Black Magnolia (An Opposites Attract Novel)

by Lena Black

  “Hey, Mr. Tiny.”

  He looks at me with his kind brown eyes and smiles. He has the biggest, brightest smile. It forces you to return one as bright and warm, even when you’re feeling dark and cold. He can make Greier smile from time to time. At first impression, he’s a visual menace. But he’s the gentlest giant. A real gentleman. He deserves thanks for backing Greier tonight. Not that Grey can’t handle himself against that punk.

  “Hey, Miss Rae.”

  He walks down the hall and into the bar. I decide to follow him out and help him restock the bar. I’m not too eager to hang in the empty apartment right now. We unload the box and place the bottles on the shelves behind the bar, labels out.

  “Thanks for tonight,” I casually mention while we move the most expensive bottles into the prime real estate, the top shelf.

  “It was nothin’.” He shrugs his linebacker shoulders.

  I face him. “It wasn’t.”

  He glimpses out the corner of his eye. “Least I can do after everything he’s done for me.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking…” I walk over to the bar and lift myself onto it, taking a seat.

  He turns to me, leaning back into the counter behind him, crossing his burly arms over his burly chest.

  “When Katrina hit, my family lost everything. The Ward. Our home. Our possessions. Our business. My great, great grandmamma started a restaurant right outta her kitchen, turned it into a thrivin’ business. Every generation of my family has worked there since. When it was destroyed, it was like we lost the heart of our family. Maybe even the heart of the community.”

  My heart splinters for him and his loved ones. It must’ve been devastating to lose their whole world, like so many. Our government took too long to react and gave too little during the city’s resurrection. The scars of her wrath remain across New Orleans to this day.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. We were lucky. We had our health and each other when it was all said and done. But more than that, we were able to rebuild—because of Greier.”

  “What?”

  “Yup. See, my family is good friends with Madame LeRoux and Miss Izzie. When she told him our story, he donated the money my family needed to get the restaurant goin’ again and even offered me a job helpin’ run this place when he bought it from Tobias. Said I’d be doin’ him a solid. But I know different. He’s an excellent boss and businessman. He’s a good man. He saved me.”

  “Yeah, he does that, doesn’t he?” He agrees with a nod. “It was kind of him to loan you the money.”

  “Oh, he didn’t. He gave it to us. No questions asked. So, ya see, no thanks needed.”

  He gave it to them?

  Tiny returns his attention back to the shelves of booze and continues emptying the crate.

  “You mentioned he bought this place from his father.” It feels wrong fishing for information on Greier from other people. But it’s not as if we’re talking about anything super personal. Just his livelihood, family, and personal life. “I thought he took it over.”

  “Nope.” He sets the last bottle on the ledge, a bottle of Jameson. “Tobias was in debt and the bar was badly damaged. He couldn’t afford to fix it up again. Greier bought the building. Gave him enough money to pay what he owed, buy a house in Faubourg Marigny, and have some left over to do what he wanted with it. Greier wanted him to open a new place or something, but—”

  “He squandered most of it.”

  “So, you’ve met him.”

  We smile at one another, but they’re of pity and sadness. We both know Greier deserves better than Tobias. He isn’t a bad guy. But certainly not the kind of dad who’ll play a game of catch with his son or teach him how to shave. If he wasn’t always bailing him out, I doubt Greier would see much of his dad.

  Suddenly feeling the weight of the evening on my shoulders, I glance up at the clock over the bar. Two-forty-seven.

  “I better get upstairs,” I state and jump off the counter. “Have a good night, Mr. Tiny.”

  “Night, Miss Rae.”

  After I’ve bathed the day away, I stand out on the balcony overlooking Bourbon, pearls of water beading my skin. A gust of velvety wind strokes the sensitive flesh of my inner thighs, blowing the fringe of my chiffon kimono until it dances around my bare ass. It’s delicious and feels a shade naughty. It’s late, and I left the balcony and apartment dark. Seems harmless enough.

  Suddenly, Greier’s behind me, placing his hands on the railing and corralling me with his arms.

  “I know I shouldn’t say this,” he whispers against my neck, “but you have a phenomenal backside. I could bite into it like a juicy apple.”

  His clothed erection grazes it. Trying desperately not to melt like a popsicle, I breathe out an involuntary breath. It caught in my throat when his words brushed across the damp skin of my collar.

  “I couldn’t stop thinking about you today.” A mix of cashmere lips and jagged breaths caress the susceptible area tucked behind my ear. I clench my thigh muscles and gird my loins.

  “It’s sweet of you to think of me,” I reply shakily, my voice cracking at the end.

  “There was nothing sweet about what I was thinking.” His warm mass swarms mine, crushing me into the wrought iron lace railing. I whimper when it grinds into my clitoris.

  “You promised to play nice,” I whisper between pants, my lungs betraying me.

  “I never played well with others.”

  “You shouldn’t…” I can’t even finish the sentence.

  “Stop me, Rae,” the point of his nose navigates the shell of my ear, “push me away. Order me to leave you alone, to stop thinking of you every fucking second of every fucking moment, and I will. Believe me, it would make my life a lot easier. But if there’s even the slightest chance you want me too, don’t make a sound.”

  His teeth briefly bite into my earlobe before his healing mouth dulls the sharp edge of the sting.

  He parks his hands on my waist and spins me around, shoving me against a support with his body. His lips linger over mine.

  “Last call.”

  My head tumbles back, and my lips part like the red sea to welcome him inside. His hands disappear into my hair, his fingers grasping at the roots. Enticingly warm, his mouth covers mine, a comfy blanket on a snowy night.

  Gradually, the dance intensifies, hands grope, mouths demolish, skin aches for more. All my senses zero in on him. He’s everywhere. He’s everything. Nothing exists beyond this dark balcony. Until the gentle keys of a piano play in the distance or maybe it’s in my head, a melody only we can dance to. It’s the most beautifully tragic song ever written.

  The song of us.

  Every night for the next week, Greier sleeps in his room with me. He holds me through the night, his even breathing tickling my ear and neck. He never forces me to give more of myself than I’m willing to give, in bed, which hasn’t surpassed kissing and some serious petting, or out.

  On nights I have free, he comes home for a few hours to cook us dinner. We dine in the courtyard when it isn’t raining, beneath the magical burn of Chinese lanterns. After he’s finished with work, and I’ve cleaned up dinner, we get cozy on the couch to watch TV. It usually results in us making out like teenagers. A first for me. Clearly, Greier’s had plenty of practice—because his technique is perfect.

  Tonight, he plans to get off early and then cook for us. But the fridge is barren, so I make a list of everything we’ll need and head out to the market. I’ve never shopped for groceries before living with Greier.

  I like it.

  I like being independent.

  I like not having my mother riding me about every minute detail of my life.

  I like making my own choices.

  Most of all, I like the woman I’m becoming.

  When I get back from the market, I have to walk through the bar, which is extra crowded with drunk tourists. Normally, I take the courtyard entrance for this exact reason, but I forgot m
y keys. Luckily, Greier leaves the entrance to the apartment unlocked during the day so he can come and go with ease.

  With arms loaded to my fingertips, I manage to bust through the door and scale the steps. I drop the bags on the floor in the kitchen with a relieved moan, rubbing the life back into my dead muscles before sorting through the food.

  Once everything is put away, I make for the bedroom at the front end of the apartment, stripping my t-shirt as I span the living room. I enter the room, and my feet forget to work when I notice the bed I’d made this morning disheveled, the blankets, sheets, and pillows wrinkled. If the rest of the apartment were wrecked, my first assumption would be Shaw found me. But the bed is the one thing out of place.

  Suddenly, the bathroom door opens and out saunters the most self-hate-inducing blonde woman. A towel barely contains her vixen-esque curves. We stare each other down. Except, she isn’t outwardly fazed by my presence like I am by hers.

  I’ve seen her before. Somewhere. At the bar? While out with Izzie?

  I glimpse between the bed and the half-naked woman standing in my bedroom…in Greier’s bedroom.

  Holy fucking Christmas.

  “You’re his ex, aren’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t say ex.” She glances at the bed and then back at me, casually drying her golden hair with a towel. “You must be the consolation prize.”

  Debutwat. Even nearly naked, she screams beauty pageants and cotillions.

  Normally, I’m a reserved person, hard to ruffle, yet her couldn’t-give-a-fuck attitude and sharp tongue makes me want to go Dynasty on her, tear that weave from her head. That’s what I’d like to do. Instead, I’m tranquilized into a pitiful stupor.

  She brushes passed me to the closet, losing her towel on the way, adding insult to injury. When she looks inside, realizing her clothes are gone, she adds, “And the one who stole my clothes.”

  “Actually, we ritualistically burned them,” I smart off, crossing my arms over my chest. Not just because I’m annoyed but to cover myself as well.

  Her head snaps back at me, her mouth puckered, her eyes two burning coals. When she realizes I got her, the anger melts from her face.

  “It’s fine.” She swipes her hand across the hanging clothes, causing a metallic scraping noise as they swing back into place. “I’ll have Greier buy me new ones.”

  Bitch. Bitch. BITCH.

  “Where is the lover boy?” I ask, rallying as much dignity as possible while sporting my bra. This is by far the most humiliating moment of my life. And there have been some doozies.

  “He went to buy dinner for us,” she replies, walking over to the mess that was once the bed Greier and I shared, fluffing her fake blonde hair. “We really worked up an appetite.” Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she crosses her shapely legs, completely confident in her bare skin. Dignity isn’t a concern for her. She’s out for the kill.

  “Well,” I choke out angrily, “when he comes back, tell him I said to go fuck himself, will you?”

  Turning sharply and walking out of the room, I shove my shirt back on, snatch my purse from the kitchen table, and head for the stairs without a damn clue where I’m going. Anywhere. As long as it’s not here.

  Sometime after nine, Tiny takes over for me down at the restaurant while I head up to the apartment for a shower and a late dinner. During Carnival, I live in the bar, usually passing out on the couch in my office because I’m too beat to walk upstairs. But Rae’s taken my mind hostage. I’ve thought of her all day. I want to see her, be near her. When I enter the apartment, instead of her beautiful face and warm voice, empty darkness and the suppressed chaos of partying outside my double-paned windows welcomes me home. I check my phone for missed calls or texts. Nothing. It isn’t like her to disappear without telling me where she’s going. She even told me she was going to run a few errands earlier. I remember watching her walk through the bar when she came back, arms full of those reusable bags. She didn’t see me. But I definitely saw her. I remember noting how out of place it was and how much I liked it—how I could get used to seeing it for a long time to come.

  I check the fridge and cabinets. They’re freshly stocked.

  I check the bedroom and then out on the terrace, thinking she may be watching the madness in the streets below.

  She isn’t.

  I check down in the courtyard, hoping she’s reading one of her novels like she does most evenings off. Sometimes, when I’m in my office, I catch myself spying on her from the French doors overgrown in ivy.

  But it’s empty.

  Maybe she went out with Izzie and forgot to mention it. Or I forgot that she told me. Things tend to slip around this time of year, when there are a million tasks and my focus is stretched thin.

  I type out a quick text to Rae as I ascend the courtyard stairs and reenter the apartment. When I hit send, my eyes drift up from the bright screen of my cell.

  Charlotte.

  “Ya should call him,” Izzie suggests over the screaming groups of people packed in the bar like pickles in a jar. She dressed me in a skintight ultraviolet number and dragged me out after I explained what happened through my tears. I showed up on her doorstep with puffy eyes and a snotty nose. It took her a while to catch on through the sniffles.

  “Or maybe I should.”

  “I’ll kill you if you do,” I threaten, but we both know my threats are as good as shit. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

  His. It will always be him. And even as mad as I am at him, I respect her for her loyalty. He needs that in his life.

  “Both actually.” She nudges me in the arm with her shoulder. I smile at her and nudge her back.

  “Thanks.”

  I doubt she’ll think the same when the truth comes out. Even if I’m not the woman of Greier’s dreams, I lied to him. I used him. I never meant to. I never meant for him to mean something to me either. Maybe I deserve this afternoon. This is karmic retribution for running out on Shaw and into the arms of another man. Even if he did—

  “He’s figured out ya gone by now.”

  I huff theatrically, my body shaking from the force of my sarcastic amusement. “He’s too deep in his girlfriend to even notice.”

  “Ya sure ya saw what ya saw?” she asks, her loyalty to him annoyingly endearing.

  “Wet, naked blonde coming out of the shower and sex-rumpled sheets on the bed. Yeah, I’m sure.”

  I catch the attention of a server weaving through the crowd toward the bar, gesturing for a couple more rounds for the table.

  “Doesn’t sound like Grey,” she states, and funny enough, I agree with her. It doesn’t. Which makes this whole situation even worse. I never saw it coming. “And even if it did, he’d be smart enough not to let ya walk into any of that. Men can be stupid, but Grey’s smarter than most.”

  Is Izzie right? She knows Grey better than anyone. If she says it isn’t in him, then it isn’t.

  “Does he still love her?”

  “It’s—” she says, drawing it out.

  “Complicated?”

  “No, it’s a fuckin’ tragedy. Charlotte has been pullin’ that boy’s chain since we were kids. They’d be so in love. Then she’d run into the arms of Greier’s cousin. She’s under the delusion she’s Scarlett O’Hara or some shit like that. And Greier and his cousin ain’t exactly friendly. Hell, they hate each other’s guts. And she was napalm to that fire. She always comes back to Greier, and he always forgives her.” I see her catch herself, her eyes flashing, before backtracking. “Except this time of course.”

  “Of course,” I play along.

  “Ya know, he reminds me of that bald kid—with the football. Every time he’d run for the ball, the hopes that that time would be different, that little girl would yank it away, and he’d fall flat on his back. That is their relationship to a fuckin’ T.”

  Forgetting my current predicament, my heart actually sinks in my chest for him.

  “If that’s their history, why do you think this
time is different?”

  Her eyes narrow, and she stares at me as if I’m an alien with an extra arm growing out of my forehead.

  “Ya really don’t see it, do ya?” she asks, sounding genuinely dumbfounded by my lack of awareness over this ‘it’ I should apparently see but don’t.

  “See what?”

  “Suga, Grey is downright smitten with ya. He hasn’t been interested in anyone but that snake. And she sure as shit doesn’t make him happy the way ya do. I have neva, in the many years I’ve known him, seen him smile so much. Ya put that boy unda some kind of hoodoo.”

  She picks up her first shot for this round and downs it like a pro. It must burn good because she makes an “O” face and whoops, “Woo-wee, that is some good shit!”

  While she enjoys her drink, I think about everything she’s confessed to me, about Greier, his past, his ex. Something about her little journey into his history repeats over and over in my brain. The part about this Charlotte woman and his cousin. Typically, I try not to pry too much into Greier since this opens the opportunity for them to interrogate me. But with Izzie being so forthcoming, it’s my chance to probe further without a cross-examination.

  “Is that why she left him?” I ask. “For his cousin?”

  “Every fuckin’ time.” She chuckles wickedly. “But she really screwed herself.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, this last time, he was gettin’ married to some politician’s daughter. And she was none too happy.”

  Did I actually hear that? Or have I had way too many shots?

  “A politician’s daughter?” I confirm. “Really?”

  It can’t be.

  “That’s what I heard. Rumor was his daddy ordered him to. Sad.”

  It isn’t possible.

  “Yeah, very,” I agree. “What’s his cousin’s name, anyway?”

  Please don’t say—

  “Shaw,” she utters, and my heart drops dead in my chest. “Shaw LeBlanc.”

  Shaw and Greier are cousins? What are the fucking odds?

  Wait.

  That’s it.

  That’s where I’ve seen Charlotte before, at the wedding. I noticed her right away. She was in head to toe black as if she were in mourning. I guess, in a way, she was.