“Are you sure things are over with Juliet? I’m just asking because Moriah adores her and wants them to be sisters-in-law.” Ezekiel sat on the bench and stretched his long legs in front of him. “I’m not a therapist, but maybe you ditched Demi because deep down you still want to be with Juliet.”
Hell no! I’d rather stick my head in a beehive. “That’s not it,” he said, deciding not to tell his brother about his run-in with Juliet outside Demi’s hotel suite. “I left because I was embarrassed. I was all in my feelings last night and I couldn’t face Demi this morning.”
“Wow.” Ezekiel’s eyes went wide. “She put it on you for real.”
“I’m not going to lie. The sex was amazing, but it was more than that. We connected, bro.”
“I bet. You probably connected on the couch, the bed, the desk and the floor. It’s a wonder you don’t have third-degree rug burns!” he teased, laughing at his own joke.
Moving in close, Chase glanced around his surroundings to ensure no one was listening in on their conversation and asked the question at the forefront of his mind. “Have you ever met someone who knocked you off your game? Who made you act out of character?”
“I’ll kill you if you repeat this to anyone, but the first time Moriah and I made love, I was so overwhelmed, I teared up,” Ezekiel confessed, slowly shaking his head. “We’ve been married for twelve years, but Moriah still teases me about it every chance she gets.”
“Damn, bro, I never would have guessed it.”
“What can I say? She put it on me that night and I haven’t been the same since!”
The brothers bumped fists. In that moment Chase realized his feelings for Demi had nothing to do with weakness and everything to do with their bond. Hearing shrieks and giggles, he stared at the play structure. Colorful balloons and kites waved in the breeze, and families laughed and danced in the sunshine.
“Do you plan to see Demi when you return to the States?”
“Definitely,” he answered without a moment’s hesitation. When he returned to Nobu Hotel Ibiza Bay, his first order of business was to get Demi’s contact information. “Demi’s in Manhattan a lot, so seeing her again is a no brainer.”
“Hold on. Let’s Google her before you profess your undying love,” Ezekiel teased, giving him a shot in the arm. “Demi’s gorgeous, but she could be a serial killer, for all you know.”
“You need to stop watching crime TV. It’s making you paranoid.”
“Better safe than sorry!” Chuckling, Ezekiel grabbed his nylon backpack, unzipped the front pocket and took out his iPhone. “What’s Demi’s last name?” he asked, typing in his password.
Chase stroked his chin. “I don’t know. I never asked.”
“Who does she work for?”
“She’s a personal assistant for an actress...no, a dancer...no, a singer...” Scratching his head, he wore a sheepish smile. “Honestly, I can’t remember.”
Ezekiel scoffed. “Good luck, bro! You’re going to need it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“A lot of people look normal but they’re actually crazy as hell and, for your sake, I hope Demi isn’t one of them.”
“She’s not.” At the thought of her, a grin filled his mouth. “She’s vibrant, passionate and laugh-out-loud funny, and my gut’s telling me that she’s good people.”
“Your gut or your—”
Loud noises drowned out Ezekiel’s voice. His family members returned with cold drinks and snacks, and Chase devoured two submarine sandwiches. They discussed their plans for the evening and when he told them he was returning to Ibiza, they tried to dissuade him from reconnecting with Demi. He ignored them. His mind was made up. He’d made a mistake and he wanted to right his wrong before it was too late.
Chase considered his time in Ibiza. He’d purposely avoided telling anyone he met his last name for fear they’d Google him, but he wanted to come clean to Demi about his family, his business and his wealth. Next week, he was going to be the guest speaker at Temple University and he wanted to invite her to the event. Last night in bed, she’d mentioned her alma mater and he liked the idea of touring the campus with her. And more. Afterward, they’d have dinner, check out the sights and then return to his place to make love...
Chase spotted Jonas sprinting across the field and abandoned his thoughts. Something was wrong. He could sense it, feel it, noticed the troubled expression on his brother’s face. Since they were kids, they’d always been able to read each other’s minds, to pinpoint exactly what the other was feeling. Even though they were adults now, nothing had changed.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” Chase demanded, rising.
“We...have to go,” Jonas panted. “It’s Mom. She needs us...”
Everyone groaned, dismissed his announcement with a flap of their hands. Is Jonas for real? Chase thought, bewildered by his brother’s words. He wants us to go home because Estelle said so? Damn. That football to the face must have rattled his brain because he’s talking crazy! Estelle loved drama and routinely summoned them home for impromptu family meetings to share juicy gossip and to settle arguments she’d had with their father, but Chase wasn’t returning to New York tonight to appease his mother. He was going to return to Ibiza to see Demi and no one was going to stop him. Not even his twin brother.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Antonio said, adjusting his baseball cap. “Our vacation doesn’t end until Wednesday, and I plan to party hard for the next seventy-two hours.”
Eager to leave, Chase grabbed his backpack and lobbed it over his shoulder. He wanted to return to the hotel before dark, and hoped Demi was still there when he arrived. Since arriving in Ibiza, his family members had been calling the shots, dictating where and when they went out, but tonight Chase was putting his foot down. And, if they didn’t like it, so be it. “I’m staying, too. I’m exhausted and I need to catch up on sleep, so tell Mom we love her and we’ll see her in a few days.”
Jonas spoke in a firm voice. “We’re leaving tonight and that’s final.”
“Why? Because you’re mom’s favorite and you can’t stand up to her?” Remington jeered.
“No,” Jonas said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “Because mom had a heart attack and was rushed to Stony Brook Hospital.”
Chapter 11
The Bombardier Challenger 850 belonged to the president of Urban Beats Records, but Althea sashayed onto the private plane on Monday morning, giving orders to the staff as if she owned the aircraft. “I want a glass of Merlot and a toasted croissant for breakfast,” she announced, flipping her pashmina scarf dramatically over her shoulders.
Oh, brother, Demi thought with a heavy sigh. It’s going to be a long flight. Althea’s in fine form today! Sitting at the rear of the cabin, showing her girlfriends the pictures she’d taken in Ibiza Town, she tried to block out Althea’s shrill voice, but it was a losing battle. Demi kept one eye on her iPhone, and the other on her mom.
Yesterday, Althea had left her a scathing voice mail, accusing her of being thoughtless and jealous. If Demi hadn’t been relaxing poolside at the hotel with her girlfriends she would have called her mom back to set her straight. Deciding to take control of her life wasn’t selfish; it was brave and she wasn’t going to let Althea make her feel guilty for pursuing her dreams. For six long years she’d been Geneviève’s right hand and although she’d loved working for her sister, it was time to move on. To make a name for herself in her field and to live the life she’d always wanted—not the one her mom chose for her.
“Wow, look who’s here. My long-lost daughter, Demi. How nice of you to join us.”
Demi forced a smile onto her lips. For better or worse, they were family and, for the sake of Geneviève, she’d bite her tongue and keep the peace, even if it killed her. And there was no doubt in her mind that it would. These days, Althea’s snide com
ments brought out the worst in her. “Mother,” she said, glancing up from her cell. “It’s good to see you.”
It wasn’t, but she could tell by Althea’s pursed lips and stiff posture that she was in a foul mood, and Demi didn’t want to exacerbate the situation.
Geneviève and Roderick were sitting alone, cuddling at the front of the cabin, and watching the cozy twosome made her smile. Twinning from head to toe in Nike baseball caps, tracksuits and sneakers, they looked adorable together, and it was obvious they were madly in love. They held hands and kissed passionately, as if they were alone on the airplane. The record label had spared no expense decorating the Learjet. It had designer fixtures throughout the all-leather interior, crystal lamps, and the ivory-and-cream color scheme was striking.
“Where were you on Saturday night?” Althea demanded, her hands glued to her broad hips. Her sleeveless, turquoise dress was so tight it looked as if it was glued to her body. She was wearing a blond wig, heavy makeup and more jewelry than an east coast rapper. Oh, Mother, Demi thought, how many times do I have to tell you that less is more?
“I asked you a question, young lady, and I want an answer. Now.”
A hush fell over the cabin and Demi knew everyone was listening to Althea’s rant. Mom, let it go. I’m not in the mood for this. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but she was tired of Althea picking on her and she had to defend herself. Someone outside shouted orders in Spanish, drawing her attention to the side window. The sky was overcast, covered in clouds, and the blustery morning breeze whipped garbage in the air. Demi hoped the ground crew was finally ready for departure, because if the Learjet didn’t leave in the next five minutes, all hell was going to break loose.
“Why were you a no-show at Pacha Ibiza on Saturday night? Where were you?”
In my hotel suite, making love to a six-foot-six Adonis with juicy lips! Images of Chase bombarded her mind, derailing her thoughts. Hoping to run into him yesterday, she’d spent the afternoon hanging out at the hotel, but she hadn’t seen him anywhere. Demi was determined to forget about Chase and the passionate night they’d shared, even though her girlfriends had encouraged her to track him down online. Demi had balked at the suggestion, refused to consider it. She was a lot of things—impulsive, stubborn and impatient—but she wasn’t desperate and she’d rather be single than pursue a man who’d bailed on her.
“Something came up at the last minute, but I called to let you know I wouldn’t be there.” Taking off her Dior sunglasses, she met her mother’s gaze. “Didn’t you get my message?”
“‘Something came up at the last minute,’” Althea mimicked. “You are so selfish. Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”
To avoid lashing out at her mom, Demi pressed her lips together. Althea smelled of nicotine and vodka, and the stench made her stomach churn.
“If it wasn’t for Gigi, no one would even know who you are, but instead of being grateful and devoted to your sister, you bail on her when she needs you most.”
Facing the window, Demi took a deep calming breath. Last year Geneviève had discovered that Althea had been selling fabricated stories about her to the media, and had threatened to fire her. Since then, Althea had been on her best behavior where Geneviève was concerned. It amazed Demi that her sister could forgive and forget what Althea had done, but she had, and now they had a healthier relationship. With Genevieve and Roderick’s wedding only six months away, Althea was becoming increasingly anxious and constantly took her frustrations out on Demi. But not today.
“Do you want a raise? Is that what this is about? You need more money?”
“No, Mom. It’s about me wanting to live my best possible life. I love fashion and cosmetics and pop culture and I want to share my passion and expertise with the world.”
“Good, then you won’t mind going shopping this afternoon to select some outfits for Gigi. She has appearances at Good Morning America, the Tonight Show and Hot 97 this week, and I want her to look fierce. Like the superstar she is.”
Demi narrowed her gaze. It was times like this, when Althea was picking on her, that she wondered if her mom even loved her. Althea’s life was centered around Geneviève and the next multimillion-dollar deal, which left no time for Demi. In her mom’s eye, she was a joke, just another staffer on Geneviève’s payroll, but Demi was going to prove her wrong.
“Mom, as you know, my last official day as Gigi’s personal assistant was Friday, and Maribelle’s my replacement, so I suggest you contact her.”
Althea’s face darkened and Demi knew her words had struck a nerve.
The pilot’s voice came on the intercom, requesting passengers take their seats in preparation for takeoff, but Althea didn’t move.
“Writing about eyeliner, dating and fashion trends isn’t a career, Demi, it’s a hobby,” Althea said in a haughty tone.
Demi swallowed hard. Nothing she ever did was good enough for Althea, and she was so frustrated about the situation, she could feel water fill her eyes. Knock it off, she chided herself, willing the tears not to fall. Only babes cry, so stop it right now!
“You’ll never make enough money from your social media pages to pay your bills or maintain your extravagant lifestyle, so quit blogging and keep the cushy, six-figure job your sister most graciously gave you.”
Seething inwardly, Demi straightened in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. She was more than just a sidekick, more than just Genevieve’s little sister, and it was high time Althea realized her worth.
“Don’t put me in a box. I’m good at a lot of things, and I could do anything I put my mind to,” she said in a calm voice, even though she was pissed. “I graduated from Temple with a degree in communications, remember? The sky’s the limit for me, and I won’t let you dictate what I can do. I’m chasing my dreams and you can’t stop me.”
Althea’s jaw dropped and she stumbled as if she’d been kicked in the chest.
“That’s right, sis! You’re a star and soon the whole world will know it,” Geneviève shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. “I believe in you, Demi. You can do it!”
Love filled Demi’s heart. Moved by her sister’s words, she blew her a kiss. Demi could always count on Gigi to have her back, and she couldn’t have asked for a more supportive and loyal sister. Reclining her seat, Demi closed her eyes, and pulled the thermal blanket up to her chin. She’d planned to live stream from the private plane, but arguing with Althea had sucked the life out of her and now she needed a nap.
“Ms. Harris, it’s time for takeoff. Please sit down,” a steward said in a quiet voice.
Althea stomped off, grumbling under her breath about having a spoiled, ungrateful daughter, and Demi sighed in relief. She’s gone! Finally! Thank God for small miracles. Someone was playing reggae music on their cell phone and hearing the popular track made Demi think about Chase. They’d danced to the song at Infamous nightclub and she’d giggled every time he’d pulled her to his chest.
Demi snuggled her face in the blanket. Ibiza had it all. Crystal-clear waters, picturesque beaches, attractive restaurants and world-class shopping, but the highlight of her trip hadn’t been exploring the island; it had been exploring Chase. They’d only known each other for a few days, but he’d made an indelible impression on her. On top of being an exceptional lover, he was authentic and sincere, and Demi couldn’t stop thinking about him or the memorable moments they’d shared. Maybe her girlfriends were right. Maybe she should find him online—
An elbow jabbed Demi in the side and her eyes flew open. The drummer of Divalicious, a smart-mouthed Cuban American with frizzy brown hair was holding Demi’s iPhone in one hand and a glass of orange juice in the other. “Chiquita, get up. You’re not fooling anybody,” Esmeralda trilled in a singsong voice. “Now that the coast is clear, we can really have some fun.”
Demi glanced around the cabin. The window shutters were
down, the lights were dim and everyone was sleeping—except Althea. She was eating her breakfast and reading the March issue of Forbes magazine. Demi wore a fond smile. The only thing Althea loved more than fine cuisine was meeting billionaires and she’d spent the entire week schmoozing with some of the wealthiest people in the world. Considering where they’d come from, Demi couldn’t help being impressed by her mom’s drive and tenacity. Born and raised in the Badlands, a neighborhood in North Philadelphia known for its street gangs and drugs, Demi had lived in constant fear of violence, but Althea had taught her to be strong and how to defend herself against neighborhood bullies. Her father, Dwight Dellamare Jr., had left their family when Demi was nine years old and she’d never forget all the nights she’d gone to bed cold, hungry and scared.
Kicking off her slip-on shoes, Demi watched Althea make circles in the magazine with her yellow highlighter. As usual, she was creating a plan. Against all odds, she’d turned Geneviève into a pop sensation who was beloved worldwide, and although they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, Demi admired Althea and was proud of everything she’d accomplished. Who knows, she thought, toying with her silver thumb ring. Maybe one day she’ll be proud of me, too.
“Perk up, chiquita. It’s showtime!” Esmeralda shrieked, pointing the phone at her face.
Demi tossed aside the blanket, fluffed her hair and struck a pose. She loved shooting videos with Esmeralda and enjoyed goofing around with her friend at the rear of the cabin. Why not live stream from the plane? Might as well. Geneviève’s security guards were playing dominos in the living room, but everyone else was fast asleep and Demi needed something to do to keep her mind off Chase. Posting videos and pictures would help pass the time and Demi knew her followers would enjoy their frank discussion about men, relationships and pop culture. Add to that, the private jet was the perfect backdrop for their conversation. It was sleek and glamorous, and filled with the best furnishings money could buy.
Southern Seduction ; Pleasure in His Arms Page 26