by Shelly Ellis
Despite her tears, Paulette let out a burst of laughter. She wiped her runny nose.
“And he wants to start a life with her. He wants his brother and his sister to stand by him and support him when he does it. Can you do that? Can you try to make this right?”
Paulette pursed her lips. Ever so slowly, she nodded. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Really? You mean it?”
Paulette nodded again.
Leila then turned to C. J.
“I know she’s been the biggest bitch to you, but—”
“Hey!” Paulette cried, looking annoyed.
“Paulette, it’s true! You have been the biggest bitch and, frankly, she may not want to forgive you and start all over again, but . . .” Leila looked up at C. J. “I hope she does.”
C. J. chuckled before shaking her head ruefully. “If you want to meet a real bitch, I should introduce you to my brother, Victor. He’s a lot scarier than this one,” she said, casting a glance at Paulette. “But yeah, I’m willing to start fresh if everyone else is. I’ll let bygones be bygones.” She then sat down in her chair and slid back up to the table.
“Good. That’s so good,” Leila said, grinning. “And you’ll talk to Terry so that Paulette can come to the wedding?”
C. J. nodded. “I’ll let him know we’re cool now. He may still be a little mad but . . . I’ll talk to him for the next week. And if talking doesn’t work, I’ll try . . . something else.”
“Something else?” Paulette frowned. “What . . . what does that mean?”
C. J. smirked as she placed her dinner napkin on her lap again. “What do you think it means?”
Paulette closed her eyes and cringed. “Oh, God!” she groaned as the waiter arrived at the table with their dishes. “I can’t believe I walked into that one. That reminds me of the time I stumbled in on Terry and one of his girlfriends by the pool house back in the late nineties! I was so mortified!”
C. J. and Leila giggled and began to dig into their salads.
“You ran in on him? Terry never told me that story!” C. J. said.
“I don’t know why. He thought it was hilarious at the time! Meanwhile, I’m nine years old and I had no idea what the hell was going on. I yelled at him, ‘Stop it, Terry! Dad said we’re not supposed to wrestle by the pool. You’re gonna get in trouble!’”
C. J. threw back her head and laughed at that one.
Leila gazed at the two women who had been at each other’s throats only minutes ago and marveled at how they were now joking with each other. She sighed contently and patted herself on the back for this one.
Chapter 19
Dante
Dante grunted, pushed himself up onto his elbows, then flopped onto his back on the mattress. He bounced on the bedsprings and closed his eyes as his heartbeat slowly returned to its regular pace.
“Damn, that was a good one,” he exhaled as he stared at the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan go around and around. Staring at the blades was almost mesmerizing and surprisingly calming. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier. His breathing deepened.
“Don’t nod off,” Charisse ordered, making him open his eyes again. He had just realized he had been snoring. “I might want a second round in a couple of minutes.”
He laughed. “I wasn’t nodding off. Just catching my breath. Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”
“Uh-huh,” she murmured, looking incredulous. She then ruffled her blond hair—hair he had looped through his fingers and pulled like the reins of a horse only minutes earlier, making the skin along her hairline turn stark white.
Charisse had cried out in pain when he did it, but he didn’t stop. He knew Charisse liked it rough; she always had. It got her wetter faster than anything else.
They had been hooking up almost daily for the past few weeks, and it was just as hot and heavy as old times. He had forgotten how freaky she could be, how kinks that seemed to intimidate other women were worth at least one try when it came to Charisse. He always got the distinct feeling that her sexual adventurousness wasn’t just because she was open-minded. Something dark lurked behind the mask of a pristine, rich blonde. But he never asked about it. He wasn’t her shrink and, frankly, he didn’t care why she liked to be slapped or let him wrap his hands around her throat during sex. As long as he was having a good time, what did it matter?
Charisse flipped onto her back beside him and reached for the pack of cigarettes and the lighter sitting on his night table.
“Smoking helps to bring me down after a bout like that,” she said before shoving one of the cigarettes into her mouth. “The one habit I still can’t kick.”
Dante watched as she smoked. He could use something to take the edge off, too. The sex high had already begun to fade. Now he needed another. He slid across his bed and rose to his feet. He walked across the room naked, heading to the bathroom.
“Where are you going?” she shouted to him before taking another drag from her cigarette and shooting a plume of smoke into the air.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back,” he called over his shoulder. He then shut the door behind him.
Dante slipped off his condom, knotted it, and tossed it into a nearby trash can. He peed, opened his medicine cabinet, and grabbed a bottle of Oxy. He shook two into his palm, then tossed them into his mouth, swallowing them without water. He looked again at the bottle and shook another into his hand. He had just tossed the third into his mouth when the bathroom door swung open. He barely managed to swallow the pill without choking.
“Fuck!” he yelled as he angrily turned toward Charisse, who stood in the doorway. “Do you knock?”
She laughed. “Since when did you get so prissy?”
He didn’t answer her but instead closed the lid on his pill bottle, placed the bottle on the cabinet shelf, and slammed the medicine cabinet closed.
“What was that?” she asked, leaning against the door frame. “What were you taking?”
“None of your goddamn business!”
“It definitely wasn’t just Motrin from the way you’re acting.” She eyed him silently for several seconds, looking him up and down. “What are you on?”
“What?”
She grinned. “An addict knows another addict, Dante. What are you on?”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!”
“Yes, you do!” She tilted her head and raised her brows. “Xanax? Adderall? Demerol?”
He didn’t answer her. He started to shove his way past her and out of the bathroom just as she reached around him and yanked the medicine cabinet door open. She snatched the bottle off the shelf.
“OxyContin!” she yelled gleefully, reading the label. Her blue eyes went wide. “So that’s your drug of choice!”
“Give it back,” he ordered as he grabbed her forearm and wrenched the bottle out of her hands, “or I’ll snap your arm in two. I will fucking kill you!”
“Oh, no, you won’t!” she chided playfully. She puckered her plump lips. “You’re all bluster, honey. You don’t fool me. But there’s no need to be so defensive.”
“Fuck you,” he spat as he stomped back into his bedroom.
“You just did . . . six ways from Sunday! Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. And now you can get the fuck out!”
He slammed the bottle on his night table, torn between fury and humiliation at her discovery. How dare she invade his space and his privacy like that! Who did she think she was? He never should have hooked up with her again. It was a mistake, a huge mistake!
Despite his obvious fury, she didn’t budge.
“I said get out!” he yelled again. He pointed toward the door, making her loudly sigh.
“I told you . . . don’t be so defensive. Believe me, I don’t have room to judge. I’ve been in rehab twice. I’ll be an addict for the rest of my life! That’s the fun little takeaway they teach you in counseling.”
At that, he stilled.
“So you
see . . . we’re just alike.” She slowly walked across the bedroom toward him before looping her arms around his neck and kissing him. He allowed her to do it, wrestling her tongue with his own. She dragged his bottom lip between her teeth and bit down, making him wince and harden at the same time. She pulled her head back to gaze up at him.
“I get you, Dante. Better than I get anybody else—even my own husband.”
“Ex-husband,” he corrected. “Remember . . . you aren’t a Murdoch anymore.”
“Yeah, well, I forget that on occasion. But then I’m reminded that he’s married to that bitch now. I’m old news. I see him walk around with her on his arm around town and I want to scratch her eyes out.” She ran a finger over Dante’s bottom lip. “But thanks to you, I won’t have to see them together much longer, will I?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean? You’re the one who made up the story about him shooting you! Now Evan could go away for a long, long time.” She chuckled. “Serves him right!”
“I told you, I didn’t make it up.”
She gave him that knowing look again, and he couldn’t hold up his façade any longer. He couldn’t help but smile.
“Come on,” she said, nudging him. “Who really shot you, Dante?”
He hesitated for a second longer, wondering if he should divulge the truth to Charisse of all people. But she was right: they were a lot alike. Most would be appalled by what he was doing to Evan, but not someone like her. She despised Evan just as much as he did.
“Some bitch I fucked for a while. She was pissed when I moved on. Didn’t take rejection well.”
“So she shot you?” She chuckled. “Can’t say I blame her. When you tossed me out, I wanted to shoot you, too! But how do you know she won’t pop up again and ruin the case the prosecution’s built against Evan?”
“Because she’s dead,” he answered bluntly. “She’s not popping up anywhere.”
“How do you know she’s dead? Did you have anything to do with that?”
“What do you take me for, Charisse?” he asked with feigned innocence, making her eye him again.
“Well, it looks like you’ve covered all your bases. Let’s hope for your sake you’re a convincing liar on the stand . . . that the jury will believe your account of what happened that night.”
He barked out a laugh as he looped his arms around her waist. “I’ve never had a problem convincing people in the past. I’ve been a lawyer for fifteen years, Charisse. I know how to work a courtroom. Jurors are bigger dupes than most! Put on a good enough performance and they’ll believe anything. Trust me, once I’m done with my testimony, Evan won’t stand a chance.”
“Aren’t we full of ourselves!”
“I’ve got no reason not to be.”
“Well, keep talking, big boy,” she said as she wrapped her hand around his dick and began to stroke him. “I love a man with confidence.”
“Is that all you love?” he asked as he reached for one of her breasts and began to fondle her nipple.
“Nope.” She released him and pulled out of his grasp so she could flop back onto his bed. She leaned back and spread her legs wide and welcoming. “It’s just one of many things. Maybe it’s about time you remind me of the rest.”
Dante couldn’t resist her offer. He walked the remaining few feet and climbed on top of her to give her exactly what she asked for.
Chapter 20
Evan
Evan glanced up from his laptop when he heard a knock at the door. He knew instantly who was knocking. His wife was checking on him again. He chuckled and shook his head ruefully.
“I know I said I’d be upstairs a half hour ago, baby. I’m almost done,” he called out to Leila as he typed. “Start running the bubble bath and I’ll be upstairs by the time you climb in. I swear!”
The door slowly swung open.
“Well, well!” Aunt Ida cried with a smile as she leaned against the door jamb. “A hot bubble bath, huh? Someone has some fun planned for tonight!”
Evan stifled a groan.
His aunt was the last person he expected to see walking into his study. She usually spent most of her time sitting by their Olympic pool while her boy toy, Michael, swam laps, or she spent her days getting facials or shopping in downtown D.C. She rarely made it to this part of the mansion. She certainly hadn’t visited Evan in his study before, but he supposed that was how Aunt Ida operated. She had rudely barged back into his life to supervise how he was handling the family company, so now she was barging into his office.
“Can I help you, Aunt Ida? Did you need anything?” he asked, forcing himself to be polite.
She didn’t respond. Instead, she strolled toward one of the polished mahogany bookshelves on the other side of the room, scanning the titles on the leather spines of the many books. She removed one of the books and began to randomly flip pages.
“No,” she finally answered, “I don’t need anything. I just decided to see the old study.” She returned the book to its shelf. “I remember when Daddy built it back in sixty-two. He modeled it after the study at Glen Dale mansion up the road—the one on the old Hughes plantation.”
“I know which one you’re talking about,” Evan said, though he hadn’t been aware of the connection.
“Our family used to be slaves on that planation. Did you know that?” she asked, picking up another book.
Evan slowly shook his head.
“House niggers, of course,” she continued. “We didn’t have the temperament for the fields, I guess. Anyway, from what I understand, my great-great-great grandmother was one of the house girls. She got knocked up by Master Murdoch Hughes. She had a son named John who the master doted on, even if he was a slave. He treated him like he was his own, making sure he had a trade he could use to earn his own money if he wanted to. When emancipation came, John used the money from ol’ master to buy this very property. He built the first Murdoch homestead here . . . naming it after his daddy. My father built the second one, and of course George expanded and redecorated the place when he took over.” She returned the book to its shelf and looked around her again. “I thought you would do the same, but it doesn’t look like you made any changes in here.”
“No, I pretty much left it as is,” Evan answered as he watched her walk toward the other side of the room.
Evan wasn’t fooled; he knew his aunt wasn’t in his study to just give him a family history lesson or to see if he had changed the velvet curtains his father had installed in 1995. There was an ulterior motive for why she was here tonight. Unfortunately, he had no idea what it was—yet.
“But I’m of the opinion that sometimes changes need to be made,” she said. “For instance, what do you plan to do to fix the mess Murdoch Conglomerated is in? I’ve been here for five months now and I’ve yet to see anything happen.”
Bingo! There it is, Evan thought.
“Aunt Ida, the problems that Murdoch Conglomerated faces can’t be changed overnight. We have an uphill battle that we’re waging, but I and the other officers have a strategic plan that we’re—”
“Don’t give me some speech that you would give to your investors, honey! I don’t have an MBA from Harvard, but I’m not some simp off the street, okay?”
Evan’s jaw tightened. “I wasn’t implying that—”
“As I see it,” she began, speaking over him as she opened a cabinet a few feet away from his desk, revealing his liquor stash, “the fate of the family company is tied with yours. So you can do all the ‘strategic planning’ and hire all the consultants you want, but as long as your life is a mess, the family company stays a mess!” She removed a crystal tumbler from one of the shelves then the lid from one of his brandy decanters. “Comprende?”
“My life is not a mess.”
“Could’ve fooled me!”
He forced himself to take a deep breath and count to ten. He was doing that a lot nowadays. “Look, if you’re alluding to my criminal charges, I have
no control over that,” he began calmly. “All I can do is hire a strong team of defense lawyers to help—”
“No, that isn’t all you can do! You can do a lot more!” She began to pour brandy into her glass, filling two thirds of it. “But you haven’t. You’re just letting that Dante fellow ruin your life, legacy, and livelihood.” She smacked her teeth and whipped around to face him. “Boy, stop dancing around that man and stomp him like the cockroach that he is!”
“I’m not dancing around him—and I’m certainly not letting him do anything! I told you . . . I’m fighting this with everything I’ve got!”
She walked toward one of the wingback chairs facing his desk. “You’re fighting it with every legal means you have, but more than that may be called for in this situation, honey. It’s certainly what your father would do!”
Evan rubbed his brows in frustration. He was so tired of hearing about how his father would handle this. Suddenly, everyone had become the authority on the great George Murdoch. The man had been blown up to almost mythical proportions since his death.
“You don’t know what he would’ve done! You just assume that he—”
“I’m not assuming anything! I know! I was there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Have a drink and let me tell you another family story,” she said before dropping into the chair. She shook her tumbler and nodded toward the opened doors of the liquor cabinet. “And you might wanna make it a double.”
“I don’t want a drink.”
But he did want her to leave his office so that he could finish the last of his work and head upstairs. He glanced at the clock on his monitor. At this point, Leila was probably taking her bubble bath. If Aunt Ida kept talking, his goal would have to change from some sexual healing in their sunken tub to just getting upstairs before Leila drifted off to sleep. He had made a promise to her that, from now on, he would be there by the time she closed her eyes at night.
“Fine,” Aunt Ida said, slouching back into her chair, “suit yourself! Hear the story sober, though I’m warning you . . . you probably want a little bit of liquor when I tell you this one.”