Dangerous Consequences

by Lisa Renee Johnson

  “Shit,” Payton mumbled, disengaging herself from Miles, whose hands were warm as they rested at the small of her back.

  The obese woman grabbed a handful of napkins and was up blotting at the wet spots that had soaked through the fabrics.

  “Oh my God! I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” the woman said, apologizing profusely.

  “It’s fine. At least the wine was white,” Payton assured her with a half smile, but truth be told, she wished the bitch would sit back down.

  She looked up at Miles. “I’m really sorry for stumbling into you like that,” she said, eyeing the woman.

  “Do I get an apology, too?” Sydney questioned, her hands now perched on both hips. Payton threw her a sideways glance and smiled. Sydney was wearing a peach crochet wrap dress that hugged her small waist and accentuated her breasts nicely. Her friend looked beautiful, confident—and tipsy. Payton playfully ignored her, extending her hand to Miles.

  “I’m Payton Jones,” she said, licking her lips seductively.

  “Ah . . . Payton,” he said, flashing his dimpled smile. “Sydney has told me all about you.”

  Payton smiled knowingly.

  “Well, I hope she left some things to your imagination.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Sydney stood in the guest bedroom doorway, watching her husband sleep. She’d been up a few hours, had had breakfast with Brea, and had just put her into the car service that was taking her back to the Oakland airport.

  A perplexing thought came to Sydney. Was Donathan really sick or was his twenty-four-hour bug simply retaliation against her for not going to Maxwell’s with him on Saturday?

  Last night Sydney had arrived home from Napa, tipsy and sexually charged. Once Brea dozed off, Sydney had showered, put on some nice lingerie, and then tiptoed into the guest room, where Donathan had retreated. His eyes were closed, but a pair of white earbuds, connected to his iPod, dangled from his ears. She crawled into bed, straddled him, and gently tugged at the white cord, popping the earphones from his ears. She leaned down and kissed him.

  “Baby,” she whispered seductively, “I’m sorry about Saturday night. I really should have gone to Maxwell’s with you.”

  For a while Donathan didn’t say a word; he just lay there before he mechanically opened his eyes, stared at the ceiling, and simply said, “Yes, you should have.”

  Sydney could tell by the terseness of his words that he still wasn’t too happy with her.

  “Look, Donathan, I said I’m sorry. What else do you want me to do?”

  “Nothing,” he said before he replaced the earbuds and closed his eyes like she wasn’t there.

  She was speechless. He never reacted like that. If it were up to Donathan, they would have sex every night, and not the quickie variety. She loved sex, too, but if they missed a night or two, it wasn’t the end of the world. She could never remember a time when Donathan hadn’t succumbed to her advances. So retaliation definitely explained the anticlimactic ending to last night.

  Sydney moved toward him and shook him gently. “Donathan. Donathan—”

  “What?” he tossed back, rolling over to face her. She could feel the click as they locked eyes briefly, and then he reached for the layers of bedsheets wafted around her feet. He jerked the covers up around his neck and turned his back to her.

  “Honey, you need to get up. You’re going to be late for work.”

  “I’m not going into the office today,” he mumbled. “I canceled my patients.”

  This was getting more bizarre by the minute. In all their years of marriage, she only remembered him canceling patients one other time, and that was when he’d contracted chicken pox while doing volunteer work at the local homeless shelter. But whatever was going on with him now was clearly not as visible as those little red dots had been.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and leaned over to inspect him further, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was ailing him. She slid into bed beside him and gently raked her fingers over his closely cropped hair, her breasts pressing against his back.

  “Sweetie,” she murmured, “what’s wrong?”

  “Damn! What is it you don’t understand about I don’t feel well?” he asked, his voice rising.

  Sydney jumped up as if she’d been tased and placed both hands on her hips. She was getting more aggravated by the minute. At first she’d been swimming in worry about Donathan, but this odd, hostile behavior was beginning to get on her nerves.

  “Okay, I give up,” she said, tossing her hands into the air. “You might be a little under the weather, but that’s no reason for you to talk to me so rudely.”

  She was halfway out the door when the security intercom sounded. She waited for him to move, but he didn’t.

  Rolling her eyes in exasperation, Sydney said, “Don’t you want to get that?”

  “What sense does that make, Sydney? You’re already up—”

  “Well, you’re fully clothed, and in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not dressed yet.”

  * * *

  After Donathan let the housekeeper in, he finally managed to leave the guest room where he’d held himself captive for more than twenty-four hours. His plan was to make a few calls, check his email, and cancel his credit cards. He slipped into his home office and turned on the flat-screen television to fill the empty space with noise. He sat down and leaned back in his desk chair. On a day like today he and Sydney should be lying in bed naked, savoring the afterglow of good sex. Instead, he was treating her like shit. Last night’s memory of Sydney in that sexy lingerie tugged at him while he listened to Dave Clark, of Mornings on 2, recite the morning news.

  “Well, good morning to you, welcome back. The time is now eight-thirty. We have new information this morning about the victim of a brutal attack in Richmond late last week. The unidentified man found in a hotel room bleeding from life-threatening injuries has died. The police are looking for an attractive twenty-something female who was seen entering the hotel room with the victim and are asking for the public’s help in catching the person responsible for these crimes.”

  Donathan turned down the volume, his frown deepening. Sydney had made her way to the guest room apologetic, tipsy, and horny, the perfect recipe for mind-blowing sex, but he’d purposely shut her down. That was the first time he’d done that, and if he did it twice, there would be no type of sickness that could explain it away, which was why he had been so abrupt with her a few minutes earlier. All he had to do was keep her pissed off for one more day and then she’d leave for the medical conference in Chicago, giving him the breathing room he needed to concentrate and sort out his situation.

  Donathan thought back to when he’d first met Austyn at the country club. Even though he’d noted something odd about her, something he just couldn’t put his finger on, he’d determined she was a little off-balance. And when she showed up at Maxwell’s, although his first reaction had been concern, that had quickly dissipated when he weighed the fact that the event had been publicized on the radio for weeks. Anyone who listened to his show knew exactly where he would be on Saturday night. His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since yesterday, so he made a detour to the kitchen.

  After he’d downed some eggs, turkey sausage, and biscuits, Donathan headed back to his office. He picked up the small box he’d left on the foyer table yesterday morning and a new envelope with the same label—urgent—propped beside it. The packages were addressed to him but were devoid of a return address. He set them both on his desk, reached for a letter opener, and creased the top flap of the box. Inside, a small lavender envelope was perched on top of packing peanuts that hid the contents of the box. Donathan ripped open the small envelope, his eyes quickly scanning the words on the paper.

  Doc,

  You were much better in bed than I had anticipated, although I think I taught you a thing or two. Let’s get together soon to create some new experiences. Oh, and I don’t need this anymore, but I thought you might. Until next time . .
.

  —A

  He dumped the contents of the box onto his desk and found his wallet. He opened it, fanning the contents as if his life depended on it. Everything except his cash was present and accounted for.

  “That crazy bitch,” he hissed through gritted teeth. He grabbed the letter opener again and slit the flap of the envelope.

  “Donathan,” Sydney called out to him.

  Her voice startled him and the envelope slipped from his grasp, spilling the contents onto the floor. His heart stopped, then flipflopped inside his chest as he stared at pictures of himself naked, with a naked Austyn straddling him.

  “Honey,” Sydney called again, “I’m going to the grocery store and to run a few errands.” Donathan could hear the sound of her footfalls coming toward his office door. He jumped up, stepped into the foyer, and closed the door tightly behind him.

  “Can you write a check for Esther? Are you all right?” Sydney asked, brushing her hand down the side of his face. He jerked away as if her hand was hot. She narrowed her eyes, scanned him, trying to make sense of his bizarre behavior.

  “You need to go to the doctor to get checked out?”

  “No. I’m fine. I just ate something a few minutes ago and now I feel like I want to throw up. I’m sure whatever I have is viral and will pass in a few days.”

  Sydney felt his head again to see if he had a fever. This time he had sense enough not to move.

  “You are a little warm, but that’s probably because of all those clothes you have on. Do you have a headache?” she asked.

  He kissed her on the cheek, hoping to cut her interrogation short, and nudged her toward the front door.

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “Did you get the package Esther brought inside for you? She mentioned she’d placed a letter-sized envelope on the table.”

  His body tensed at the mention of the envelope. “Yes, I got it. I was about to open it—”

  “Do you need me to bring you anything back from the store?”

  Donathan had an answer ready. “Bring me some chicken noodle soup and some Gatorade.”

  He needed Sydney to leave so he could be alone with his thoughts.

  “Okay. Don’t forget to write the check for Esther, and give her an extra fifty.”

  “I’ll take care of it right now,” he said. Hell, he’d give Esther an extra hundred if that was what it took to get Sydney out of the house.

  “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  No sooner had the front door closed than Donathan was back in his office. He scooped the pictures up off the floor and studied them. He couldn’t believe this bullshit. He scrutinized the note from the box again, then picked up his wallet and located Austyn’s business card. On his iPhone he pressed *67 to shield his number, then dialed. It rang several times before her voice mail picked up. He knew better than to leave his name in the message; any man who didn’t should have paid attention to the Tiger Woods fiasco. He waited for the beep and then spoke.

  “You know who this is; we need to talk.” He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say something further but thought better of it and ended the call.

  Donathan leaned back in his chair, totally frustrated. If Sydney ever saw those pictures, it would be the end of his marriage as he knew it, and there was no way he was losing his wife over that stupid shit. He had no idea what Austyn wanted from him, but the pictures screamed blackmail. A lot of people would pay a lot of money to get their hands on those pictures. He was a local celebrity and unfortunately, anything he did was news. He needed to work fast. He needed to find out how much money Austyn wanted to make this nightmare go away.

  CHAPTER 11

  Standing outside the red-brick building, Joi White was confused as she clutched her two boys by the hand. She was dressed in a velour sweat suit like she was on her way to the gym, in contrast to the professionally dressed people who entered the double glass doors. They were on their way to work, she presumed. Once she caught a glimpse of her reflection, she tried in vain to relax the distressed look on her face that disrupted her soft, feminine features.

  On Saturday Tyrese had found the tape recorder she’d planted underneath their bed. He’d been on his best behavior for the rest of the weekend, but she wasn’t stupid; she knew his ass was up to something. The fact was, Tyrese was cheating on her and she’d finally gotten up the nerve to do something about it.

  Without further ado, Joi took a deep breath and walked into the reception area of the law office. She assisted her four-year-old twin boys into empty seats and handed them two small Ziploc bags filled with action figures from her tote. When she’d called for this appointment last week, the only time they’d had available was before she could drop the kids off at preschool, so she had no choice but to bring them along with her.

  “Mommy needs you to sit right here, play with your toys, and be really quiet,” she said, kissing them both on the forehead. “If you’re good, we’ll go for ice cream when I pick you up from school today. Okay?”

  Both boys nodded vigorously in unison.

  When she looked up, she saw an older woman sitting behind the desk—a voluptuous, bleached blonde with horribly applied eyelashes. The woman sneered at the sight of the boys, even though they hadn’t done one thing to warrant her scorn.

  Skipping the pleasantries, Joi started in. “I’m here to see Mr. Morgan.”

  “Do you have an appointment, ma’am?”

  Joi’s face grew warm with irritation. Now the woman was insinuating that Joi had just sauntered in off the street without an appointment?

  “Of course I have an appointment,” Joi snapped, giving the receptionist a hard stare. The woman cleared her throat.

  “Your name, ma’am?”

  “Mrs. Joi White,” she said, emphasizing the Mrs.

  The receptionist gathered a small stack of papers, attached them to a clipboard, and handed them to her. “Fill out these papers and I’ll let Mr. Morgan know you’re here.”

  Joi snatched the clipboard and sat down next to the boys, her lips pursed in a tight grimace. That bitch had a lot of nerve giving her a hard time. She began filling in the blanks on the form and stopped at the last question, which asked the reason for her visit today. She didn’t really want a divorce, but Tyrese was giving her no choice. They’d been married for eight years. Before they’d said I do she’d put up with the womanizing, but once they were married, she’d expected his behavior to change. But it hadn’t.

  “Mrs. White,” the receptionist called out to her, avoiding eye contact, “Mr. Morgan will see you now.”

  Joi looked over at her children, playing quietly with their toys. Divorce was a big step that would change their lives. They didn’t deserve this.

  “Now let’s pinky swear on our deal.” Both boys eagerly raised a pinky into the air and Joi hooked her pinkies in theirs. “Mommy won’t take long, I promise,” she said, then headed toward the open door with Chase Morgan etched on the nameplate.

  “Excuse me, ma’am. Ma’am,” the receptionist called after her. “You can’t leave these children out here unattended.”

  Ignoring the woman’s demand, Joi entered Mr. Morgan’s office, handed him the clipboard, and sat down in the chair facing his massive cherrywood desk. He was a round man, shaped like a plump California raisin, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair.

  “What can I do for you today, um, Mrs. White?” he asked, referencing the stack of papers in front of him.

  “I’d like some information about filing for a divorce,” Joi responded, hoping she’d come to the right place to get the answers she needed.

  The portly man leaned back in his massive leather chair and chuckled. “Well, you’ve come to the right place for that. What seems to be the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “I think my husband is cheating on me. Can you help me find out if he is?”

  “Listen, Mrs. White,” Chase Morgan said, “I’m a divorce attorney, but I don’t help to determine
if husbands—or wives, for that matter—are cheating. Normally, my clients come to see me once that’s been determined, and then I help with the divorce.”

  “Well, then, I need to know if he’s cheating before you can help me,” she said, smiling sweetly at him—hypnotized by the steam from his coffee cup as it dissipated into the air.

  “Well, I don’t think you’ve determined if you want a divorce or not. So my advice right now is for you to prepare in case you decide to go ahead with a divorce,” he said, picking up a pen with his free hand. “Now, what does your husband do for a living?”

  She reluctantly responded, “He works for the Golden State Warriors.”

  “Is he a player?”

  “Not anymore,” she said with a slight hesitation. “A knee injury ended his career a few years ago. Now he’s in management.”

  Chase Morgan sat up straight and rested his pen on the blank pad in front of him. Joi could see the dollar signs dancing in his pupils.

  “Is your husband Tyrese White?”

  “Yes.” She sighed heavily, as if a huge weight had been lifted.

  “Does your husband know you’re here?”

  “No.”

  The fat man leaned across his desk, closing the distance between them. He cleared his throat and whispered like he was telling her a secret. “Listen, Mrs. White, this is what you need to do. Gather data quietly. Get bank statements, bills, real estate documents. Anything that shows assets you might be entitled to. If your husband finds out you came to see me today, he’ll probably start hiding assets, like most men do—”

  “How do I find out if he’s cheating?”

  They were interrupted by a light knock on the door, followed by a muffled female voice.

  “Mr. Morgan, your next appointment is here.”

  Joi watched in annoyance as he rose to his feet. There was no way her fifteen-minute consultation was over. He reached into a desk drawer and took out a business card.