized at school, in her community, the bond with her mother was her refuge. She was her biggest supporter and her bestie. The diagnosis of dementia was a blow physically, emotionally, and financially.

  Until her mother shared her bank statement. She wasn’t rich, but she was far from poor. When asked how she had six digits in her savings account, she responded with, “Child support.” She’d saved every dime, first for Calista’s college. Then, when it was clear Calista had no desire for higher education past the two-year associate degree Mavis insisted on, she had planned on giving to her as a wedding gift when her daughter finally found the one.