She mumbled an expletive, regretting her tirade. Her hand rubbed the back of her neck, and she was reminded of her need to visit the hair salon soon. She longed for the old days of long hair. Maintaining a short spike cut was hard for someone who didn’t like to comb hair. She’d figure it out, but first she had to find a way to handle the weeping, fine white man in her kitchen.
After returning the broom to the utility closet, Peyton stood in front of her. “I’m sorry you feel I’ve taken advantage of you,” he said between sniffles. “I care about you so much, and I thought you felt the same. My mistake. I didn’t know you were so unhappy.” He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ll get my things and leave. Enjoy your breakfast.”
Her eyes followed his slumped shoulders out of the kitchen; then she turned her attention to the plate of food. Peyton had cooked her a hearty breakfast and nothing for himself. “What am I supposed to do now?” she grumbled, then slowly retraced her steps to her bedroom.
“What are you doing?” she said just as Peyton zipped up his travel bag.
“I told you, I’m leaving. It’s over.”
Watching Peyton prepare to walk out of her life unleashed fear and old memories. Another man she cared about was leaving her. First her father, now Peyton. Sudden anxiety consumed her, sending tremors racing through her. Sweaty palms rubbed involuntarily against her robe. A lump formed in her throat, and before she could prevent them, the words “Please don’t go” gushed out.
“You don’t want me, Reyna, and you don’t trust me,” he said, reaching for his jacket, which was draped across the chaise.
“I do trust you.” Her voice quivered. “It’s just sometimes I s—say the wrong things,” she stammered. “I told you, I’ve never had a real relationship before, but I really care about you.” She bowed her head to hide the tears. She didn’t want him to go but didn’t want him to see her cry, either. He might consider her weak.
His thumb and forefinger, warm against her chin, lifted her head. “Do you really love me?”
She nodded, hoping she wasn’t lying. For the most part Reyna enjoyed his company and the attention he lavished on her when he was around, but she wasn’t sure if what she felt equated to love. Needing him to stay around, she told him what he wanted to hear. “Yes, I love you.”
“Prove it, then,” he said, then sat on the bed with his arms folded.
Paige is going to kill me, she thought as she untied and removed her robe.
Now, as she unlocked the door to the town house, she wished she’d kicked him out and kept her car key. It wouldn’t have mattered; Peyton had taken the liberty of having a duplicate made.
After neatly placing her stilettos on a shelf in the walk-in closet, Reyna sat on the couch in the living room, browsing through the supermarket’s weekly sales ad. Anything to keep her mind off of Peyton and what he was doing with her car. She compiled her weekly shopping list, then affixed it to the refrigerator with a magnet and decided to call Peyton again. Like countless times before, his voice mail answered. “Where are you?” she whispered, then pressed the end-call button.
As she paced around the house, anger gave way to worry and then to confusion. She hadn’t been downstairs in Tyson’s old office in weeks, but the second she stepped inside, she sensed something wasn’t right. The forty-six-inch flat-screen television was missing. Even the wall mount was gone.
“Oh, my God.” Her hands flew to her mouth. “I’ve been robbed. First the candlesticks, now this. I wonder what else is missing.” The answer to her question revealed itself quickly. The twenty-four-karat gold pen set and the gold-trimmed globe were both absent from their spots on the desk. A twelve-inch figurine was also missing, along with the Bose sound system. “I better call the police.”
She started for the stairs, then stopped. What if Peyton was here when this happened? she thought. He could have walked in on the burglar and . . . She didn’t finish the thought for fear of what could be. She raced around the town house, checking windows for broken glass. The door that led to the garage appeared to be intact, and so did everything else. Nothing had been vandalized, just stolen. She lifted the cordless phone from its base and punched 9-1-1. She’d just given the dispatcher her information when Peyton finally walked through the front door.
“Thank God, you’re all right!” she exclaimed, then shushed him until she finished with the dispatcher.
“What are you so fired up about? I thought you’d be angry about the time.”
“I’ve been robbed!”
Peyton rushed over to her and enveloped her in his arms. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Did it happen while you were waiting for me?”
“No,” she answered, seeking comfort in those deep blue eyes. “Someone broke in here and ripped off the downstairs office.” She wasn’t sure, but she thought she recognized relief in that sea of blue.
“Did you see anything?”
She shook her head. “No. It happened before I got home. I was so mad at you for making me take the bus, but if I hadn’t, I might have been here when it happened.” She kissed his cheek. “I’m sorry.”
He squeezed her. “I’m just happy you’re all right.”
“I have to go online and fill out a report for the police.”
“All right. I’ll go downstairs and check things out. Then I’ll make sure the door locks are secure.”
Relief washed over her as she watched Peyton trek downstairs, but it was only temporary. Her living space had been violated, ending her sense of security. She didn’t know exactly when the intruder had entered her home or how many times. What bothered her most was the violation appeared to have occurred with little effort. No doors or windows had been broken, and she’d set the alarm system every morning when she left. The perpetrator was a professional, she figured.
She returned to the kitchen after completing the electronic police report and found Peyton had set the table. In her anxiety over the break-in, she hadn’t noticed the Chinese takeout he’d brought.
“I wanted to surprise you with a romantic evening, but after what’s happened, that’s not going to happen. At least we can enjoy dinner.” He pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. I just need to pour the wine.”
Reyna did as instructed and savored the moment for what it was—a temporary distraction from her present dilemma. Sure she was safe now with Peyton there, but what about later?
“I doubt the police will recover anything. At least your renters’ insurance will give you a payout to replace everything,” he stated between bites of Mongolian beef.
Reyna stopped chewing. She didn’t have renters’ insurance. She advised rental clients at the office of the necessity of carrying renters’ insurance, but she’d figured she didn’t need it, since the furnishings in the town house belonged to Tyson. Tyson. She repeated his name in her head. How was she going to tell him about the burglary? Tyson, a man of substance, probably wouldn’t miss the stolen items. He certainly didn’t need them. If he did, surely he would have taken them when he moved into his new home. Even still, she regretted he’d suffered a loss.
They hadn’t spoken since his phone call a few weeks ago, when she reminded him that her interest in him didn’t extend beyond their tenant/landlord relationship. He hadn’t called since but had sent her a certified letter with an address to mail the monthly payments to. He’d finally gotten the message that they would never be anything more than friends. There was no way she’d open that door again. I’m not going to tell him, she decided and took a sip of wine. I’ll just save money until I can replace everything.
“I don’t have renters’ insurance.”
Peyton’s fork fell to his plate. “What? Why not?”
“I don’t need it,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. You have over a quarter million dollars in furnishings in this place, and you don’t think you need some type of insurance? Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.
The
disdainful look on his olive face made her wonder if Peyton really considered her stupid. “It’s not mine,” she whispered, then stuffed the remaining piece of egg roll into her mouth.
“What’s not yours? Common sense?”
Too embarrassed to admit she didn’t own anything except her car, she let the insult slide. “All of it. I mean, none of this is mine. It belongs to the landlord.” She sighed. “I rented the place fully furnished,” she added when his brow wrinkled.
He leaned back in his chair and scrutinized her for what seemed like forever. She twisted in the chair under those piercing blue eyes. Her breathing accelerated, and her hands picked lint from her shirt that wasn’t there as anxiety took over. What was Peyton going to do now that he knew the truth? Would he end the relationship?
“Well,” he finally said after gulping some wine. “At least you’re not out anything. I’m sure the landlord has insurance with all the customized amenities in here.”
Reyna’s breathing returned to normal and then accelerated again at his next statement.
“Reyna, you deceived me. You presented yourself as a smart and intelligent woman of substance. You’re none of that. I like you but don’t know if I can overlook your failure to trust me due to your own deceitfulness.”
“I wasn’t being deceitful,” she countered. “You assumed I was a broker and that I owned the place. You never asked me.”
He pushed back from the table and stood. “So it’s my fault you’re a liar?”
“No.” A lump formed in her throat; she swallowed hard. “You’re right. I should have told you the truth, but you haven’t exactly been an open book with me, either,” she declared. “I still don’t know where you live. For all I know, with your disappearing acts, you could have a wife and kids somewhere.”
His fists pounded the table. “Look, if you still don’t trust me, I’m out of here.” He knocked over the chair on his way to the front door.
“Wait!” Reyna ran after him. Peyton couldn’t leave her alone tonight. What if the burglar came back? Even with insults, Peyton’s presence gave her a sense of security.
She grabbed his arm just as he twisted the doorknob. “Please, Peyton, don’t go.” He huffed but didn’t turn around to face her. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth in the beginning. I didn’t know how,” she admitted. “I was afraid you wouldn’t like me anymore.” He still didn’t budge. “Come on,” she added while stroking his triceps. “You said you cared about me. Doesn’t that earn me another chance?” His muscles flexed beneath her touch just before he finally turned to face her.
“What about trust, Reyna? We can’t have a relationship without trust. You keep questioning me, like I’m hiding something.”
“I do trust you,” she answered but hoped he wouldn’t ask her to prove it again.
“Prove it. Let’s move in together.”
Reyna covered her open mouth with one hand and, with the other, massaged the rapid pounding in her chest. “Are you asking me to move to the city with you?” she blurted out.
“No. Since your place is larger than mine, and I’m sure the rent is more economical, I’ll move in here with you. That is, if you can trust me enough to live under the same roof with me.”
She didn’t miss the sarcasm, just didn’t address it. Thoughts of how she would explain a live-in boyfriend to Tyson and her mother filled her head. Then she wondered why she cared what her landlord and her mother thought of her. As long as she kept the rent current, why should Tyson care who she took up residence with? To date, she had yet to invite her mother to her home. That wouldn’t change.
“That’s a great idea. We can split everything fifty-fifty. With you around, I’ll feel safer. Besides, you’ve practically been living here, anyway,” she said, hoping that was enough to make him stay.
He released the knob. “All right, if you’re sure this is what you want,” he said, exasperated.
The anticipation of finally getting what she desired most caused flutters to roll through her stomach. Her fantasy could become reality, depending on her words. Peyton wasn’t perfect by far, but then, neither was she. There were many things she didn’t know about him, but with them living together, she would find out all she needed to know soon enough.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she answered with a smile.
Chapter 18
Tyson’s BMW came to a screeching halt after rounding a sharp corner in the hospital’s parking garage. He steered his ultimate driving machine between two SUVs, hopped out, and dashed toward the garage stairwell. Kevin had called him forty-five minutes ago with the news that Marlissa’s water had broken and that they were on their way to the hospital. Tyson, not wanting to chance missing the birth of his godson, had his secretary reschedule his morning appointments. Before leaving the office, he’d traded in his tailored suit for a pair of casual slacks and a pullover.
After securing a visitors’ pass and before taking the elevator to the labor and delivery unit, Tyson stopped at the hospital’s gift shop and purchased a floral arrangement for Marlissa and a huge stuffed teddy bear for the new arrival. He stepped from the fifth-floor elevator with gifts in tow, and instead of asking for Marlissa Jennings’s room number, Tyson followed the noise, which resembled what one might encounter at a revival tent meeting. Mother Scott’s and First Lady Drake’s praying and singing vibrated down the hall.
He doubted the soft knock he gave on the door was heard over the makeshift praise and worship service happening on the other side. When the second knock didn’t yield a response, Tyson eased the door open and stepped inside.
Marlissa’s corner room was complete with a full-sized couch, a chair with an ottoman, a flat-screen television, a dresser bureau, and a full-sized crib. Soft pastel animals and shapes covered the walls. No doubt Marlissa had the best birthing room in the facility, thanks to Kevin being on staff as a highly respected ophthalmo-logic surgeon. Tyson guessed Kevin’s status also served as the reason why the hospital staff tolerated the scene before him. First Lady Drake was stationed at the end of the bed, on bended knees, praying in her heavenly language. Mother Scott stood at the head of the bed, singing “Come on in the Room” and beating a tambourine. Both women were dressed in white. Marlissa lay panting while Kevin massaged her back. On the bedside table rested a large canister of what the prayer warriors referred to as anointing oil.
Tyson would have shaken himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, had he not witnessed the same scenario two weeks ago, when Leon and Starla’s daughter was born. Starla’s labor lasted only two hours, but by the time little Miracle entered the world, two nurses had received Christ as their personal savior. At the time, Kevin had cautioned the prayer warriors against repeating the shenanigans at his place of business. As usual, the plea fell on deaf ears. The prayer team of Scott and Drake operated by its own set of rules.
“How’s it going?” Tyson asked his friend with a tap on the shoulder.
Kevin appeared startled when he turned and found his friend standing behind him with flowers and a teddy bear that was big enough to occupy a chair of its own. His weary eyes relaxed a bit. “Hey, man. Glad you could make it.”
Tyson leaned forward. “They’re not bothering you too much, are they?” he asked, with a nod toward the prayer warriors.
“What do you think? The supervisor has been in here twice all ready,” Kevin said through clenched teeth. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life. Would you believe they rubbed oil on the nurse’s hands before they allowed her to hook Marlissa up to the fetal monitor?”
“Did you expect anything less?” Tyson said between chuckles. “Marlissa is their adopted baby. My guess is you haven’t seen the worst yet.” He sobered at the sound of Marlissa’s moan. “How is she holding up?”
“She’s doing great.” Kevin turned back toward his wife. “Hey, babe, look who just walked in.”
When Marlissa ceased panting long enough to look over her shoulder and acknowledge his presence, Tyson thought
his knees would buckle. The same thing had happened with Starla. For as anal and as stoic as he was, seeing a woman in pain reduced him to mush. He had to lean against the chair for balance, and it made a sound and interrupted the prayer warriors’ flow. First Lady Drake stopped speaking her heavenly language, and then Mother Scott stopped singing.
“Do you mind?” Mother Scott asked, with a fist planted at her waist. “We’re trying to have a baby here.”
Tyson started to apologize but considered that useless when it came to the radical mothers. He had learned early on to just let them rant.
“What do you mean ‘we’?” Marlissa panted out.
“Now look what you’ve done.” First Lady Drake swatted him with her prayer cloth. “You’ve made Marlissa lose focus. We’re bringing a future prayer warrior into world. The atmosphere needs to be as spiritual as possible. If you can’t get with the program, you’re going to have to wait outside.”
“And what’s with that big bear?” Mother Scott barked. “By the time the baby is big enough for that, he’ll be old enough to read the Bible. I guess they didn’t teach you common sense at that lawyer school.”
Tyson thought if Mother Scott considered the bear impractical, she’d be flabbergasted by the gifts he had in his garage for his godson, which included an electric train set.
“You’re right, Mother. I should wait in the waiting room.” He set the flowers on the bureau. “Hang in there,” he said to Marlissa, then turned to exit the room. By the time his fingertips touched the doorknob, First Lady Drake’s talk with the Lord had resumed, and so had Mother’s Scott’s off-key singing and tambourine beating. “I should have assigned them to Reyna,” he mumbled as he headed down the corridor, then wondered if he still cared about her.
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