Confused in Virginia
Lucas tapped out his response.
Dear Confused,
Your friend is right.
His editor would never let him get away with such a cryptic answer, but it was the best he could do right now. His mind was too bogged down with thoughts of Ivy and Katie.
Flickers of light from the television bounced off the walls. He glanced at it to see a local reporter giving the nightly news, but he had the volume turned down too low to hear.
How would things have been different if he hadn’t left after their summer fling? He wouldn’t admit it to Ivy, but he’d had doubts about leaving.
Lucas felt the warmth of her naked body as she lay on top of him.
“Wake up, sleepyhead,” Ivy said softly. She kissed his neck, shoulders, and the middle of his back.
He groaned. “I’m tired. You wore me out.”
She giggled. “You promised to take me to breakfast before you go to work.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. You’re not reneging, are you?” Her tongue traced his shoulder bone. They weren’t going anywhere if she kept that up.
He turned and flipped her onto her back. Her eyes shined like little brown jewels, and moments like this made him want to forget the teaching contract in Korea so he wouldn’t have to leave her.
“How hungry are you?” he asked. Maybe they could have a quickie before they left for breakfast.
“I’m so hungry my belly thinks my throat’s been cut.”
He busted out laughing. “I’m going to stop teaching you all these Southern expressions. The words are right but the accent sucks.”
“It does not! I nailed the accent.”
“Yes, it does suck. You think you’re doing such a good job, don’t you? Bless your heart.”
“Don’t you bless my heart.” She hit him in the shoulder and he pinned her arms above her head.
He nuzzled her throat and then sucked the sensitive spot where her neck and shoulder met. “What do you want me to do then? This okay?”
“Maybe,” she said, pretending to be upset by pouting.
“How about this?” He licked her nipple and sucked the tip into his mouth.
Ivy moaned. “You know, I’m not that hungry after all.”
“You’re not? You sure?” He licked the tight peak of her other breast and she arched higher into his mouth.
She gasped. “Yes, I’m sure.”
She wriggled beneath him, spreading her legs to open her body for him and lifting her hips to grind her mound against his erection.
“Hold on, let me get a condom.”
“Hurry.”
When he was sheathed in latex, he slid into her, slow and easy. She gasped and thrust up against him. Watching her lose it was almost as exciting as getting off himself.
She was so sexy, driving him crazy with how much she loved sex. Her desire for it matched his. It was limitless, all-consuming. Her response to his touch was always frenzied and passionate. Not the fake stuff some women did, like they were actresses in a porn flick where they said everything just right and had to move just right so they didn’t muss their hair. No, with Ivy he could tell she really loved it and lost herself in the sensations.
“Lucas…” She gripped his shoulders.
“I’m right here.” Her feminine walls contracted around him and her fingernails dug into his skin. She came hard, her breathless cries filling the small bedroom. Her face wrenched into a grimace of pleasure, and his brain took a snapshot of that expression like he’d done many times before. He strived to put that pained look on her face. As if his lovemaking was so exceptional it surpassed her expectations and filled her with the exquisiteness of an orgasm so sweet it pained her.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he said.
Lucas groaned and rubbed his aching groin. He knew from experience the bulge in his pants wouldn’t go away any time soon.
His cell phone, resting on the table in front of the television, started ringing. The unique tone was earmarked for Priscilla Graw, an aspiring model/actress/dancer or producer/director/entrepreneur, depending on the day and mood. Priscilla dipped her toes into more creative pursuits than anyone else he knew. To date, none of her ventures had proved successful.
He and she had been dating off and on over the past five years. Currently they were off, and he hadn’t spoken to her in a few months.
“Hey,” he said.
“Did I wake you?” she asked. She sounded like she was in bed herself. Her voice carried the warmth of slumber, as if she’d been sleeping only moments before. He imagined her pushing her thick corkscrew curls off her forehead.
“No, I’m wide awake and working on a column.”
“We haven’t talked in a long time. How’d everything go?”
She was asking about the tour, but his mind veered to the conversation with Katie and the negative outcome.
He sat down and dropped his head on the back of the sofa. “The tour went well. I sold a lot of books at each stop, and I’m in Seattle now. I spoke in a packed auditorium at an event a few days ago.”
“I’m happy for you, baby. Maybe you’ll be able to hit one of those bestsellers lists soon.”
“Maybe. That would be nice.” He held no illusions about that type of success. He was happy for what success he already had.
“You don’t sound pleased.”
“I am.” But the conversation with Katie still dogged him, dousing any excitement he had felt about his trip up until this point.
“When will you be back in Atlanta?”
“I have some things to take care of out here. I won’t be back for a bit.”
“Oh?” She never came right out and questioned him, and he didn’t know if her reluctance was the result of trust or simply that she didn’t want to rock the boat of their off and on relationship.
“I saw an old girlfriend, and…it turns out I have a daughter.”
“Oh.”
The quiet on the other end of the line prompted him to sit up and continue. “I want to spend a little time getting to know her better. Katie’s her name. I was with her and her mother tonight, but it was mainly about Katie—not her mother.” Why he felt the need to mention that he had no idea.
“I didn’t think you’d want to spend time with your ex,” Priscilla said in an overly neutral voice. She always tiptoed around him and his feelings, as if she was afraid of upsetting him. “So she just kept your child a secret from you?”
“Yeah. We ran into each other and I found out by accident.”
“How old’s your kid?” Priscilla asked.
“Eight.”
“That’s a long time.”
“Yeah.” Lucas filled her in on the details.
“Wait a minute.” The slumberous quality disappeared from Priscilla’s voice and he heard the bed linens rustle as she changed positions. “Are you kidding me? Your child’s mother is a Johnson—a member of the family who owns Full Moon beer and the restaurant chains The Brew Pub and Ivy’s?”
“You know the family?” He had to admit he was surprised.
“I don’t know them, but I know of them. They don’t make the news often—mostly it’s the oldest son…oh, what’s his name…Cyrus. I saw him on the cover of a magazine once. I stopped to read it because, well, it’s not too often you read about black billionaires. They mentioned how he’s practically been running the company since his twenties, after his father died suddenly. A drunk driver killed him or something. They had a three-year decline in sales recently, but he turned it around with a new marketing campaign. They’re one of the richest families in the country.”
Lucas was surprised Priscilla had paid that much attention to the family.
“You’re a lucky man,” she continued.
“Why am I lucky?”
“Because they’re super rich.”
He snorted and walked to the window. He drew apart the drapes and looked out at the urban landscape. “Their money doesn’t
mean anything to me.”
“Are you sure? If you worked your way back into your baby mama’s good graces, you’d be set.”
He cringed. He couldn’t tell if she was kidding or not. Plus he hated the phrase ‘baby mama.’ “No way am I interested in sinking my claws into the family fortune. I just want to get to know my kid.” He still didn’t know how he would fit into the picture, especially since Katie had made it clear she didn’t want him around.
“You should consider yourself lucky. You don’t have to worry about child support. I told you how much my brother pays to his ex-wife. He stays broke.” She sighed. They’d had plenty of conversations about the unfairness of her brother’s payments mandated in the divorce decree. “So when will I see you again?”
She must want something. Every time they’d broken up over the past five years, Priscilla had been the one to leave him. She would grow tired of his behavior, his lack of interest—his whatever she chose to fling at him in a fit of anger when she stormed out. But she always came back.
Usually she’d call and need his help with something inconsequential. She’d ask if he could review a car repair estimate and give his opinion on whether or not it was reasonable. Or could he come over and help her move a piece of furniture. She obviously used these tasks as an excuse to reach out to him again.
“I’m not sure when I’ll be back. Not for a couple of weeks. I don’t have any classes at Mercer until the spring, and I can work around most of my promotional gigs until it’s time to start traveling again.”
“I was hoping you’d be back sooner,” she said, her voice filled with disappointment. Yeah, she wanted something.
“How are you doing? You need anything?”
“Well, now that you mention it…I’m a little short on rent this month. Could you loan me a couple hundred dollars?”
To be considered a loan, the assumption was that the money would be repaid, but she never repaid him when money was exchanged between them.
“I’ll transfer the money into your account tonight,” he said.
“Thank you, baby.” Her voice lowered. “I’ll take good care of you when you get back.”
He chuckled. “I know you will. I’ll call you when I’m back in the ATL.”
Lucas disconnected the call and continued to stare out the window. He had to figure out how to win Katie over, and he didn’t have a clue how to do it.
Chapter Eleven
“Have a good day,” Ivy called as her daughter scrambled from the car. Katie raced toward the front of the school building, meeting up with one of her friends halfway there.
At first glance, the wooded grounds of St. Francis’s Academy looked more like that of a small college campus. Most of the children who attended came from wealthy families. In the afternoons, the grounds resembled the parking lot of a high-end car dealership as parents or drivers arrived in Mercedes, Maybachs, and other luxury vehicles to pick up the children.
Ivy settled into the soft leather of the black Cadillac, a vehicle custom-designed to accommodate her needs. The front and back seats could be separated by privacy glass and the body was constructed of reinforced steel.
Lloyd pulled out of the parking lot. “You okay, ma’am?” he asked.
He must have noted the difference in her this morning, the noncommittal answers she’d given to Katie as her daughter chatted up a storm, excited about the first day back at school.
“They grow up so fast,” she said, her gaze meeting his in the mirror.
She’d been thinking about her daughter, but she’d also thought about Lucas. There had been no improvement in the relationship between Lucas and Katie over the past few days, but Lucas continued to show up despite Katie’s profound lack of interest in him. She felt bad for him. Katie’s cool reception was all her fault.
“Nothing you can do about them growing up,” Lloyd said. “It happens. It seems only yesterday my kids were her age.” A strand of nostalgia filled his voice.
Lloyd seldom gave details about his personal life. Whenever he did, he focused on his children. In his mid-forties and divorced, he had one adult child married and two in college. He had a military background and doubled as her bodyguard. He’d been hired from a private security firm not long after Ivy’s mother had learned of a wealthy acquaintance’s daughter being kidnapped when their car was boxed in. Under the traditional black chauffeur cap and black suit was a buzz cut and a large, muscular man. Though he remained mostly quiet, they had developed a comfortable rapport over the years.
When Lloyd dropped her off, Ivy made a quick stop at her office and then headed to Cyrus’s office. This morning she had a meeting with him and Trenton in the small room off Cyrus’s office. When she entered, she found her brothers already waiting for her with the scent of fresh-brewed coffee filling the air.
Cyrus sat at the head of the small conference table. Dressed in a dark suit, lavender shirt, and purple and black striped tie, he looked like the man in charge that he was. Trenton, on the other hand, had his chair tipped back and only wore a shirt and tie, minus the suit jacket. He was the youngest in the family and anyone who didn’t know their family history would stare because of his lighter skin and green eyes. He clearly didn’t match.
It amused Ivy to see the wheels turning as people silently questioned his background. The more daring ones, who outright asked if he had a different parent, received an honest answer. Trenton was their cousin, but he’d been raised with them from a young age after his parents passed away. Despite not having the same parents, he was as much her brother as the ones she shared parents with.
Cyrus had suggested having these occasional meetings, where they could meet and discuss business and brainstorm privately without staff present. The three of them were the most active members of the family in the business.
Sometimes their mother would conference in, and if they could catch Xavier, their brother who was in Africa at the moment, he would participate. Her twin, Gavin, never took part in their business meetings. He never participated in anything, which filled her with sadness. They used to be so close, but he mostly stayed away now, collecting his monthly allowance and living his own life apart from them. She had no idea where he was at the moment, but when he was ready he’d call and let them know that he was still alive.
“Don’t tell me I’m late,” Ivy said, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“Right on time,” Trenton replied. “I was trying to squeeze some additional funds out of the head honcho so I could work my magic for the Great American Beer Festival and Oktoberfest.” He grinned mischievously. Trenton oversaw sales and marketing and special events such as the anniversary celebration still underway.
“And I told our dear brother that he would have to work with the same budget he did last year,” Cyrus said.
Ivy took a seat. Her brothers always managed to be at odds with each other about one thing or another, but it was good-natured ribbing brought about by their different personalities.
They spent about fifteen minutes discussing the direction of the company. Cyrus gave them an update on a possible trademark infringement with a brewery out of New Jersey that was causing confusion with their customers and then swiveled his chair in Ivy’s direction. “What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing much. Katie’s father is here.” She hadn’t meant to blurt out the news in that way, but there was no better time than the present. There weren’t very many people she could share this with. Not yet, anyway.
Both her brothers sat up straight.
“I was talking about the restaurant group,” Cyrus said.
“Her biological—her real father?” Trenton asked.
“The only one. He wants a relationship with her.” Her gaze bounced between them.
“What rock did he crawl out from under, and what else does he want?” Cyrus, always the cynic, asked.
“Nothing.”
“Everybody wants something, Ivy.”
“Not him. He doesn’t want money,”
she assured him.
“Not yet.”
“Not ever. He never cared about my money.”
Most people who learned her true identity fell into two camps. One set grew excited because they saw knowing her as an opportunity to get inside the upper echelons of society, or worse, expected her to shower them with money, gifts, or “loans” for business ideas. The other group steered clear of her, either out of a sense of inadequacy or the assumption that she lived her life in excess. Her money simply made them uncomfortable. Lucas had displayed neither behavior.
“What does he want, then?” Cyrus said.
“He wants to get to know his daughter.”
Cyrus tapped his finger on the sheets of paper in front of him. “I guess the secret will be out of the bag soon enough. All the maneuvering we did to keep this quiet will be for naught.” He voice held an irritated edge to it.
Ivy jerked her head in her brother’s direction. “It doesn’t have to be a thing, Cyrus.”
“It’s always a thing,” Cyrus snapped. His displeasure was almost tangible. “Then we’ll end up having to clean up another mess.”
“You can be a real ass, you know that? I will clean up my own mess, thank you very much.”
“Damn, Cy, cut her some slack,” Trenton said.
“I’m trying to make a point,” Cyrus said.
“What exactly is your point?” Ivy crossed her arms over her chest and glared at her brother.
“What I’m trying to say,” Cyrus said slowly, his anger simmering like hers, “is that we need to be careful. There’s more at stake than our family reputation. Winston’s father is a well-respected senator, and even though the media doesn’t know the truth about Katie’s paternity, once they get wind of it, we’ll have a mess on our hands.”
Josiah Somerset was Ivy’s dead husband’s father and had already started his campaign for his sophomore term in the Senate.
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