by King, Imani
“I’m innocent! You’re giving my daughter to a stripper!”
The gavel slammed down. Ashley burst past Vivian. “Daddy!”
I picked her up. Held her close, almost forgetting that I had been shot and that the sling only helped so much. “Sweetcake, it’s over. You don’t have to go to Mommy’s anymore.
“Can I call Destiny Mommy then?”
“Ask her.”
“Destiny can I call you Mommy?”
Destiny’s eyes welled up with tears. She bent down and held her shoulders. “Give me some time to get used to it. “
“Okay, Mommy.”
Destiny laughed and raised Ashley into a standing hug. With my good arm, I corralled them both into my grasp.
“This is a conspiracy!” Vivian shouted, as cops came in to the coatroom, and cuffed her hands behind her back. “He’s paying you all off, isn’t he? He’s the crook! Not me!”
“Ma’am, please be quiet so we can read you your rights,” one of the police said.
“I know my rights! My rights are to not have my daughter raised by a stripper!”
“Ma’am, that’s not a crime.”
Fighting the pain, I kissed my daughter on the forehead... and brought Destiny in for a deep kiss on the lips.
“Let’s get this family back home.”
Chapter 28
Destiny
“Easy there, fella. Why couldn’t I ride Mildred again?” I kept my breathing steady, trying to manage the situation. Trigger wasn’t exactly the best beginner horse but he was the next best choice.
“Mildred is made for flat and smooth riding. She can’t make this trail. You don’t want to kill an old horse in retirement do you?” Miles said.
“I guess not.” I’d get used to Trigger. Riding wasn’t as scary as it once was. Besides, the scenery was spectacular traversing along the Bighorn Mountains. Miles had long been talking about taking the family on a horseback camping trip. He had promised Ashley since she was first able to ride but Vivian would hear none of it. Now that I managed stay on top of a horse, even while holding my own reins, well, Ashley’s dreams were finally coming true.
Besides, she wouldn’t let me say no.
That girl was a master of persistency. It wasn’t a negative trait, but it was something she got from her biological mother.
“Come on, Destiny, keep up!” She called out. She was easing into the whole Mommy thing. I wasn’t averse to it, but it was a sudden change. I mean, most women have nine months, then a year or two before they have to deal with a kid calling them mommy.
I had signed on to be a maid and this sudden family came out of nowhere.
Guess it was a crash course, because I knew I’d be being called mommy by more kids in the future.
“C’mon,” I whispered to the horse. “You have to keep up. I’m not asking you to spring, just keep up. Okay?”
I don’t know why I was speaking out loud to Trigger. Guess it was for my own comfort.
The mountain air smelled piney and fresh. Miles led the way on Midnight, followed closely behind by Ashley on Starbrite. Trigger snorted and perked his ears forward. All off this felt so normal and nice.
I was still in disbelief that this was my reality now. A handsome husband to be, a beautiful step-daughter... and a little someone on the way.
Currently, that was my secret. I hadn’t found the right moment to drop that bomb.
It wasn’t that I was afraid of his reaction. That was furthest from the truth. For the first time in almost ever, I knew how someone would react.
Daily, I was learning a variety of ways to love. Sometimes the big surprise is that love can enter without a conscious choice. Take Ashley. I found myself loving her from day one. Instantly I understood her pain and confusion. I have Ashley to thank for teaching me about a mother’s love. Miles opened my eyes to the largest range of love; body, mind, and soul. He looked past my history and embraced all of me. Miles showed me I could be loved for more than my body, something you might overlook when you’re on the stage every night.
Miles taught me about unconditional love. When that kicks in, there are so many ways to express it. None of them involve dollar bills in a g-string.
“Do I have to show you how to use the reins again?” Miles had reined up Midnight and appeared at a bend in the trail.
“I’ll figure it out.” I brought them snugly into my hand.
Trigger moved ahead at a faster clip. Then he pulled ahead of Midnight and Starbrite.
“Oh shit,” I said, not even trying to keep Trigger from figuring out I was scared to death.
Trigger broke into a run. He left the rocky path and a thicket of small trees were whizzing past me. I didn’t know how to stop him, fearing another pull on the reins would encourage him to go even faster. He was going fast enough already. I didn’t need to train him for the Kentucky Derby here.
My heart pounded hard. I held on to the pummel on the saddle for dear life. I hoped that he wouldn’t do anything like try to jump a ravine or something. That’d be my luck. Now that I had everything I ever wanted out of life, my horse decides to heave us off a cliff.
The nightmare was ever so brief. Instead of barreling off a cliff, Trigger came to a stop on the edge of a lake... and took a long drink.
Shaken, I dismounted. Miles and Ashley quickly caught up to me, since they actually knew how to control their horses.
“Are you okay there?” Miles said, getting off his horse as well.
Spinning, I realized how damned close I had been to something going seriously wrong.
Miles gripped my shoulders and looked down at me, waiting for an answer.
Near death experiences, as legitimate or illegitimate as they are, don’t encourage people to speak coherently.
So I just said the first thing that popped into my head. “The doctor assured me it was okay for me to ride. At least right now. Soon I won’t be able too—”
“Destiny?” Miles asked, stepping closer. “What’s going on?”
I took a deep breath, backing up. “I’m pregnant.”
Miles just stared at me with his mouth open.
“What’s peg ant mean, Daddy?” Ashley said.
He kissed me. Powerfully. His arm had healed and he used it to its full power to hold me close to him, bend me over to take me even deeper. The fires inside me were igniting, and I wanted so much more of him.
Of course, that’d have to wait for another time.
“Daddy?”
“Sorry, sweetcake.” He broke the kiss laughing. “I’ll explain it to you some other time. For now, let’s just say you’re going to be a big sister soon.”
“I am?”
Miles nodded.
“Can I teach the baby to ride horses?”
That was love. Instantly, Ashley wanted to share what she loved most with the baby. I knew Miles loved sharing what he wanted to do most with me. He settled for giving my ass a big squeeze and said, “We both are going to have to wait awhile.” It was sweet and saccharine, and a bit cheesy.
I don’t know how the hell I managed to survive without love up until now.
Part 2: The Billionaire’s Reluctant Pregnant Bride
I just had the best sex of my life with New York's most eligible playboy bachelor, billionaire Preston Easterbrook. There are only three problems.
He's my brother's best friend.
I can't stand the man, and he can't stand me either.
I’m pregnant now and the baby is his.
Actually, make that four problems. After I told Preston he was going to be a dad, he chased me down on the street and proposed marriage. Unfortunately, the paparazzi were there too. I fell during all the commotion, hit my head, and now I can't remember anything.
When I wake up with amnesia, I'm being cared for by the New York's sexiest bachelor. Supposedly I hated this guy, but I can't figure out why. He's strong and successful. He's loving and patient. He treats me like I'm the only girl he's ever wanted. Was I too bli
nd to see it all these years, or is there something really big I'm forgetting? Maybe it's best if I don't remember. There's a wedding coming up, and I don't want this fairy tale to end.
Chapter 29
Preston Easterbrook.
There isn’t a person in Manhattan that doesn’t know that name. He’s New York’s most eligible bachelor and most notorious manwhore. Men want to be him and women want to marry him—or at least be under him for one glorious, unforgettable night.
I knew him before he was all that.
Back then he might have been half the size, but his ego still burned as hot and bright as the sun. And every time he deigned to visit my humble childhood home, he made sure he’d burned his cocky visage into my retinas before he left.
At ten, he had the shiniest bicycle on the block with the loudest bell. At sixteen, the hottest car on campus with the loudest horn. And now, at the ripe age of 25, Preston Easterbrook decided to stick his office in the biggest building in Manhattan. I swear, the only reason you couldn’t see it from space was because he couldn’t secure the permit.
Was he overcompensating for something? Oh, most definitely. And I wish I could say it was for the size of his dick, but I unfortunately I knew from experience that it wasn’t.
Or should I say fortunately? Because that night was, hands down, the most…
I shake my head. No, I was not going to finish that thought.
“Arrogant ass,” I whisper under my breath. I know exactly how Preston would respond if he heard me say that: But it’s a sexy arrogant ass, isn’t it? And after he said it, I’d tell myself rather sternly not to encourage him, but I wouldn’t listen to my sound advice because when it came to him I just couldn’t let anything go. I mean, my blood is already boiling and we haven’t even started talking. This meeting was going to be hell, and my only comfort was that he’d be dragged into the flames with me.
The paparazzi circling the entrance for scraps of gossip like vultures pay me no heed, and why would they? Sure, I was a hot up-and-coming artist, but it wasn’t like my face was plastered all over every magazine in the city. With my paint splattered jeans and hair pulled back into a messy bun with one of those gigantic, neon multi-colored scrunchies from the 90’s, they probably thought I was here to clean the toilets. Little did they know I secretly carried what would have been the biggest scoop of their entire careers if they’d cared to notice.
Which they didn’t.
And thank God for that. I didn’t know how I was going to tell my brother. As Preston’s best friend and business partner, he wasn’t going to take it well. Still, he’d want to hear it from me, not from the front page of the Times as he leaned back to enjoy his morning coffee.
You can do this, Tachell, I tell myself as I slip through the gold rotating doors. Preston first. The rest of the world could come later.
The inside of the building is even more decadent. The marble floor stretches out over the lobby like a black mirror, reflecting the emerald leaves of exotic plants. My boots clack as I make my way to the front desk.
An older man impeccably dressed in a black suit and tie raises his eyebrows instead of greeting me.
I drum my fingers on the dark, polished wood of the desk. “I’m here to see Preston.”
Those bushy salt and pepper eyebrows of his immediately drop into a frown. “Last name?”
“Easterbrook.” I’m tempted to say Easterbutt; I don’t because I’m no longer six.
His pointer finger starts clicking frantically. I bet I interrupted a game of Spider Solitaire. “I don’t see you on the schedule,” he informs me.
“That’s ‘cause I’m not on it.”
“I can’t let you see Mr. Easterbrook without an appointment.”
“Oh, he’ll see me.” Even though he had no idea what was coming, Preston never turned up an opportunity to infuriate me. Me showing up where he worked would make it easy. Hell, he’d probably be thrilled…at least until I opened my mouth.
The impeccably dressed man took a long look at my less than impeccable attire. “I’m sorry, miss.”
“Just give him a call,” I begin.
He sighs, reaching for the phone. “Miss, I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”
“And tell him Tachell Jones is here,” I finish.
The man tilts his head to the side. “Did you say your last name was Jones?”
I give him a dazzling smile. “Yeah. I’m Reggie’s little sister.” It wasn’t often dropping a name like Reggie got you anywhere, so I decided to milk the moment for all it was worth.
“Oh,” he says, as if that explains everything.
Wait a minute! I’ve never even met this guy, how would he know about me? But before I can ask, he’s on the phone and talking to whom I can only guess is Preston.
“Mr. Easterbrook, I’m so sorry to bother you—yes, I know you’re busy—”
My heart starts beating faster.
“However, a Miss Tachell Jones is here to see you and she’s quite insistent—”
Actually, I’m feeling a bit light headed. Maybe I should sit down. Get a coffee. Yeah, coffee sounds good. Vodka sounds even better. Too bad I wouldn’t be enjoying any alcohol anytime soon.
“Yes. Right away, sir. Of course, sir.” He then hangs the phone up quietly and looks at me.
“Preston’s office is on the 70th floor. You’ll find the elevators to your left.”
Even though I have never seen Preston’s office, I know exactly where it is and what it looks like. The man will not shut up about it and it’s glorious view of the water—a view that is especially beautiful at night and, apparently, best enjoyed when he’s “working late.” Still, I thank the man at the front desk for his directions and head for the elevators.
There are six of them all lined up in a row. I press the little up arrow closest to me and watch the numbers descend.
50…49…48…
I still have time to leave. I don’t have to do this in person. Actually, why was I doing this in person? I could do this over the phone. Text. Email.
22…21…20…
Yes, email was a brilliant idea! And then, I could cancel my phone. It was getting way too expensive, anyway. Despite the success I’d enjoyed at last month’s show, I still fit the description of a starving artist. Yeah, phones were overrated. So was checking my email. In fact, I bet I could get away with checking it once a month.
9…8…7…
Yeah, checking my email once a month was more than enough. And next month, maybe I’d be ready to talk to Preston. Maybe.
3…2…1…
The elevator doors open with a ding.
No, I can’t hide from this. It doesn’t matter how much I hate him, he deserves to know. And telling him face to face is the only way to do it. I push my shoulders back, straighten my spine, and step into the elevator.
Then, I hit the number 70. It starts glowing like a scarlet A.
It takes a long time to go up that high in an elevator, leaving me way too much time to think. I start to doubt the wisdom behind my decision to come here right after work. I look like a mess, and not a hot one. I should have gone home, showered, done my hair, and put on something nice. That’s what a smart woman would have done. But no, I didn’t want Preston to think I was dressing up for him.
But this might have been going too far in the opposite direction. My fingers are smeared with charcoal. My jeans and boots are covered in gesso, and the only reason my black shirt wasn’t covered too was because I’d been wearing my potato sack smock. Thank God I hadn’t decided against wearing that. Sometimes, when life turned to shit, you really had to step back and appreciate the small things.
Finally the doors open on floor 70. I strut out of the elevator like I’m dripping in diamonds instead of splattered in paint.
His very cute—and very blond—receptionist raises her perfect brows. “Miss…?”
“Tachell,” I tell her.
Her entire demeanor changes. In a flash, she goes f
rom the stereotypically bitchy cheerleader captain to that sweet girl who bakes everyone brownies on Valentine’s Day. “Oh, you’re Tachell! I’m so sorry!”
Sorry for what? And why did she say my name like that?
She smiles. “I’m sorry, I’ve just heard so much about you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
What the hell? What has Preston been telling her about me?
She gestures behind her. “You painted this, right?”
I glance behind her and stop.
It’s the still life from my first show. I’d done it for a class assignment, but had ended up turning in another painting because this one was too personal. We were supposed to paint something from our childhood. I’d picked a small bouquet of lavenders.
***
My father was the groundskeeper for a super exclusive k-12 prep school. Because of that, we were able to attend the school tuition-free. Every day, I saw him watering flowers, landscaping, and pruning trees on campus. Unfortunately, the other kids saw him too.
Is that your dad, Tachell? They’d asked. Is he a gardener?
I was too ashamed to answer. Their fathers were senators, lawyers, doctors, and CEOs.
Tachell’s dad is a gardener! Are you really poor? Is that why you brought old bread to the class party?
I didn’t answer. I just looked straight ahead until it was time to go home to the quaint cottage just behind the High School dorms.
Every night, as my mother cooked dinner, my father would tend to the small garden he kept in our backyard. He grew practical things like leafy green vegetables, winter squash, berries and herbs. But there was a small part of the garden you could see from the kitchen window, and there he grew lavender for my mother.