Lust & Loyalty

by Shelly Ellis

  Leila stared at Isabel in shock.

  “Oh, honey,” Leila whispered, reaching for her daughter, wanting to break into tears herself. She wrapped an arm around her. “Oh, baby, I . . . I didn’t know. I’m so—”

  Isabel shoved Leila away. She unbuckled her seat belt and flung open the passenger-side door. Leila watched helplessly as her daughter rushed up the stone steps to the mansion and pounded her small fists on the French doors until the housekeeper opened them. She rushed past the older woman, who looked at her aghast.

  Almost two hours later, Evan strolled into their bedroom, only to find Leila pacing in front of their bed muttering to herself. She had just left Isabel’s bedroom twenty minutes ago, finally getting the little girl to calm down, only to get herself stirred back up again.

  Evan furrowed his brows when he saw her. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m gonna kill her,” Leila mumbled, curling her hands into claws. “I am going to fucking kill her!”

  He shrugged out of his suit jacket and tossed it onto the bed. “Kill who?”

  “Your goddamn wife!” she shouted, making him jump. She dropped her hand to her lower back and continued to waddle back and forth on the plush carpet. “That bitch has it coming to her! I don’t care if you fuck with me, Evan, but you don’t fuck with my child . . . my Izzy! I’ve had enough of this shit from her! If I wasn’t seven months pregnant, I’d march straight to her house, yank her through the door, and kick her ass!”

  “What are you talking about? Why do you want to kick Charisse’s ass?”

  Leila stopped pacing long enough to glower at him. “She’s going around town telling everyone that I’m a whore! She said I used to be a hooker and cokehead! She told them that they shouldn’t do business with me. That’s why my clients are leaving in droves! Now she’s even got the kids at Queen Anne saying that they shouldn’t play with Izzy because she’s going to grow up to be a ho just like her mama!”

  “Jesus,” he exhaled. “Are you sure Charisse really did all that?”

  “Of course, I’m sure! You think I would just pull this shit out of thin air? Someone told me she’s doing it!”

  “Okay,” he said, holding up his hands. “Okay, just . . . just calm down, baby.”

  “Don’t tell me to calm down!” she shouted, feeling the cords stand up along her neck. “Don’t you dare tell me to calm down, goddammit!”

  “Look, I just don’t want this shit with Charisse to send you into early labor, okay? It’s not worth it! Take a deep breath.”

  She closed her eyes and did as he suggested. She breathed in and out and rubbed her stomach, feeling their baby girl shift.

  “I’ll talk to Charisse,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

  “No,” she said firmly, opening her eyes and shaking her head.

  “Lee, come on! If I talk to her and tell her to back off, she’ll—”

  “I said no, Evan!” she shouted, now beyond frustrated. “Don’t talk to her about this. I don’t need you to be our go-between! Don’t wave your magic Murdoch wand!” she said, illustrating her words by waving her hand in the air. “Dammit, just stay out of it! You back off!”

  He flinched, looking hurt.

  Leila hadn’t meant to yell at him, but frankly, she was getting tired of this—of all of this! She couldn’t go anywhere without being reminded of Evan or his money or his powerful family. She wasn’t seen as Leila Hawkins anymore. Who cared that she had grown up in Chesterton, had once held down multiple jobs to pay the rent, and had been the head of her own household only months ago? All they cared about was that she was Evan Murdoch’s pregnant mistress, his live-in whore! Even Isabel’s life seemed to be inextricably linked with the Murdochs, her name now tied with theirs—whether she liked it or not.

  This isn’t what I signed up for, Leila thought, shaking her head ruefully. She’d had no idea when she and Evan started on this path that her life would turn into this . . . that she would feel like a woman who had lost her identity and all sense of control.

  She took another shaky breath. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Ev. I didn’t mean to lash out at you like that, but I’m just . . . just tired. I’m tired of all this bullshit!”

  She left it at that, not wanting to say any more, worried at how she might hurt him more than she already had if she told him the full truth.

  “I know,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. She dropped her head to his shoulder and he rubbed her back. “I know. I hate seeing you upset like this. Really, I can talk to her and—”

  “No, Ev,” she said, raising her head to gaze at him again. “I mean it! She’s trying to get a reaction out of me and definitely trying to get a response from you. I refuse to give in to her!”

  She knew responding to Charisse’s baiting was a no-win game. Even if Leila was justified in wanting to exact revenge for everything Charisse had done to her—the sabotage and rumors—no one else in Chesterton would see it that way. To them, Leila was still Evan’s mistress, trying to take Charisse’s rightful place in the Murdoch household. It would only make things worse for her and Isabel.

  “Promise me that you’ll stay out of this, Ev.”

  He pursed his lips.

  “I know you want to help and I . . . I appreciate it, but I don’t want you to get involved. Promise me that you won’t.”

  “Fine,” he grumbled.

  “No, not ‘fine.’ ‘I promise.’ I know how you are. I want to hear you say it!”

  The bedroom fell silent as she waited for his response, wondering if he would really agree to her request. She watched as Ev took another deep breath and nodded.

  “I promise,” he finally said.

  Chapter 16

  C. J.

  C. J. squinted into the bright lights from the film crews gathered three feet below her—all clustered around the small raised stage on the Aston Ministries grounds. Despite her unease, she forced herself to keep her smile firmly in place.

  Her father had wanted to hold the press conference at the courthouse soon after the paternity results were read aloud in court by the presiding judge. The results showed Reverend Pete Aston wasn’t the father of Rochelle Martin’s baby. Even Martin’s lawyer had held a press conference at the courthouse, announcing that she would be forced to drop her lawsuit, explaining that she wasn’t a villain but a greatly misunderstood young woman. But Reverend Aston’s new PR Svengali, whom he had hired for his congressional campaign, believed in giving a show. She had suggested that he hold his press conference at the church instead.

  “It gives it more authority and presence,” she had said, her blue eyes alight with inspiration. “And having that big glass church in the background will look absolutely amazing on camera!”

  So this is why C. J. was chattering her teeth in high winds and forty-degree weather, waiting for her father to step up to the podium and begin to speak among the clicking of camera shutters and those few reporters near the stage. She pursed her lips as she raised the collar of her wool coat to block the wind, all the while trying to smooth her wayward locks with her hands.

  “I want to thank my lovely wife, Sarah, for standing by me and believing from the very beginning that I was a man of my word and a man of God,” Reverend Aston finally began. “I want to thank my son, Victor, and my daughter, Courtney, for all their love and support. I would also like to thank all the parishioners and those voters out there who believed me from the very beginning.”

  C. J. watched out of the corner of her eye as Victor stood on the opposite side of her father while the older man gave his speech. Victor donned a full-on plastic smile for the occasion. He was hand-in-hand with his wife, Bethany, who gazed up at him adoringly—the poor, deluded woman. Bethany even leaned her head against Victor’s shoulder. They looked like the perfect couple.

  If only everyone knew the truth, C. J. thought.

  She then glanced at Shaun, who stood directly next to her, who was smiling politely at the cameras as
her father continued to speak.

  Though I guess I’m not much better.

  Standing at her side, Shaun seemed very much like her boyfriend or even her husband. Her father’s “people” had put him on the podium next to her specifically for that reason, although they had pretended it had been for something else.

  “Symmetry,” the young PR flack had explained with his bleached-white grin. “It just looks more balanced with him standing next to you.”

  Uh-huh, I bet, C. J. had thought sarcastically.

  She knew that was a crock of shit! They wanted everyone watching the press conference to think that C. J. was with Pastor Clancy, that he was her boyfriend. They wanted everyone to believe that Reverend Aston not only had the perfect son and daughter, but also children with perfect significant others. C. J. couldn’t work up the energy anymore to rebel against these lies. She was too exhausted to care. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in almost a week, not since Terrence had stormed out of her apartment.

  That next morning, after she had apologized to Clancy a million times and cried her eyes out, she had resolved that she would erase all memories of Terrence Murdoch. She finally was ready to move on and let him go—or so she’d thought. It was more than a week later and she still hadn’t managed to do that.

  C. J. now grimaced as the wind picked up ferocity, making her hair whip around her shoulders again. She crossed her arms over her chest as her father started to accept questions from the reporters who were all shouting simultaneously.

  “Are you planning to file a defamation suit against Miss Martin now that the truth has come to light, Reverend?” one reporter asked.

  “I wouldn’t be much of a Christian if I blindly sought revenge,” her father replied.

  “Praise the Lord!” C. J.’s mother exclaimed while wrapping an arm around her husband.

  “So the answer is no,” he continued. “I don’t plan to file any more lawsuits. I plan to stay as far away from court as possible. I will simply pray for Miss Martin, focus on spreading the good word, and concentrate on my campaign.”

  The questions continued like this for the next fifteen minutes; all the while C. J. struggled to pay attention, to keep her grin in place.

  At least Terrence had stopped calling her. He had gone from calling her constantly to not calling or texting her at all. And she had no interest in reaching out to him, either.

  What she had seen that day in her apartment was not the man she had fallen in love with. It was not the man who had wooed her with moonlit picnics in Macon Park and conversations that could go on for hours without awkward pauses. Back then, Terrence had been sweet and tender, open and loving. He wasn’t the callous asshole who had charged into her apartment, acting like some chest-thumping, raging gorilla.

  Where was the Terrence she had known and loved?

  Gone, she realized reluctantly. He doesn’t exist anymore.

  And because that version of him no longer existed, their breakup was for the best and probably inevitable. They weren’t compatible anymore, like two disparate jigsaw pieces that no longer fit together. Terrence would go back to his playboy ways and fly off to Europe or the Caribbean with some beautiful video vixen on his arm.

  And I’ll come back here, she resolved as she gazed up at the towering glass edifice of Aston Ministries headquarters. The video vixens can have him!

  So why was she still so unsettled? Why did her thoughts keep drifting back to him?

  “C. J.,” Shaun said, gently touching her shoulder.

  She turned to him, startled from her heavy thoughts. “Huh?”

  “The press conference is over,” he said, gesturing to the front lawn, where the reporters were starting to disperse. “I wasn’t sure if you noticed. You seemed like you were out of it.”

  “I guess I drifted off for a bit.” She glanced around herself again. “I hope no one else noticed.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. I don’t think they did.”

  She continued to smile blankly, barely listening to him. He frowned.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I’m . . . I’m fine. I’m just a little . . . uh . . . cold. That’s all.” She shoved her hands into her coat pockets.

  “That wasn’t what I meant.”

  Her smile teetered as he took a step closer to her.

  “I haven’t spoken to you since last week,” he whispered. “I wondered if you were . . . well, I wondered how you were doing after what . . . what happened. I wanted to call you to see if you were all right, but I figured you needed some time to yourself.”

  C. J. gazed up at him as if seeing him for the first time. How was it possible that Shaun seemed to understand her better than her own man had?

  “I did need some time alone. Thank you, Shaun. Thank you for sensing that. Thank you for . . . for everything.”

  “It’s not a problem,” he said with a shrug. “I—”

  “No, I mean it.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. He glanced down at it, at their intertwined fingers, and for a few seconds she considered letting his hand go, but she didn’t. She held on tight. “You’ve been incredibly sweet and kind and patient with me . . . probably more than I deserve. You’re a good man, Shaun.”

  He chuckled. “So you keep telling me.”

  “No, you are. You’re a good man.”

  And you were probably the right man for me all along, she thought.

  She stood on the balls of her feet, leaned forward, and lightly kissed his cheek, making his eyes widen, catching him by surprise. There was no passion or love behind the kiss, certainly not the love that she suspected he felt for her. C. J. admired Shaun, but she still didn’t love him. But the kiss was the only real thanks she could offer him, besides her words. At least, it was all she could offer him for now.

  I could learn to love him if I tried harder, though, she told herself, ignoring the fact that she had told herself this same lie six years ago. I probably won’t love him like I loved Terry, but I could learn to feel something close to it.

  She squeezed Shaun’s hand again, then let it go.

  “I need to head back to my office. I’ve got a few phone calls to make,” she said. “Wanna meet up for lunch later, maybe?”

  “Sure! How about one o’clock?”

  “One o’clock it is.” C. J. then gave a genuine smile, the first she had all day. She headed to the stage stairs. C. J. began to walk back toward Aston Ministries, feeling a little lighter in her step, but she was halted by the sound of her brother’s booming voice.

  “C. J.!” he called out to her. “C. J., wait up!”

  She contemplated pretending she hadn’t heard him, but she slowly turned around instead. She found her brother striding toward her, still smiling, which immediately made her suspicious. She glared back at him.

  “If looks could kill,” he muttered, laughing at her facial expression.

  “What do you want, Victor?” she snapped.

  “Oh, nothing! I just wanted to tell you that you did a good job at the press conference.”

  She eyed him, now even more suspicious. “A good job?”

  He nodded. “Don’t look so shocked, Court! I can give out compliments every once in a while. It’s good to see you finally falling into line. I’d doubted you’d ever be able to do it, but I have to say”—he paused to look her up and down—“I’m pleasantly surprised.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I mean that little show you put on up there . . . holding Shaun’s hand and giving him that little kiss on the cheek.” He gave her a slow clap. “It was so adorable, a perfect touch! Next time, though, do it at the end of the press conference, not after the whole thing is over. We’d like to get a moment like that on camera.”

  “I wasn’t doing it for the damn cameras, Victor! I wasn’t putting on a performance.”

  “Of course you weren’t . . . and I adore my wife, too,” he said sarcastically before glancing over his shoulder at Bethany, who sto
od more than twenty feet away with their mother and father. Bethany turned to him and blew him a kiss. Victor pretended to catch the kiss and winked at her. He then turned back around to face C. J. “We all have stories we like to tell. We just have to make them believable.”

  “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you this, but I’m not like you.”

  He chuckled again and patted her on the shoulder. “Of course you aren’t! Not yet, anyway.”

  At his words, her blood ran cold.

  “But with time . . . you might be. You just might be, Courtney,” he said before heading back across the field toward his wife.

  Chapter 17

  Evan

  “Would you like me to wait for you here, Mr. Murdoch, or should I just come back and get you later?”

  Evan leaned his head back against the leather cushion and sighed as his driver, Bill, pulled into one of the condominium’s many parking spaces. “You can come back. I’ll call you when I’m ready. I have no idea how long this will take.”

  Evan watched as Bill nodded in the front seat. “No problem, sir.” Bill then unlocked the door and pushed it open, about to head to the back to open Evan’s car door.

  “Oh, and Bill?” Evan said, making his driver pause.

  “Yes, sir?”

  Evan pursed his lips as he stared outside his tinted window. “Our visit here today is just between you and me, okay?”

  Bill turned completely around to face Evan. He paused and squinted his dark eyes, perplexed. “I’m sorry, sir?”

  “We stopped on the way home to grab dinner somewhere. . . a bite to eat. If anyone asks, that’s what you should say,” he ordered, although the truth was that Evan didn’t know who would be asking Bill such a question; he just wanted to make sure that Bill had an answer ready. Evan didn’t want this visit to get out to anyone, especially to Leila. He didn’t know what might happen if it did.

  Bill gradually nodded. “Of . . . of course, sir.”

  A couple of minutes later, Evan was walking down one of the condominium’s many corridors, grimacing as he did it. He made furtive, guilty glances over his shoulder before finally stopping in front of one the doors and ringing the doorbell. He heard the bell chime on the other side. He nervously swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. A few seconds later, the door opened.