by A. C. Arthur
She faced him again, looked up at him like she couldn’t believe he’d said that.
“I’m getting married, Dion. Do you have a problem with that?”
Did he? Hell yeah, he did. But it was his problem and nobody else’s. He’d wanted Lyra for so long, and yet beat himself up about wanting her that way. His mother would definitely not be pleased and the rest of his family would no doubt frown upon him looking at Lyra this way. They’d bash him for playing with her emotions, setting out to hurt her, since that’s what they assumed he did with all his female friends. They wouldn’t be happy about their seeing one another. Dion knew this, and that’s why he’d pushed her away ten years ago.
But if nothing else, he had to be honest with himself. He had a huge problem with Lyra marrying someone else when he wanted her all to himself.
“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” he lied as smoothly as the rays of moonlight shimmered on the water, as easily as he had said it the day he told her to leave for L.A. He lied to his best friend and miraculously found it hurt even more this time than it had before.
“Good,” she said with a weak smile. “Mark and I are looking for an apartment, but until then your mom wants me to stay here. I’m starting work tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you at the office.”
She started to walk away like she was going to brush right past him when Dion reached out and grasped her by the elbow.
“I—” he started to say, then stopped.
“What?” she prompted.
He gritted his teeth and let the words dissipate from his mind. “I’m proud of you and all you’ve accomplished. You’re a great photographer and you’ve become a beautiful woman,” he said honestly.
Her smile was genuine, touching her brown eyes the way he remembered it did when they’d been laughing together as teenagers. “Thanks, Dion. That means a lot to me. Good night.”
“Good night,” he said reluctantly, letting her walk away. Again.
* * *
“Where am I supposed to live?” Paula Anderson asked with one bony arm propped on an even slimmer hip.
Lyra sighed, not wanting to go through this again. She didn’t need this aggravation on her first day of a new job. She was sick and tired of dealing with her mother’s selfishness and irresponsibility. Immediately, guilt washed over her and she closed her eyes, counted to five and then reopened them.
“You can get a job,” she said slowly. “I’ve given you all the money I can. I just moved across the country. Don’t you realize how expensive that is?”
“Girl, don’t give me that BS. And don’t forget I know who you really are. Now you might think you’re all high and mighty, out there foolin’ those rich folk, but you ain’t any better than I am.”
After years of hearing the same story, it was a wonder Lyra had any pride, or self-confidence for that matter. But she did, and she owed that to the upbringing of Janean Donovan.
“I don’t have any money.”
“You got money. I know they probably got an account set up for you and everything. That woman’s been so in love with my child for years. It’s a damn shame. Got kids of her own but still gotta go out and try to steal somebody else’s.”
“Well, if somebody else had been taking care of their child, maybe another woman wouldn’t have to.” Lyra’s reply was quick, her reflexes even quicker as she caught Paula’s long narrow fingers just as she tried to slap her across the cheek.
“I told you not to put your hands on me again,” she said with carefully tempered anger.
“And I told you not to forget who birthed you.”
They were locked in a stare-down, something that had happened too many times before. Paula wanted Lyra to bend to her will, to do whatever she said, whenever she said it. Lyra wanted Paula to get a damned clue. She was a grown woman and long over her mother’s drug-addicted ways and bitterness.
Sadly, none of that meant Lyra didn’t love her mother. After all, this was the woman who gave birth to her and for a little while the woman who’d taken care of her. Then one day everything just went totally wrong. They were kicked out of their small apartment with only the clothes on their backs, so Paula had to do what was necessary to make sure her baby ate, at least that’s the reason she gave Lyra for turning tricks in dark alleys while Lyra kept watch on the corner. But that was then. Over the years Lyra had become adept at leaving her past where it belonged, in the past.
“I’m not giving you any money. You know how to take care of yourself,” Lyra answered seriously and turned to walk away.
Paula had cut her off just as she was about to walk into the Excalibur Business Center that was owned by the Donovans, the headquarters of Infinity as well as DNM—Donovan Network Management. Now, Lyra wanted to get inside as quickly as possible. It was a secure building, she knew. Nobody was getting onto that elevator and upstairs without an ID badge or a phone call from the building’s security. Paula didn’t want to see any of the Donovans, that was for sure. Their relationship was not good, never had been, no matter how much Janean had tried.
“Don’t walk away from me, gal,” Paula said. Her Southern drawl usually came out when she was drunk or high—or some combination of the two—and when she was pissed off, which by now, Lyra knew she was.
A long time ago, Paula would ask Lyra for money—beg a little, cry for a couple minutes, and then Lyra would give her what she wanted. Then there’d be sloppy kisses, empty promises and quick goodbyes—a routine Lyra had grown to despise. But Lyra was done with that. If she counted the money she’d given her mother over the years, it would easily amount to a few thousand dollars. And that was nothing compared to all the money the Donovans had given her to stay away and leave Lyra with them. So part of the debt she owed this family was her mother’s. The other part was her own, and she was ready to start repaying it.
“Don’t threaten me, Paula. We’ve been there and done that. I’d think by now you’d know the limits.”
“You sure got a smart mouth. I bet if I come over there and smack the taste out of it, you’ll know who’s boss.”
The bright morning sunshine glittered over Paula’s fiery red hair, which was shaved close like a man’s. Leopard-print pants looked as if they were painted on her slim legs while the black shirt she wore slipped off one shoulder and hung loosely over a boyishly flat chest. She looked like she could have been about twelve years old. And if there had been a strong wind, she’d fall right over. A brief pang of regret touched Lyra’s heart at the sight.
“But that’s not going to happen now is it?” a masculine voice said.
Both their heads turned as Dion approached. Lyra instantly wanted to disappear. She hated for Dion to see her mother like this, to be reminded of where she came from.
“Well, looky here.” Paula tried to whistle but her two front teeth were missing so the sound was empty and produced more spittle than air. “You done growed up, boy.”
Dion only nodded at Paula then looked to Lyra. “Go into the building,” he told her. He could be such an arrogant ass at times. And other times he could be her savior. That was a role Dion always loved playing. Still, he should have known better than to think she’d just obey him.
“I’ve got this under control,” she said.
“No. I’ll handle it,” he countered.
“You her shining knight?” Paula asked, her speech slurring even more as she stumbled toward Dion.
Lyra rolled her eyes. Dion reached out a hand to catch Paula as she leaned into him but nearly missed him entirely. “I’ll call you a cab, Paula. Then you need to disappear. For good,” he said with a finality that made Lyra quietly gasp.
He was right, her mother needed to go. This was her job, her new life. She didn’t need or want her here.
“I ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Paula said straightening herself up and flattening
her palms on Dion’s chest.
He wore a suit today, a gray double-breasted Armani—Dion loved just about anything Armani—with a crisp white shirt and bold peach tie with tiny flecks of silver. The sight of her mother’s slim hands, bony wrists and veiny arms on him made her stomach churn.
Lyra stepped over, clasping her mother by the waist and pulling her away. “Just go, Paula. I’ll call you later.”
She didn’t miss Dion’s frown at her words, but chose to ignore them.
“I’ll leave when I get what I came for,” Paula huffed.
Lyra rolled her eyes skyward. This was not the way she wanted to start her first day at Infinity. Hell, it wasn’t the way she wanted to live her life. But silly her for thinking she had any control of that. “Here,” she said digging into the side zipper of her purse and pulling out the cash she’d stuffed there yesterday after tipping the cab driver who’d picked her up at the airport. “Just take it and go.”
Paula fingered the money and looked up at Lyra with a frown. “You call me later,” she said, then looked over at Dion. “You still sharp, boy—sharp as a tack. That’s why that girl’s trying to get you to put a ring on it.” Throwing her head back Paula laughed as she sashayed her pitiful backside out of the parking lot.
“She’s still guilting you into giving her drug money,” Dion said from behind as Lyra rubbed her fingers against her temples.
“This is an old conversation,” she said. Taking a deep breath she turned around and walked right up to Dion. “It’s not your concern. I can handle my mother.”
Dion nodded and fell into step beside her, heading to the double glass doors of the building. “By giving her whatever she wants so she’ll leave you alone. That’s a good way to handle her. It’s like feeding a stray cat because you don’t want to see it starve. It’s going to keep coming back, Lyra. I know you know all this already.”
Lyra reached for the door and yanked it open. “Then why do you insist on saying it over and over again?” she said, glancing over her shoulder before walking through.
Dion followed her inside. “Because you never listen,” he mumbled through clenched teeth. “She’s never going to leave you alone until you make her.”
Spinning around to quickly face him she asked, “And just how do I do that? How do I turn my back on the only family I have, Dion?”
He stopped cold, looking her dead in the eye. Then his voice lowered. “I thought we were your family.”
Lyra sighed. This was how this conversation always went with them. Dion told her what to do, she argued about it, then he made her feel like crap because deep down she knew he was right. “You don’t understand,” she said finally. “I just want to move on. I just want to do my job and live my life without all these problems clouding it.”
Dion started walking ahead, waving at the two guards who manned the front desk. Lyra followed behind him, waving at the guards, as well. They’d let her in because she was with him. Later today they’d get a memo from human resources with her name, a photo ID and the department she worked in. Tomorrow morning when she walked in alone, they’d smile and greet her just as they had Dion. That’s how it worked in the world of the Donovans, a world she’d tiptoed around in for most of her life.
“You don’t want problems, then deal with them, Lyra. Stop acting like the victim here, because you’re not.”
They were in the elevator now, a seething Dion standing beside her, briefcase clasped in both hands in front of him. She could smell his cologne, felt the waves of warmth as his scent wafted to her nose, down the back of her throat, into her chest, and downward until she was completely full of him.
“Stop acting like an asshole, Dion. Oh, I forgot, you can’t help that.”
He chuckled. “Calling me names isn’t going to solve your problem.”
“Oh, yeah? Well, since you know so much, tell me what is going to solve my problem?”
“Grow a backbone,” he said just as the elevator dinged and the doors opened. “Until then Paula and needy people just like her are going to walk all over you every time.”
He stepped off the elevator and Lyra wanted nothing more than to follow him and keep the argument going, but that would be futile. She was always the one to get upset, to yell and scream and develop a mega headache trying to prove her point to Dion Donovan. And he was the one who kept a cool head, a sarcastic tone and deflected each and every argument she came up with. Some things never changed.
Chapter 4
“Tomorrow is the Vina Vanell shoot. She’s on the October cover with a feature story that coincides with the release of her new CD.”
“And she just announced her engagement and confirmed her baby bump with rapper Jride,” Lyra finished Regan’s sentence typing notes into the calendar on her iPad.
Regan was an editor at Infinity. She mainly focused on the celebrity aspect of the magazine, leaving the business profiles and features to her brother Savian. Regan had always loved the glitz and glamour of Hollywood growing up. Lyra remembered spending endless nights at her house, where they dressed in all Regan’s pretty gowns and pretended they were walking the red carpet. Lyra always hated that, standing and posing, smiling and gesturing. She would’ve much rather been on the sidelines with the paparazzi getting the perfect shot, not arriving in a limo and wearing a designer dress.
“You know about that, huh?” Regan asked, crossing one long, evenly tanned leg over the other, showing off another one of her passions, shoes. They were platforms, copper and black in a lace print with five-inch heels that only added to Regan’s already-tall stature.
“I hear things,” Lyra said with a smile.
They were in her office. She had an office, Lyra thought with an inward smile. In L.A. she’d been working for Jacque Landow, one of the best-known photographers around. Then Mark had gotten the job offer in Miami and announced he was coming back home, about ten seconds after he asked her to marry him. A twinge of nervous energy slid over her and she sat up in her chair, focusing more on the calendar than she needed to.
“Then Friday there’s the Heat game. They’re in the NBA Finals, so getting good shots of the Big Three is crucial.”
“Right,” Regan said nodding. “And next Saturday’s the gala. Have you gotten a dress yet? Probably not. I know how you hate shopping, even though I’m loving that blouse you’re wearing. I have the coolest royal blue mini that would be perfect with it, because those pants aren’t doing a damned thing for you.”
That was Regan, too, the fashion guru, and forever trying to be a stylist for Lyra.
“I like what I’m wearing. It’s comfortable and professional so it works just fine.”
“If you’re a nun,” Regan joked.
Lyra didn’t laugh but did look down at her gray Ann Taylor low-ride pants and sensible black pumps. Her top was a crisp white button-down with sleeves she’d folded because they were too long and she hated when her clothes interfered with her photography. She’d taken only a few shots this morning after Dion had left her at the elevator. The shots were mostly of the office, no one in particular, just things that caught her eye. She’d been eager to feel the camera in her hands, to hear the click of the shutter capturing a moment in time.
“I like my outfit,” she murmured again.
“Of course you do. So listen, what about the wedding? When’s the big day? And what are we wearing? I’m putting in my bid right now for fuchsia. I look great in pinks.”
Lyra had to smile at that. Regan Lorae Donovan looked great in a dirty lamp shade and wrinkled sheet. She was a classic beauty, not stunning or striking, but still good-looking. On the other hand, Lyra saw herself as cute, not plain Jane or someone to write home about, but reasonably attractive. When she stood next to Regan, Lyra figured her cuteness was ratcheted up a couple notches, but that wasn’t something she strived for. Being i
n the spotlight was not important to Lyra.
“Not sure,” she answered glibly, and knew in that instant she’d said the wrong thing.
“What do you mean ‘not sure’?” Not sure about the date or not sure about marrying Mark?”
Now Lyra had two options—she could lie and say she was simply not sure about the date and Regan would immediately know she was lying. She’d push even harder to get the truth. Or she could simply fess up and finally confide everything that had been weighing on her mind.
“Both. Kind of…” She sat back in the chair and waited for Regan’s barrage of questions that surprisingly didn’t come.
“You don’t want to marry him.”
It was a statement, not a question.
“You’ve been with him off and on for around nine years, but you don’t want to marry him?” Regan continued.
“You make it sound so awful, like I’m a terrible person or something. I’m just a little undecided.”
Regan nodded, tapping a finger to her chin and pursing her frosted lips. “Let’s just add up the pros of Mark Stanford. He’s damned fine, and I mean fine with a capital F. He’s now CEO for one of the fastest-growing social-media sites, so he’s hella rich. He knows everyone that is anyone and he’s crazy about you.”
“And the cons?” Lyra asked hoping Regan could come up with more than Lyra had.
“Hmm.” She thought for a minute, her chin-length chestnut hair moving slightly as she tilted her head. “He drives a Hummer, which is by far one of the ugliest SUVs I’ve ever seen.”
Lyra erupted with laughter, which led to Regan doing the same until they were both almost in tears. Leave it to Regan to make her laugh when she was really down.
Taking a deep breath Lyra finally confided, “I just don’t know that I’m ready to marry him. Like, I know that one day I want to be married and to spend the rest of my life with the man of my dreams—or at least a man that I’m madly in love with. But I don’t know that it’s Mark. Do you understand that?”
Regan nodded. “I do. So what now? Are you going to tell him or go through with it because you think it’s the right thing to do? I know how you are. If you think you’re going against some unwritten rule or some nonsense, you’ll walk on hot coals or cut off your own hand.”