by Naomi Chase
Brandon chuckled, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “You know how moms are with the guilt trips.”
“Tell me about it. You know I’d get my own apartment, but I’m hoping Leah will come around soon and let me move back home. Hey, why don’t you come over for dinner?” Dre suggested. “You know Ma’s always happy to see you, and I need to get your advice about something.”
“Yeah? What?”
Long pause. “I’d rather talk to you in person.”
Brandon raised a brow. “Damn. Sounds serious.”
Dre sighed heavily. “It is.”
Brandon was intrigued, and he couldn’t deny that a home-cooked meal in a peaceful environment held far more appeal than spending a contentious evening with Cynthia.
“I’ll be there,” he told Dre.
“Great. I have to wrap up a few things at the office first, but I’ll call Ma and let her know to expect you.”
Brandon nodded. “Cool.”
Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to a two-story redbrick house situated on a perfectly landscaped lawn. The house, along with the white Lexus parked in the driveway, had been gifts from Dre to his mother, who’d raised him on her own after Dre’s father skipped out on them, along with his other baby mama. Renay Portis had worked tirelessly to support herself and Dre, even scraping together the funds to send him to a prestigious NASA youth program, where he and Brandon had met at age eleven. Because she’d made so many sacrifices for him, there was nothing Dre wouldn’t do for her.
Seconds after Brandon rang the doorbell, Renay Portis opened the front door and beamed at him.
“Brandon,” she exclaimed warmly.
“Hey, Ms. Portis.” Brandon smiled, leaning down to kiss her smooth cheek and give her a hug. “How you doing?”
“I’m good, baby,” she said, ushering him inside the house and closing the door. “It’s so wonderful to see you. It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?”
Dre’s mother was an attractive woman with light skin and dyed blond hair cut into short, stylish layers. She was medium height and had a thick, curvaceous figure. She was only eighteen when she’d had Dre, so she was often mistaken for his older sister rather than his mother.
“I’m so glad you could join me and Dre for dinner tonight,” she told Brandon, affectionately patting his cheek. “It’ll be like old times again.”
Brandon grinned, awash with memories of childhood sleepovers—him and Dre gorging themselves on pizza and Doritos, trash talking over video games, watching kung fu movies and WWF wrestling, poring over dirty magazines after Dre’s mother went to bed. Because Dre had lived in the projects, Brandon’s parents had usually insisted on Dre spending the night at the Chamberses’ mansion in River Oaks, which was light-years away from the poverty, crime, and violence that had plagued Dre’s neighborhood. But Brandon had always preferred sleeping over at Dre’s apartment because his mother had let them stay up all night and eat whatever they wanted.
Brandon smiled fondly at her. “Whatever you’re making smells great, Ms. Portis.”
She beamed with pleasure. “Thank you, baby. It’s a new recipe. Why don’t you make yourself comfortable while I bring you something to drink. Beer okay?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Brandon drawled, loosening his tie as he sauntered into the stylishly furnished living room and sat down on the red sofa. The large flat-panel television was tuned to the Real Housewives of Atlanta , where a nasty catfight was brewing between two cast members whose names Brandon couldn’t have guessed to save his life.
“Feel free to turn the channel, Brandon,” Dre’s mother called from the kitchen.
Brandon chuckled, already reaching for the remote control on the coffee table. He turned to ESPN to catch highlights and analyses of yesterday’s NFL games.
As he settled back against the sofa cushions, his smartphone went off. He dug it out of his pocket and glanced at the display screen, frowning when he saw Cynthia’s number. In no mood to talk to her, he let the call go to voice mail.
Dre’s mother returned to the living room, handing him a cold bottle of beer. “Here you go, baby.”
Brandon smiled at her. “Thanks, Ms. Portis.”
“You’re welcome,” she said, sitting in the adjacent armchair and crossing her legs.
As Brandon took a swig of beer, he received a text message. Of course it was from Cynthia.
Where are you???
He calmly turned off the phone and tucked it back inside his pocket.
Renay gave him a concerned look. “Is everything okay?”
Brandon nodded, drinking more beer.
“Dre told me what happened on Friday,” Renay said gently. “I can’t say that I was surprised.”
Brandon met her gaze. “You weren’t?”
She shook her head. “You don’t love Cynthia Yarbrough. Not enough to marry her, anyway.”
Lowering his eyes to his beer bottle, Brandon quietly admitted, “She’s not the person I thought she was.”
“Women seldom are once they get what they want.” Renay observed Brandon for several moments, lips pursed sympathetically. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure to marry Cynthia. Your parents and hers have probably been planning your wedding forever. But you don’t have to go through with it if you’ve had a change of heart, Brandon.”
“I wish it were that simple,” he said grimly.
“I know. It should be.” Renay reached over and consolingly patted him on the knee. “I just want you to be happy, Brandon. You have too much going for you to settle for anything less than you deserve.”
Brandon mustered a small smile. “Thank you, Ms. Portis. I appreciate your support.”
“Of course, baby. You know you and Dre mean the world to me.” She smiled wryly. “It’s a shame you both have such horrible taste in women.”
Brandon choked out a laugh. “What do you mean?”
Renay gave him a knowing look. “No offense, baby, but I saw right through Cynthia the very first time I met her. Preacher’s kids are some of the most treacherous people I’ve ever known. As for Leah . . . well, Dre knows how I feel about her. She always acted as if she was doing him a favor by dating him, like she thinks she’s better than him just because she’s a doctor. But he’s a doctor too, and he’s just as successful in his field as she is—probably even more so.” Renay sniffed. “Not only that, but my son is way too handsome to be settling for some skinny plain Jane. Am I lying, Brandon?”
He laughed, shaking his head at her. “You know I can’t answer that, Ms. Portis. And I don’t think Dre would be too happy with this conversation we’re having.”
“You’re probably right,” Renay conceded with a deep sigh. “But I just had to speak my mind. Dre’s got blinders on when it comes to that girl.” She paused. “Same way you are with Tamia.”
Brandon immediately sobered. “Ms. Portis—”
“Don’t worry. That’s all I’m going to say for now.” She smiled and patted his knee again. “Let me just check on dinner. I’ll be right back.”
After she left, Brandon pulled out his phone and powered it back on so he could call Dre to see if he was on his way home.
When he saw that Cynthia had left him two messages, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew he should call to let her know he’d be back late. It was the considerate thing to do. The mature thing.
But he wasn’t feeling very considerate or mature where Cynthia was concerned. For that reason, he intended to put off dealing with her for as long as he could.
Still, his thoughts churned as he watched SportsCenter, his unfocused eyes glazing over the highlights flashing across the screen. He was so out of it that he didn’t immediately register the gentle hand that settled upon his shoulders and began kneading his muscles.
“Look how tight and tense you are,” a voice murmured soothingly. “You poor baby.”
Brandon sipped his beer, feeling some of the knotted tension ease from his body.
Warm lips brushed his ear. “Let mama t
ake care of you.”
Brandon froze, then shot up from the sofa and whipped around. Beer spewed out of his mouth when he saw Dre’s mother standing there in a black lace negligee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
His eyes widened in shock as he dropped the bottle, spilling more beer on the floor. “What the f—”
“Shhh,” Renay whispered, putting a finger to her lips. “There’s no need for you to be alarmed, Brandon.”
“The hell there ain’t! Yo, what are you doing, Ms. Portis? Why are you dressed like that?”
“Why do you think?” she purred, seductively running one finger along the strap of the negligee, which barely contained her large breasts. “Don’t you like it?”
Brandon groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes. “Please put some damn clothes on, Ms. Portis. Please!”
She chuckled softly. “You don’t have to worry about Dre coming home and catching us. I called him and told him to stop by the store to pick up a few things I need for dinner. So we’ve got plenty of time—”
“For what?” Brandon demanded, staring at her like she’d lost her mind. Which she most definitely had.
“Come on, baby.” She started around the sofa, moving slowly and provocatively. “You’ve been wasting your time with these trifling little girls who don’t know the first thing about how to treat a man. You need a real woman—”
“A real woman?” Brandon exclaimed, backing away from her. “You’re like a second mother to me! You’ve known me since I was eleven years old!”
“I have,” she agreed. “And I’ve watched you grow into a fine specimen of a man. Oh, you were always a handsome boy, but there’s no way I could have known just how scrumptious you’d turn out to be—so sexy and virile. So much swag.” She licked her lips. “I’ve been trying to ignore my feelings for you, Brandon, but I just can’t resist anymore.”
Brandon shook his head, torn between incredulity and disgust. “You’re out of your mind, Ms. Portis. There’s no way I’m sleeping with you.”
“Who said anything about sleeping?” Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “Come on, baby boy. No one has to know. It’ll be our little secret.”
He scowled. “Hell, nah.”
As she lunged toward him, Brandon retreated around the sofa and bolted for the front door.
“Don’t go, Brandon! I’m sorry. Wait—”
Brandon threw open the door and rushed out into the cool night.
Dre’s mother hurried after him, calling his name.
Without a backward glance, Brandon hopped into his car, jammed his key into the ignition, and floored the gas pedal.
As he sped away from the house, he glared up at the dark sky, expecting to see a full moon.
Not even close.
It was now official.
Every woman he knew had lost her ever-fucking-lasting mind!
Chapter 10
Tamia
Tamia rocked back and forth on the rickety porch swing, resting her head contentedly on her grandmother’s shoulder.
“I’m so glad you came back to me, Mama Esther. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“Put that thought right out of your head,” her grandmother soothed, gently patting her hand. “You know I’ll always be with you.”
Tamia swallowed tightly. “I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry for what Fiona did—”
“Hush, baby. There’s no use shedding any more tears. What’s done is done.”
“I know, but she hurt you, Mama, and I miss you so much. I don’t know if I can ever forgive Fiona for taking you away from me.”
“You have to forgive your sister,” Mama Esther said sagely. “Not for her sake but for yours.”
Tamia frowned. “What do you mean?”
“A wise man once said, ‘He who cannot forgive breaks the bridge over which he himself must pass.’ Releasing Fiona from the bonds of your hurt and anger will set you free as well.”
Tamia was silent, absorbing her grandmother’s words as the swing swayed gently in the night breeze.
“She’s having a baby,” Tamia whispered.
“I know,” Mama Esther said quietly.
Tamia lifted her head from her grandmother’s shoulder. “That’s why you were knitting that baby blanket a while ago. It was for Fiona.”
Mama Esther nodded, her gaze intent on Tamia’s face. “She’s going to need you now more than ever.”
“I know.” Tamia sighed deeply. “And I’ll be there for her. No matter what.”
“I never doubted it for a moment.” Mama Esther tenderly stroked Tamia’s cheek. “Your heart is heavy.”
Tamia swallowed hard, then nodded.
“You think you’ve lost Brandon forever.”
“I have lost him, Mama. He’s marrying Cynthia.”
“So what are you going to do about it?”
“There’s nothing I can do. She’s having his baby—I’m not.” Hearing the bitterness in her voice, Tamia heaved a deep breath. “You know what, Mama? I’m tired of putting my life on hold for Brandon. I love him, but it’s time for me to stop acting like he’s the only thing that matters. He’s not.”
“Of course he isn’t, baby. You have so much to live for, with or without Brandon. You just . . .” Mama Esther suddenly trailed off.
Tamia frowned. “What is it, Mama Esther? What’s wrong?”
The old woman stared off into the distance, her face creased with worry. “You need to be careful, Tamia.”
“Careful? Why?”
“Your enemies have been busy.”
A chill ran through Tamia. “My enemies?”
“Yes.” As Mama Esther’s image began to fade, she warned urgently, “Don’t let them steal your soul. . . .”
Tamia awoke with a start.
Her heart stuck in her throat, she sat up quickly and swept a glance around her dark bedroom.
She’d been dreaming about her grandmother.
Over the past several months, Mama Esther had often appeared in Tamia’s dreams to deliver an exhortation or warning about the future. Tamia had spent the past two weeks wondering when—or if—she’d ever see her grandmother again. Now that she had, she didn’t know what to make of Mama Esther’s parting words.
Your enemies have been busy.... Don’t let them steal your soul.
Tamia shivered, goose bumps pricking her skin. She wondered what her grandmother could have meant.
She wasn’t naive. She knew she had enemies, people who hated her and wanted her to drop off the face of the earth. People like Cynthia. And Brandon’s parents.
For all she knew, Dominic was still plotting against her. And the verdict was still out on Lester McCray’s motives for lying to her.
Tamia frowned, wrapping her arms around her chilled body.
What were you trying to tell me, Mama Esther? She whispered into the darkness.
But there was only silence.
Chapter 11
Tamia
Dominic was waiting for Tamia when she arrived at the upscale downtown restaurant that afternoon. He stepped outside to meet her as she relinquished her Honda Accord to the valet.
“Hello, Tamia,” he drawled, his gaze sweeping over her.
She’d slicked her hair back into a tight bun and donned a tailored black pantsuit with tall black heels—an ensemble that made her look cool, confident, and professional. Though she’d agreed to accept Dominic’s money, she wanted to establish up front that their partnership would be strictly business this time.
“Hello, Dominic,” she said smoothly.
He smiled. “I’m glad you could make it. Shall we?”
Tamia hesitated, then tucked her hand through his proffered arm.
As they walked into the restaurant together, the woman behind the hostess station smiled graciously at Dominic.
“Are you ready to be seated now, Mr. Archer?”
“Absolutely. Lead the way.”
As Tamia and Dominic followed the hostess toward their table, T
amia felt a sudden tingling awareness that made her glance around.
Her heart lurched at the sight of Brandon seated at a table with two suit-clad businessmen. Sipping from a glass of scotch, he nodded in response to whatever his lunch companions were saying, but Tamia could tell that he was distracted.
As she watched, he suddenly turned his head and looked right at her. When he saw Dominic, his eyes widened in surprise before narrowing with cold fury.
Tamia’s knees went weak.
She quickly averted her gaze, tightening her grip on Dominic’s arm as they continued through the crowded restaurant. She was relieved when the hostess led them to a table on the opposite side of the room.
As soon as they were seated, Tamia shot an accusing look at Dominic. “Did you know he’d be here?”
“Who? Brandon?”
“Who else?”
Dominic’s eyes glinted with amusement. “How could I have known where he was having lunch today?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the same way you knew I’d be at Da Marco on Friday.”
Dominic chuckled, shaking his head at her. “I told you I was meeting with a client that evening.”
Tamia smirked. “The client who conveniently had to cancel?”
Dominic gave her a lazy smile. “What are you suggesting, love? That I’ve been following you and Brandon? That I’ve bugged your phones? Secretly installed GPS tracking devices on your cars?”
Tamia frowned, draping her linen napkin across her lap. “You have an uncanny way of showing up where you’re least expected, Dominic, and it can’t always be a coincidence.”
Before he could respond, the waiter appeared to fill their water glasses and take their order.
Too agitated to peruse the menu, Tamia allowed Dominic to order for both of them. Her nerves were strung so tight she couldn’t relax enough to rest her back against the chair. She swore she could feel Brandon’s enraged gaze boring into her from across the room.
She didn’t dare turn around.
After the waiter departed, Dominic eyed Tamia speculatively. “Why does it bother you that Brandon’s here? Isn’t that part of the plan? To make him jealous by letting him think we’re involved?”