Blissfully Yours (Mills & Boon Kimani)

by Velvet Carter

  Ayana didn’t even glance in their direction, though that didn’t stop them from blurting out questions.

  “Is it true that you and Moses Michaels are dating?” another reporter shouted.

  Moses Michaels was the hot single moderator of the reality-show circuit. He and Saturday had gone out a few times, but it had not lasted.

  She kept walking, looking straight ahead as if they weren’t there. She saw Reese’s black Benz and concentrated on making it to the car without acknowledging the annoying paparazzi and reporters.

  “Hey, girl, welcome home.” Reese turned to kiss Ayana on the cheek. “Well, it isn’t such a good welcome with the media stalking you and accusing you of breaking up Moses and his girlfriend,” Reese said as Ayana settled into the car.

  “Their claims are totally untrue. Moses had broken up with his girlfriend before we’d started to date. Anyway, Moses and I are now just friends. The lies remind me of my nasty divorce,” she said, remembering the highly publicized proceedings.

  * * *

  During the divorce trial, reporters and photographers had lined the steps of the courthouse, begging for interviews and snapping pictures. Salacious details of their marriage had made interesting headlines. Ayana had been embarrassed to read about their rather unorthodox love life.

  Benjamin had leaked photos of Ayana dressed as a dominatrix, beating him with a whip. He’d accused her of dominating him against his will. It had incensed her. The entire bondage and sadomasochism idea had been his. Benjamin had bought her the black latex catsuit, platform boots and whip, and he’d even made her watch an instructional DVD to teach her the nuances of BDSM. Ayana had resisted at first, but Benjamin had insisted. He’d said it was the ultimate thrill to have her beat him. But he’d backpedaled in court, playing the victim. He’d even produced pictures of bruises on his back.

  In addition to the accusations of sexual abuse, Benjamin had accused Ayana of spousal abandonment, saying that she spent months in Jamaica. On the stand, Ayana did admit to visiting her parents. However, it was Benjamin who’d insisted that she extend her stay, saying that since they didn’t have children, there was no need for her to rush back home to New York.

  His team of highly paid attorneys had earned every dime of their retainer, working overtime to paint a negative picture of Ayana. Her attorney had presented her case, stating to the court that Benjamin willingly withheld funds from her, making her practically lead a destitute life, except for the times when they were out together. Her case was weak in comparison to Benjamin’s. And as the weeks had dragged on, Ayana became worn out. With her funds dwindling and her emotional state deteriorating, Ayana had agreed to settle. Initially, she had been seeking half of the money he’d made while they were together but then realized that Benjamin was willing to fight dirty in order to keep from paying Ayana her share. To put an end to the spectacle and move on with her life, she’d settled for a fraction of the estate, signed the divorce papers and never looked back. Although the proceedings had been emotionally draining, one good thing had come out of the ordeal—a job.

  Little did Ayana know that tracking her divorce proceedings was show creator Ed Levine, who had struck gold with his string of reality TV shows. He had been looking to staff Divorced Divas, his latest undertaking about divorced women of millionaires seeking a second chance at love. He had seen Ayana on the news and in the papers and had become taken with her. Ayana was tall, attractive, stylish and well-spoken—all the ingredients of a television star. He’d contacted her attorney and set up a meeting.

  However, Ayana had had no interest in exposing her life on camera. Being in the media during the divorce was enough, so she’d turned down the meeting. Ayana’s post-divorce plan was to reenter corporate America. The only problem was her limited experience. Her last job had been as Benjamin’s administrative assistant. She’d dusted off her résumé, made calls and tried to set up interviews to no avail. Her skill set wasn’t the problem; being the former Mrs. Benjamin Lewis was. Apparently, he had put the word out and blacklisted her.

  In need of an income, Ayana had asked her attorney to contact the producers. Their initial meeting had gone well, except for one glitch. Ed had wanted Ayana to play the role of the good girl, but he had filled that role after she had turned him down. The only slot left to fill was that of the “diva.” Ayana had been reluctant but was in dire straits and needed money badly, so she’d accepted the role along with the stage name. A year later, Saturday Knight was a household name. Luckily, the show wasn’t broadcasted in Jamaica. Ayana couldn’t stand the thought of her family knowing that she degraded herself on camera for a living. She hated her job but was determined to make it work. Ayana read about reality stars branding themselves, launching clothing, perfume and cosmetics lines and even going on to costar in prime-time network series and movies. Some of them were making millions, and that was exactly what she planned to do.

  * * *

  “So are you well rested and ready for another season of Divorced Divas?” Reese asked as they drove along the FDR.

  “I am rested, but the thought of another unnecessary catfight makes my stomach churn.”

  “Girl, what’s up with that? Why do people love to see grown women acting like teenagers, fighting and yelling at each other?”

  Ayana hunched her shoulders. “Wish I knew. Seems the more controversy on the show, the higher the ratings.”

  “Does the creator of the show even know your true personality? You’re the nicest person anyone could ever meet.”

  “Yeah, he knows, but for Ed, it’s all about ratings.”

  “Then have a meeting and ask him to change your role so that the viewers can see who you really are.”

  “Last season, a director made some show suggestions and he was fired.”

  “I thought reality television was all about depicting people in their true form.”

  “Reese, the reality is that reality television is a money-making machine. The creators of these shows will go to any length to ensure ratings, even if they have to fudge the truth and stage scenes.”

  “What an oxymoron.”

  “That’s an understatement. After losing nearly everything in the divorce, my focus is on building a solid financial future so that I won’t have to rely on a man ever again.”

  “You may not need a man for money, but what about for sex?”

  “Girl, sex is the furthest thing from my mind.”

  “When was the last time you had any?”

  “Any what?”

  “Stop playing. You know what I mean.”

  “I haven’t had sex in months.”

  “I couldn’t go a week without Joey.”

  “Well, consider yourself one of the lucky ones. You and Joey have a happy, healthy relationship.” Reese and her husband, Joey, had met in the Diamond District.

  “Yes, we do, but it didn’t happen overnight. In the beginning Joey traveled to South Africa a lot on business, and the distance was hard on our relationship. It’s taken years for us to get to a good place. One day you’ll find your Mr. Right. What about Moses Michaels? You two went out a few times. Maybe he’s the one. He sure is one good-looking man.”

  “No, he’s not the one for me. I can’t handle the ladies’-man type. The problem is he’s too good-looking. Women throw themselves at him all the time, and he loves the attention. He told me in no uncertain terms that he was only interested in sex—not a relationship.”

  “He said that?” Reese asked, astounded.

  “Yep, he sure did.”

  “Well...maybe you should have at least tried him on for size. He looks like he’d be a good lover.”

  Ayana lightly pushed Reese on the shoulder. “Ohhh, I can’t believe you’re saying that!”

  “Why?” She smiled sheepishly.

  “Because you are happily married to Joey, that’s why.”

  “I’m married, not dead, and you would have to be dead not to notice Moses Michaels.”

  “Gue
ss you have a point, and I was soooo tempted to take him up on his offer. I just didn’t want to become another one of his many conquests.”

  “I understand that, but did you at least kiss the man?”

  “Yes, we kissed.”

  “So was he a good kisser?”

  “Aren’t you the nosy one?”

  “Well...curious minds want to know.”

  “Yes, he’s a great kisser. Are you satisfied? Now can we change the subject, please?”

  “Okay, okay. Forget about the players of the world. Plenty of men out there want a committed relationship. What about that guy from Switzerland who was on the show?”

  “You mean Erick?”

  “Yes, that’s him. From the episodes I watched, you two appeared to have mad chemistry.”

  “We did. The producers sent us on several romantic dates and we were getting along really well until he had to go back to Switzerland and take care of some issues regarding his work papers to stay in the U.S.”

  “That’s too bad. Don’t worry. You’ll find Mr. Right,” Reese reiterated.

  “I’m not worried, and I’m not waiting either.” Ayana looked out the window for a moment, digesting her friend’s words. She didn’t want to admit it, since she had talked so much about getting her financial house in order, but she silently hoped for a true love of her own.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you that Joey and I are going to South Africa and then we’re heading over to Antwerp, Belgium, for a diamond-buying trip. After our business is done, we’re taking a holiday in Capri. We’ll be gone for at least a month. I’ll call you when we get back.”

  “That sounds like a fun trip.”

  “It should be. I can’t wait.”

  Listening to Reese expound about her overseas trip with her husband, Ayana couldn’t help but be a little jealous. The thought of spending time away with the man you loved was not in Ayana’s near future and that reality saddened her.

  Chapter 3

  “Man, have you heard from Jaclene?”

  “No, not since I moved back.”

  Brandon Gilliam was at home talking on the phone with his best friend, Jon. Brandon had recently moved back to New York from California. Luckily, he had sublet his apartment in Tribeca and was able to make a smooth transition without having to search for months for a place to live.

  “What happened between you guys? I thought you were in love.”

  “I thought so too. Jaclene, the wannabe starlet, was into me when she thought I was going to be a Hollywood director and cast her in a movie. When I wasn’t able to land a major gig, she wasted no time dumping me. Last I heard, she was involved with some studio executive.”

  Brandon prided himself on his stellar career. Over the course of ten years at a major television network in New York, he had earned five Emmys for outstanding directing of a newsmagazine show. Brandon’s dream was to parlay his television skills into directing movies. Feeling that he’d done his time at the station, he’d quit, packed up his awards and moved to Hollywood. But breaking into the movie business wasn’t as easy as he had envisioned. The only thing he had to show after being on the West Coast for a year was a failed relationship with a starlet and a list of contacts who would no longer accept his calls. Frustrated and tired of the endless sunshine, as well as the fake people, he’d moved back to New York as soon as his sublease agreement was over.

  “Don’t worry. When you become a famous director, your casting couch will have a waiting list of women begging to have sex with you.”

  Brandon chuckled. “Man, I’m not interested in women who want to use me to advance their career.”

  “Hey, as long as I’m using them back, I don’t have a problem with it. Use my body, just don’t abuse it.” Jon laughed.

  “I guess we differ in that way. I want a woman who loves me for me and not for what I can offer professionally.”

  “Oh, listen to you sounding like a soap opera. You were always the soft-hearted one of the group.” Jon and Brandon had grown up together in Queens. They, along with three other boys, were a tight-knit bunch. Jon and Brandon were now the only two guys still single with no kids.

  “Soft, my ass.”

  “Don’t try to sound hard now. Remember that time when we were sixteen and fine-ass Lisa McCoy came crying to you because her boyfriend left her?”

  “Yeah, I remember. What about it?”

  “She wanted to have sex with you to make her ex jealous. Instead of taking the panties, you talked to her on the phone all night. Now, if that ain’t soft, I don’t know what is.”

  “I didn’t want to take advantage of her situation. She was clearly upset over being dumped and needed a friend.”

  “See, that’s what I’m talking about. Even at sixteen you had a conscience.”

  “All men aren’t dogs like you, my brother.” Brandon was always a one-woman man. He had never dated multiple women at the same time, like most of his friends had.

  “I prefer the term ladies’ man.”

  “Whatever, Mr. Ladies’ Man. Enough of memory lane. I gotta get off the phone. I have an early call in the morning.”

  “That’s right—you start your new gig tomorrow.”

  After moving back to New York, Brandon had landed a job right away. However, the position wasn’t on another newsmagazine show. He was the new director of Divorced Divas. Though he wasn’t thrilled about directing a cheesy reality show, after being out of work for a year and exhausting his savings, he had to take what he could get and that was the only show hiring.

  “Unfortunately,” Brandon said, sounding disgusted.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to be among the working class again, but directing a bunch of catty women isn’t what I call good television. I can’t believe this reality genre is still going strong.”

  “Personally, I love reality TV—the cattier the better. Seeing them chicks fling their boobs and fake hair is a turn-on. Those chicks on Divorced Divas are all fine, especially that Saturday Knight. I’d love to get that beautiful body of hers into my bed and show her a few tricks.”

  “I’ll bet you would.”

  “You gotta hook a brother up.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, Brandon. I’m serious. Hook me up.”

  “I know you’re serious, but I’m not there to make friends or play matchmaker. I’ve seen clips of the show and those chicks are cutthroat, especially Saturday Knight. She’s the worst of them all. If I didn’t need the money, I would’ve turned down the job. The last thing I want to do is spend my day directing a train wreck.”

  “Don’t worry. With your smooth-as-butter nature, I’m sure you’ll calm them down when they get out of hand.”

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m not going on set tomorrow playing mediator or trying to talk sense into those wildcats. I’m leaving Mr. Nice Guy at home. Tomorrow, I’m Mr. Hard Nose. I refuse to let those chicks run all over me. They’ll never see my, as you say, ‘soft’ side.”

  “I can’t believe you pick now to be a hard-ass, when I need you to score a number or two from the divas.”

  “The only thing I plan to score are high ratings while I’m working on the show, and, hopefully, once my contract is over after this season, there’ll be an opening back in news.” Brandon had had his agent negotiate a one-season deal in the hopes of him returning to a reputable newsmagazine show like 60 Minutes. He wanted to work on a television show that he could be proud of.

  He laughed inwardly. He hadn’t even started the new job, yet he was already planning his exit strategy. Thankfully Divorced Divas only ran half a season, so he wouldn’t be subjected to the lunacy that was reality television for too long.

  Chapter 4

  Ayana was getting her hair and makeup done in the dressing room she used while taping the show. She looked at her reflection in the huge mirror and barely recognized herself. Her face had three layers of makeup—foundation,
powder and blush. Her naturally long eyelashes were glued with two sets of extended lashes, giving her eyes a dramatic look, and her lips were painted a bright glossy orange. Covering Ayana’s real hair was a platinum-blond wig with natural curls that cascaded midway down her back.

  “You’re all set,” the makeup artist said, giving Ayana’s face one last swipe of the sable brush.

  “Thanks, Denise.”

  Ayana rose from her chair and walked to the rack of clothing the wardrobe stylist had selected for the day. She looked at the first outfit and shook her head in disgust. “Do they really expect me to wear this?” she muttered to herself.

  As she stood there looking at the neon orange micromini shorts and matching midriff top, Ed Levine, the creator of the show, walked in.

  “Hey, Saturday, are you ready for another great season?” Ed waved his chiffon scarf in the air. He was full of enthusiasm and wore a wide grin that spread across his face. Ed had every reason to be happy: Divorced Divas was now the number one reality show in the country.

  “Ed, why do I have to wear this whorish-looking getup?” she said, cutting right to the point and ignoring his question.

  “Saturday...”

  “Can you please call me Ayana when we’re off set?”

  He folded his arms and said, “Ayana, when I approached you about doing the show, I pulled no punches. I told you that the nice-girl role was already taken and you were being hired to play the bad, malicious girl.”

  “Bad girl, not slut. Look at this trash,” she said, pulling the orange two-piece violently off the rack.

  “Why do we have to go through this every season? Last season you complained about the hair and makeup, so we toned it down. Now you’re complaining about the clothes. You should be used to the Saturday Knight persona by now.”

  It was Ed himself who had created the outlandish character in the first place. Years ago, before becoming a successful show creator, he’d worked as a female impersonator under the name Saturday Knight. He’d worn heavy makeup, flashy clothes, towering heels and waist-length wigs. When he’d conceived Divorced Divas, he’d jumped at the chance to see his alter ego come to life on camera.