DeShawn walked over to Lucas and shook his head. “I’ve hired a forensic accountant this morning, with my own money, to take a look at why the school is losing money. Three people have access to the accounts.”
Dorothy Mays cleared her throat and raised her hand. “Mr. Carter, are you trying to say that there have been some improprieties with the school’s money?”
“That would explain the budget shortfall when our donations and the money from the state have remained virtually stable.”
Kayla reached into the briefcase she’d borrowed from DeShawn and passed out the reports that she and DeShawn had worked on the night before. When she got to Taylor, she dropped the report in front of her and smirked at the scowl on the woman’s face.
“So, I understand that we’re looking to make leadership changes here at the school, and if you all want to release me from my contract, that’s fine. But you all know that this school means everything to me. These students and their future mean more to me than the politics of this board. Maybe that’s why half of y’all don’t like me. If we’re not going to make this school successful and put these kids first, then I don’t want to be here. And I’m sure many of the parents who enrolled their children here wouldn’t want to be a part of a school that’s just a breeding ground for board members with political aspirations at the expense of their children’s future. When’s the last time any of you made an effort to find out what’s going on in the classrooms at Millwood? When the parents find out that the members of this board are here to make their lives better and not the lives of our students, I’m sure we’re going to see a huge dip in enrollment. And trust me, I will let my kids’ parents know exactly what’s going on.”
“Th-this sounds like blackmail!” Lucas exclaimed. “You can’t come in here and accuse people of stealing money from the school, threaten to expose this farce and—”
“Shut up, Lucas,” Brad McDuffie said. “What Mr. Carter is saying has merit. One of the reasons I came to this meeting was to ask if someone had been stealing money, because from the financial records that I’ve seen, we shouldn’t be this deep in debt.”
DeShawn liked Brad and he would love to see him replace Lucas as the board chair. He wished that he could make that motion.
Maurice stood up from his seat in the corner. “I’d like to add something, if I may.”
“Please do,” Brad said.
“No!” Lucas said as he rose to his feet. “This meeting is out of order. We didn’t come here to listen to two stupid jocks talk!”
Taylor nodded in agreement. “We do have rules, and neither Maurice Goings nor this woman has a right to be here.” She tossed her thumb in Kayla’s direction.
“What is the real purpose of this meeting, then?” DeShawn asked as he pulled out his cell phone. “Because according to your email, Lucas, you wanted to see a change in leadership. Who did you think was going to be a better leader? Let me guess: You and Taylor had some pillow talk and decided I needed to go.”
“Don’t you dare!” Taylor said as she rose to her feet. “You brought this on yourself and you don’t deserve to be running this school! You’re allowing the wrong head to make your decisions.”
“I stopped doing that after you,” DeShawn said. Mo cleared his throat.
“If I may, I came here today to bring you guys a check to start an endowment for the school.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. “This money comes with strings attached.”
Lucas groaned and Mo rolled his eyes at him. “If DeShawn won’t be here to be a steward of this endowment, then I’m keeping my dumb-jock money. And in case you wanted to know, it’s two hundred thousand dollars.”
DeShawn turned and looked at his friend. That was totally unexpected.
“This is—” Lucas began.
“Just what we need to ensure the longevity of our school,” Brad said. “Thank you, Maurice.”
“My pleasure. Now, I have to get to practice and do some dumb-jock things,” he said, and speared Lucas with a cold look.
“And the board has to make some tough decisions right now,” Brad said. “DeShawn, thank you for this report and for the information about the school’s finances. It’s time for us to take a vote.”
DeShawn nodded toward Kayla. “We’ll let you all work.”
He took Kayla’s hand and they followed Maurice out the door.
“So, what’s next?” Kayla asked.
DeShawn shrugged. “I don’t know, but if they’re smart, the only changes that they’re going to make will be with the board.”
“If they cash that check, then that is just what they’re going to do,” Maurice said. “Kayla, it was nice to meet you. And, DeShawn, you better keep this one.”
“That is the plan, bruh.”
Epilogue
Christmas Eve
Kayla stood at the top of a small ladder and DeShawn held it in place. “Is the angel straight?” she asked.
“Not at all,” Autumn said. “DeShawn, stop looking at her booty and help her get that thing straight.”
“Autumn, stop being a brat,” Nora said as she hung the garland around the fireplace. She looked up at the tree. “But that angel is crooked.”
“I can get down and either one of you can do this,” Kayla said with a laugh. Rodney walked into the den with a bowl of popcorn.
“Autumn, let’s get this stuff strung,” he said. “And the angel is crooked.”
Kayla rolled her eyes and climbed down. “I’m done.”
DeShawn took her into his arms. “You did a great job, baby,” he said. “Don’t listen to them.” He kissed her slow and deep.
“Thank you,” she said when they broke the kiss. Kayla stroked his chest. “Have I told you lately how proud of you I am?”
“Nope,” he said as he spun her around. “I’m ready to hear it, though.”
“I’m so proud of you and what you did at the school. You put those kids first and kept your job. That was huge.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you. This Christmas I got the ultimate gift.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
DeShawn stroked her cheek. “Baby, I got you. And I want to have you forever.”
“You got me,” she replied with a smile.
“But I want forever.” DeShawn dropped down to one knee. “Kayla Matthews, will you make me the happiest man alive and say you will be my wife?”
She brought her hands to her mouth as happy tears ran down her cheeks. “DeShawn.”
“As much as I love to hear you say my name, that’s not the word I was looking for,” he quipped.
“Say yes,” Autumn said.
Nora pinched her little girl on the arm. “Let her say yes.”
Kayla sighed and stroked DeShawn’s cheek. “I would love nothing more than to be your wife,” she said.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a blue velvet box. When he opened it, Kayla gasped at the size of the solitaire diamond engagement ring. Even Rodney muttered damn when he saw the ring.
DeShawn slipped the ring on her finger and rose to his feet. “I love you, baby. Always have and I always will.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for teaching me that I could love again. This was a Christmas lesson that I needed to learn.”
“And you passed with flying colors, darling.”
Kayla glanced out the window and pointed at the first flakes of snow falling from the sky. “This is perfect,” she said. “A white Christmas.”
“You’re perfect,” DeShawn said. “And I’m going to love you forever.”
Kissing her fiancé, Kayla knew she was going to love him just as long.
Christmas with You
PAMELA YAYE
Chapter 1
“Marc, I need a favor.”
Groaning inwardly, his cell phone pressed to his ear, thirty-year-old sports agent Marc Cunningham threw open the driver’s-side door of his Infiniti Q50, and stepped onto the snow-covered
pavement. His newest client, a defensive lineman aptly nicknamed “Bone Crusher,” was on the line, and if Marc didn’t have a soft spot for the NFL star he would have let the call go to voicemail. But, since he wanted to help the eight-year veteran, he said, “Anything for you, Javonte. What do you need?”
“Call Coach Schneider and tell him I’m sick.”
Frowning, Marc stared down at the phone. “But I saw you last night at the club. You were laughing and cracking jokes, and you partied with your entourage until closing.”
“That was then, and this is now. You have to help me out, man. I’m in bad shape.”
Snow crunched under Marc’s feet, sticking to the soles of his leather Tom Ford shoes as he slammed his door and strode around the hood of the car. The blustery November breeze blew open his camel-brown wool coat, chilling him to the bone.
“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Peninsula Hotel.”
Moving his cell phone away from his mouth, he addressed the tuxedo-clad valet with the salt-and-pepper hair. “Thanks, man. Stay warm. It’s freezing out here!”
Marc tossed his keys to the valet, then nodded his head in greeting at the gentleman standing at attention in front of the sliding glass doors. Normally, he’d park his car himself, but he was running late, and every second counted. Shivering, he pulled up his jacket collar and marched inside to escape the bitter cold.
“Marc, hold on. I’ll be right back. Someone’s at the door . . .”
Pressed for time, Marc told Javonte he’d call him back, but the star athlete insisted he wait, and since he didn’t want to upset him he said, “No problem. Take as long as you need.”
Located in downtown Chicago, the landmark hotel was the epitome of class and sophistication, and as Marc entered the gleaming lobby, he noticed there were wreaths, poinsettias, and twinkling lights. Christmas was a month away, but a twenty-foot Douglas fir tree, decorated with red, gold, and silver ornaments, beautified the space. The fragrant scent, wafting through the air, tickling his nostrils.
Marc straightened his royal-blue tie. Having been to the hotel numerous times before, he knew it was popular among celebrities, trophy wives, and esteemed business men, and had dressed accordingly: freshly trimmed hair; tailored, black suit; personalized cufflinks; and on his wrist the gold Rolex watch that belonged to his late father, Eli Cunningham.
Pain stabbed his heart. His father was gone, and although Marc missed seeing him and hearing his voice, he chose to focus on the present, not the past. Confidence was everything in his field, what separated him from the other sports agents in the business, and he didn’t want anyone to know he was still broken up over his father’s death. He wanted the world to think he was at the top of his game. And he was. It didn’t matter that he’d faced disappointments and hardships over the years; he was a Cunningham, and he could overcome anything—even grief, and an acrimonious divorce.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Javonte coughed as if he was on his deathbed, gasping and wheezing uncontrollably on the phone. “I have the flu . . . no . . . it’s worse than that. I have, um, pneumonia. Yeah, that’s it. Call Coach and tell him I have pneumonia.”
Marc could hear noise in the background, rap music and laughter, and suspected Javonte was partying with his friends. What else was new? When he wasn’t living it up at the club, he was blowing money at the jewelry store, or test-driving sports cars that cost more than the White House. “I have to go,” he said, anxious to end the call. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“No, we’ll talk right now. You have to call Coach, ASAP, or I’ll get suspended for skipping Sunday’s game.” He sounded frantic, on edge, and raised his voice. “You’re my agent, the person who’s supposed to look out for me. If I can’t trust you, who can I trust?”
Raking a hand over his short, cropped hair, Marc blew out a deep breath. He loved working with professional athletes and derived great joy from helping them succeed, but he wasn’t going to lie for Javonte. Not today, not ever. Well-liked in his field, Marcus didn’t want to jeopardize his reputation by lying to a coach he respected.
Glancing at his watch, he sped through the corridor. Anxious to reach Avenues Ballroom, he marched past a pregnant mother pushing a stroller, an elderly couple kissing under the mistletoe, and tourists snapping pictures in front of a gold, star-shaped wreath.
“Now’s not a good time.” Hearing classical music, Marc stopped in front of the ballroom door and peeked inside. To his relief, the party wasn’t over. Guests were socializing and mingling, and Marc slipped into the room unnoticed. “I’m at a charity event.”
“Charity begins at home.”
Marc grinned, couldn’t help it. Javonte, the wisecracking jokester, was always making him laugh, and although they’d only known each other for a few weeks, they’d developed a strong rapport. Tomorrow, he’d visit the football star and get to the bottom of things, but not now.
“I’m your biggest client. The ten-million-dollar kid,” he bragged, a note of arrogance in his voice. “You have to listen to me. Boss’s orders.”
Annoyed, Marc pressed his lips together to trap a curse inside his mouth. He didn’t have time to shoot the breeze with Javonte. His five o’clock meeting—with a golf protégée looking for representation—had lasted ninety minutes, and as a result he was an hour late for the charity dinner. The event was hosted by his mom, Dr. Bridgett Cunningham, and if she caught him on the phone there’d be hell to pay. It didn’t matter that he had a law degree, money in the bank, and a lavish home in Barrington; she’d ream him out, and the last thing Marc wanted to do was upset his mom. Since his father died, she rarely smiled or laughed, and he wanted to make her happy. Hence, why he’d skipped the NBA game at the United Center with his buddies and drove straight to the hotel after his meeting ended. Now, if he could only get Javonte off the phone, life would be golden. “Javonte, I’m glad you signed with Titan Management last month, and I meant what I said about working diligently on your behalf, but—”
“But nothing! This is serious, Marc. Quit jerking me around,” he interrupted. “It’s your job to fix my problems. That’s why I hired you.”
“I’ll come by your house on Monday.”
“Be here first thing tomorrow morning, or I’m finding another agent.”
Click.
His eyes wide, Marc stared down at his cell. Unsure whether or not Javonte was bluffing, he considered calling him back to smooth things over because he didn’t want to lose him as a client. He had a larger-than-life personality, people loved him—especially Marc’s boss, Leon Frederick—and he was a dynamic football player. Javonte could be stubborn at times, but he’d never disrespected Marc before. Marc wondered if his entourage was leading him astray. Two days earlier, his friends had convinced him to skip practice, and Marc feared his new client was headed down the wrong path. One that could cost him his career.
Needing a cold drink, he headed straight for the bar. Two inches shy of seven feet, Marc was used to strangers staring at him, and smiled at everyone he passed. It was an older, distinguished crowd, and he recognized many of his parents’ friends and associates. Marc was starving, but he spent a few minutes speaking to his mother’s colleagues from Bucktown Medical Clinic, and even posed for a picture with his father’s old golf buddies. For three decades, his father had been president of Chicago State College—a historically black university founded in the eighteen hundreds—and seeing some of his dad’s former colleagues and students touched him deeply. His father was admired and respected by everyone who knew him, and two years after his passing, his friends and family were still struggling with his unexpected death.
At the bar, Marc ordered a rum and Coke and discreetly checked his email. He had dozens of messages, but he couldn’t concentrate. His conversation with Javonte had soured his good mood, and as he waited for the female bartender to prepare his drink, troubling thoughts overwhelmed his mind. Was Javonte going to complain to Mr. Frederick? Was he serious about finding another
agent? Or just bluffing?
“Finally, you’re here. It’s about time!”
Breaking free from his thoughts, Marc glanced over his shoulder and saw his mother headed his way. It was hard to believe she was sixty-five years old. Slender, with delicate features and short, auburn curls, she carried herself in a regal, dignified manner, as if she’d been raised in Buckingham Palace rather than on a wheat farm in South Carolina. Her loose-fitting metallic gown was modest, and her diamond broach sparkled.
“Great party, Mom,” Marc said, kissing her cheek. “The turnout’s incredible, and everyone seems to be having a great time.”
“How would you know? You got here five minutes ago.”
“Mom, I had to work. You know that.”
“Work?” she repeated, rolling her eyes, her curt tone of voice conveying her displeasure. “Is that what you call babysitting spoiled, overpaid athletes for eight hours a day?”
Don’t start, he thought, searching the ballroom for the nearest emergency exit. He didn’t have the energy to argue with his mom, didn’t want to hear about what a disappointment he was to his family, and if she brought up his failed marriage, he was leaving. The holidays were hard enough without his mom reminding him about his past mistakes.
Needing an ally, he searched the room for his sister, Kingsley, and her fiancé, Zander.
“When are you going to quit working at that silly company, and finally put your law degree from Northwestern to good use? It’s what your father would want—”
“No, Mom, it’s what you want. All Dad ever wanted was for me to be happy.”
Marc picked up his glass and tasted his beverage. The ice-cold drink hit the spot, quenching his thirst, but his empty stomach groaned and grumbled. He’d missed the five-course meal prepared by the celebrity chef, and scanned the room for a server in the hopes of scoring a plate. “Mom, I didn’t come here to argue with you about my career. I came to show my support for a worthy, life-changing cause, and to spend some time with you.”
The Perfect Present Page 17