All the Things I Meant to Tell You
Page 1
Praise for Tiffany L. Warren’s novels
“Filled with love, betrayal, heartbreak, and forgiveness.”
—Kimberla Lawson Roby on The Favorite Son
“Highly entertaining. Captivating and compelling. Great book club option.”
—USAToday.com on The Replacement Wife
“Warren explores the inner workings of a marriage between two talented and ambitious people thrust into a series of difficult situations. The twists and turns will keep readers engaged . . . Fans of ReShonda Tate Billingsley and Victoria Christopher Murray will find familiar characters and themes, but Warren’s novel will appeal to any reader who enjoys stories about couples in crisis.”
—Booklist on The Outside Child
“In a fine blend of suspense and inspirational fiction, Warren spins an entertaining tale about folks misbehaving behind the pulpit in a modern African American church.”
—Library Journal on The Pastor’s Husband
“I just love her work.”
—Victoria Christopher Murray
“When I read a Tiffany L. Warren novel I know I’m going to get two things—a riveting story and a faith boost!”
—ReShonda Tate Billingsley
“It was refreshing to read about women of the same age and category as myself. The author did an amazing job with the characters in this story. I saw myself in all three of the main characters at one point in my life . . . This book is emotional and will have you in your feelings, depending on where you are at in life.”
—Black Bloggers Chicago on All the Things I Should
Have Known
Also by Tiffany L. Warren
Don’t Tell A Soul
The Replacement Wife
The Favorite Son
The Pastor’s Husband
Her Secret Life
The Outside Child
All the Things I Should Have Known
TIFFANY L. WARREN
All the Things I Meant to Tell You
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Praise
Also by
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1 - TWILA
Chapter 2 - HAHNA
Chapter 3 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 4 - HAHNA
Chapter 5 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 6 - TWILA
Chapter 7 - HAHNA
Chapter 8 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 9 - TWILA
Chapter 10 - HAHNA
Chapter 11 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 12 - HAHNA
Chapter 13 - HAHNA
Chapter 14 - TWILA
Chapter 15 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 16 - TWILA
Chapter 17 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 18 - HAHNA
Chapter 19 - TWILA
Chapter 20 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 21 - TWILA
Chapter 22 - HAHNA
Chapter 23 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 24 - TWILA
Chapter 25 - HAHNA
Chapter 26 - HAHNA
Chapter 27 - HAHNA
Chapter 28 - TWILA
Chapter 29 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 30 - HAHNA
Chapter 31 - TWILA
Chapter 32 - HAHNA
Chapter 33 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 34 - HAHNA
Chapter 35 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 36 - TWILA
Chapter 37 - HAHNA
Chapter 38 - TWILA
Chapter 39 - HAHNA
Chapter 40 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 41 - TWILA
Chapter 42 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 43 - TWILA
Chapter 44 - HAHNA
Chapter 45 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 46 - HAHNA
Chapter 47 - TWILA
Chapter 48 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 49 - HAHNA
Chapter 50 - KIMBERLY
Chapter 51 - HAHNA
Teaser chapter
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2021 by Tiffany L. Warren
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
The Dafina logo is a trademark of Kensington Publishing Corp.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-2371-0
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-2372-7 (e-book)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-2372-4 (e-book)
First Electronic Edition: May 2021
Acknowledgments
Another book done. Whew! A little trivia: this is the longest book I’ve ever written. I could’ve gone another thirty thousand words too. These characters are so fun and familiar to me. I feel like Hahna, Twila, and Kimberly are in my bestie circle.
I’m so blessed to have a myriad of girlfriends that I can laugh, cry, drink, and travel with. Friends that I can vent to, and who can share their frustrations with me. This year, 2020, has been a lot. A whole lot. If it wasn’t for my friends, I don’t know what I would do. So here I want to say thank you to my girls (lord Jesus, don’t let me forget anybody): Shawana, Tiffany (Tip), Afrika, The Bride Tribe (Brandi/bride, Tiffany/TLee, Jameeka, Kamilah), Da Baddest Authoresses (Victoria, ReShonda, Renee), Lucy, Nicole, Daveda, Leslie, Cybil, Staci, Karla, and Tonya.
As always, I thank my husband, Brent, who is Sam, Big Ron, and DeAndre combined, for tolerating all of my late writing nights (where I sit in bed dropping snacks on his side). I also thank my fabulous five chickadees for being the best kids ever.
Much thanks to the editorial crew at Kensington—Wendy, Elizabeth, and Rebecca, and to Sara Camilli for believing in my talent and pushing me to do more.
Finally, thank you to Lorisa, Courtney (RIP), John, Perri’, Patricia, and the team at Swirl Films for bringing The Favorite Son to BET as a film. I can’t wait for you all to get reacquainted with Camden and Blaine and their gospel singing group So G.I.F.T.E.D.
As I write this, I am so full and while dealing with the loss and anxieties of 2020, there was also much joy to be had. Also . . . Madame Vice President is a black woman. I just . . . whew! I keep saying that:)
Enjoy this journey of love and sisterhood.
Chapter 1
TWILA
Coffee, then meditation, and next my morning run. This was the ritual.
I stretched outside my brownstone, basking in the sunlight, and not giving a damn who admired my behind in these leggings. I inhaled moist air and exhaled. Mid-September, and summer’s humidity hadn’t gone anywhere. It was going to be hot as hell by ten, but at seven there was only the promise of the excessive heat.
I inhaled and exhaled again. Gave myself my morning pep talk, because there was a moment, right before every run, where I almost changed my mind and went back in the house. A little voice from somewhere deep down inside whispered, You don’t have to do this today. You ran yesterday. You’re good.
But I knew if I listened to that voice, even once, it would be easier the next time. And the next. And the
n I’d look down and see cellulite in place of my lean muscles. I’d end up looking like my mother and brothers—short and round. Shoot. I was fighting against generational curses and genetics. Principalities and freaking powers.
So, I quieted the tiny voice. Shushed her lazy ass. That shushing was a ritual too.
I took off, slowly at first, building momentum and dropping into my cadence. I didn’t listen to music while I ran. I counted in my head. Eight footfalls to cover three blocks of pavement.
As I hit the first hill, I picked up the pace. Still counting. A little faster. Two hundred and forty footfalls to the top of this one. Passed Karen (her real name) and her shiatzu, so I shifted right, but kept going.
Down the hill was my first resting period. On autopilot, I eased up on the speed to control my forward trajectory. My body knew this path. I’d run it every day for the last five years.
I rounded the corner, taking me to the front of my subdivision. The big Crystal Acres sign was the midpoint of my run. There was a car on the corner that I didn’t recognize. Probably someone’s Uber or Lyft to drive them to work before the Atlanta traffic got too thick.
At the corner, I prepared to cross. But a door opened across the street. A man laughed. The laugh made me stop in my tracks. Paused the count at three and dropped my foot to the ground in a thud.
I recognized that laugh.
My legs froze, then trembled with my entire body. A scream struggled to escape, but in my ears it sounded like a tiny whimper. I touched my waistband. The taser was there, but gave me no solace—not when my hands were shaking too badly to unholster the weapon.
Without warning, I was thrust back to the night at Phenom. The night that had changed me. The one I’d tried to forget.
I stood in front of the red door and grinned. Assured myself again that I was ready for this. The Halloween masquerade party had given me the perfect cover. No one would recognize me in my black, jewel-encrusted mask and long, blonde wig. As I glanced at the mirrored wall outside the door, I hardly recognized my damn self. Those were my beautiful and perky breasts sitting pretty in the black leather, barely-there bra. Those were absolutely my honey bronze thighs peeking above the knee-high leather boots. And yes, that was my round, bubble ass in all her glory encased in black leather.
I touched the door handle and felt a shock. No doubt from the static kicked up by my boots on the carpet. But, for a second it made me think of my best friends and sorority sisters, Hahna and Kimberly. I wondered what they would think of this leather-clad version of me. Then, I decided I didn’t care what they or anybody thought. Well, I almost didn’t care. I still cared enough to put on a costume and disguise myself. I hadn’t even told my soror, Traci, the owner of the club, that I was venturing into the room behind the red door.
It would be my little secret.
I reached back down to the door handle. No shock this time, so I pushed it open and ventured into the darkness.
It wasn’t completely dark in the large room. There was lighting along the baseboards that cast a glow all around. Along the perimeter of the room there were glass encased sections that almost looked like cubicles, although everything happening inside the glass was not-safe-for-work.
My planned role for the night was the voyeur. I’d gathered enough bravery to watch and consume the debauchery, but I hadn’t committed to participating. I still had to work up enough nerve for that.
So, I watched the singles, couples, triples, and even more numerous groupings engage in every sexual act known to woman and man. More than once I had to block out my grandmother’s voice in my head saying, Sodom and Gomorrah. I discarded my upbringing. Dismissed sermons and my sporadic dealings with the women’s ministry at my church.
This had nothing to do with any of that.
Or maybe it did. Maybe I was tired of waiting on God to send me a Boaz. I didn’t need the whole man anyway. Too much trouble. Just wanted to feel that part that made my body tremble.
I swallowed hard as I watched one couple who were into each other like there was no one else in the room. The heat surging in my lady parts wasn’t caused by the leather.
I kept walking along the wall, vaguely aware of the people around me. Other voyeurs enjoying the exhibitionists. Maybe thinking of participating, or content to be outside of the action.
I stopped again, in front of a woman who was alone. She pleasured herself and stared straight ahead, as if she was on a Broadway stage. I tilted my head to one side and wondered if she was performing or if her face contortions were authentic.
I started to walk again, but I felt someone walk up closely behind me. Before I could turn and demand my personal space, I felt a burn through my spinal column. And I lost control of my body and consciousness.
I woke up behind glass, and to quiet laughter.
He laughed again as he walked toward the car. His red hair was the same and so were the freckles. He looked somehow smaller than he had on that night, but I was sure it was him.
The man who’d raped me at Club Phenom waved to a woman and little girl as he got in the car with his briefcase, probably on his way to work.
I couldn’t move until the car pulled off, but when it did, I broke into a full sprint. No quiet voice now, no counting, no footfalls. Just pure adrenaline and terror as I raced back to my brownstone.
Getting behind my locked door did nothing to relax me. I couldn’t stay here. Not today, maybe never again.
I grabbed a bag and shoved random clothing inside. Not even sure what came next.
But I had to leave. My sanctuary had been invaded.
Chapter 2
HAHNA
My office sanctuary had been overtaken. By Corden. And by Corden’s reports.
I tried centering myself by looking out my bay window at the magnolia trees and the lake. It didn’t work. Corden was still there, and so were his reports.
“Are you even listening to me?” Corden asked.
“I think it’s obvious that I am not.”
Corden leaned back in his chair and sighed. “You been like this ever since you and Sam got back from the motherland.”
“Like what? Peaceful? Not worried?”
“Unbothered is the word I’m thinking about.”
Corden was right. I was unbothered. I was trying to stay exactly where I was for two months in West Africa. I had explored all the places that contributed to my genetic blueprint. I’d gone to market with women who could’ve been my cousins and aunties. I’d tried foods that were seasoned in a way that was familiar, confirming that the Black women in my family had these cooking skills passed down through generations.
And the entire time I didn’t think about saving my company. I didn’t think about data breaches or The Data Whisperers at all. There were no strategy sessions or murder boards or plots or plans. There was rejuvenation, restoration, and relaxation, not to mention mind-bending, soul-rending, spirit-molding sex.
I needed someone to take me back to that oceanside rental and away from Corden.
“You preferred the frantic version of me?” I asked. “The one who was breaking down every five minutes?”
“No, but I need a version of you that wants to save this company. Me and Sylvia don’t have millions in the bank, you know.”
Corden was right. I was being selfish. Corden and Sylvia were my only two employees. Aliya, the one who’d caused the data breach, was long gone, and we were the ones left to pick up the pieces. Except I could go on trips for two months, while Corden and Sylvia had to make do with a combination of reduced pay checks and unemployment benefits.
“Okay, you’re right. Tell me again about the government contracting.”
“Well, we’d have to go through the process to get our certification, but there is a lot of money there for the taking.”
“We haven’t done anything in that space, though.”
“But we have,” Corden explained. “We’ve done financial analytics, human resources, customer relationship management a
nd more. They need all of those things under the federal umbrella.”
I started the pitch in my head. Big government, big data, and how we could help their efficiency and effectiveness—especially since the government was always trying to save money.
“And they’re willing to pay our rates?” I asked.
Corden nodded. “From what I’ve researched, the federal offices are paying more for quality analytics than big corporations. And you know we’re magicians with our stuff.”
I laughed. “We are indeed magical.”
“Just let me start the work on it, and if we decide it isn’t for us, then we won’t do it.”
I smiled at Corden. He was a genius, and a godsend to me. He and Sylvia were the only ones I completely trusted with my life’s work. If I had listened to him about Aliya and fired her when she first started slipping, we wouldn’t be worried about generating revenue. Corden was the real deal, and I was grateful for him.
“Well, that’s settled,” Corden said. “Now what about my other idea?”
“To rent out our downstairs offices? To strangers? I don’t know, Corden. That is . . . I’m not ready to go there yet.”
“It’s premium office space, in Buckhead. Centrally located and full of high-end décor.”
“How much could we charge someone?”
“I’ve done the math. At fifty dollars a square foot for the two office spaces and conference room downstairs, we could charge over eight thousand dollars a month.”
My eyes widened. “That’s the mortgage and Sylvia’s salary.”
“Exactly.”
“I hate that you’re right about this, but we really could use that money just to float us between these low revenue engagements.”