Again, Mick shrugged.
County smiled. “The Ramseys are African-American,” she shared.
Mick’s eyes trailed to the advertisement. “Never heard of ’em,” she retorted, though she was subtlety intrigued.
County nodded and began to stroll back toward the house, grinning when Mick fell in step next to her. “They’re out of Seattle, Washington, and they’ve become giants in the real estate business. Silent giants. Your cup of tea,” she said, slanting a glance toward Mick.
It was true, Michaela admitted silently. She had made a household name for herself following her debut release, which chronicled the rise, fall, and recreation of the Shelanon family of Medora, North Dakota. The Shelanons were relatively unknown in much of the country, as well as in the black community, Mick brought the phenomenal African-American clan into the public eye. The family had staked a claim and made their fortune in a state most African-Americans never believed they’d set foot in. The book was a smash, and following that, Michaela had obtained unimagined popularity. As a result, every family worth having their history recorded wanted Mick to record it.
True, she had her share of well-known families who wanted to tell their stories. Michaela, however, was more interested in digging out the stories of those who didn’t make the who’s who lists regularly. She gravitated more toward those families who’d obtained real success while managing to remain out of the spotlight. These were the people Mick wanted to research, and they practically clamored for the opportunity to talk with her. Of course, this wasn’t surprising. Michaela Sellars was known for her ability to coax the choicest bits of information from her subjects. Her unsettling yet entrancing amber gaze drew people in to such an extent they recited their life’s history without ever realizing they were being interviewed. Still, in spite of her curvaceous figure, flawless dark chocolate skin, captivating eyes, and the unruly halo of thick midnight curls, Mick had never considered herself a drop-dead beauty. She felt she was too short, too curvy. Her attributes oftentimes had her waiting too long for a man to tear his eyes away from her chest. She thought her nose was too small, as its size only emphasized the fullness of her mouth. Her completely sensual appearance encased a completely intellectual personality.
When it came to her work, she attacked it in a doggish fashion. And she attacked her play in the same manner. She was a woman who enjoyed her success, due in no small part to her upbringing. She’d lived a rough life as a foster child, but managed to secure a good education and made the most of it. Michaela was the first to point out that she led a good life. She had every material possession a woman could wish for. She had everything except what she wanted most: a family of her own and all the love that accompanied it.
“So anyway, I sent a proposal to the Ramsey Group’s administrative director and asked for the story,” County rambled on.
Mick’s face reflected stunned amazement, but she knew it would’ve been unreasonable to expect anything less from her best friend. Contessa Warren had earned her nickname, the Count, more for being take charge in business than because it was an apt shortening of her first name. County’s motto was: if they don’t know you, introduce yourself.
“I sent the proposal on Wednesday, got a response the following Tuesday,” she boasted, her rich brown gaze pride-filled. “I spoke with the admin director at the headquarters personally,” she added.
“Now I’m suspicious,” Mick muttered, hooking a thumb through one of the belt loops on the hip-hugging black shorts she sported. “How could a simple proposal generate such an interest?”
County gasped. “I do believe I’m offended,” she said, pouting.
Mick rolled her eyes. “This is a powerful family, Count. They’ve remained out of the spotlight way too long to be taken in by a proposal from a Midwest publishing firm. No matter how impressive it is,” she added quickly for County’s benefit.
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, Mick.”
“Huh?”
“You were the proposal.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mick demanded. Now both thumbs were hooked in the belt loops.
County shrugged. “I based the proposal only on you and your work.”
“You what?”
“Oh, come on, Mick,” County snapped, fixing her friend with a weary glare. “The modesty is wearing thin right about now. Your reputation precedes you. Businesspeople love stories about other businesspeople. The rags-to-riches story will always be popular. You should toot your own horn a lot more, damn it. But if you won’t, then I guess I have to.”
Mick folded her arms across her chest and decided it would be pointless to argue. County had always been her biggest fan, ever since she’d read Mick’s first short story. County, a business major in college, always aspired to become an entrepreneur. Still, an actual business venture had eluded her. That all changed when she discovered Mick’s talents. She decided to become a publisher, and a fine one at that.
“Just accept the fact that my long shot paid off. The gods want to meet you.”
Mick scratched her head. “Uh, don’t you mean the gods are smiling on me?”
“Uh-uh,” County retorted, with a wave of her bejeweled right hand, “it was no slip of the tongue. Ramsey Group’s admin director is a woman. When I asked who from the family we’d be speaking with, she said we’d be speaking with the gods themselves. Of course, I was stunned, but she assured me it was no exaggeration. The brothers were aware of the name and didn’t mind hearing it used.”
“The brothers?” Mick asked.
County stopped just short of the patio. “Quest and Quaysar Ramsey run the whole shebang. Jasmine Hughes, the admin director, swears the whole family is filled with incredible-looking men, but those two head the real estate company. They rarely meet with anyone outside the business. I guess they save all that for their executive staff.”
“And they’re called gods because of all this power they’ve acquired?” Mick asked, though she had a feeling she already knew the answer.
“They’re called gods because that’s what they look like. Two chocolate-dipped, sexy twins.”
Suddenly, Mick burst into a fit of laughter. “You are not tellin’ me this admin director was that candid with a total stranger regarding her employers?”
County shrugged. “From what she says, the vast majority of the employees would love to see a book done on their bosses. They believe the guys should be recognized for all they’ve done. Especially when most people believe Ramsey is run by white folks.”
“Mmm, and how do the twins feel about that?”
County gave a quick toss of her heavy ponytail. “From what I gather, they don’t mind it so long as they rake in the cash.”
Mick was still eyeing her publisher with unmasked suspicion. “I don’t know, County. What—”
“Wait. Just wait a minute,” County urged, taking the first brick step up the patio. “Just save your questions for the meeting.”
“Meeting?”
“Mmm-hmm, day after tomorrow in Seattle. It’s all set.”
Mick tilted her head to one side. “You accepted a meeting without knowing if I’d go along or not?”
“Oh, please, you can’t possibly pass up this chance,” County decided, rolling her eyes toward the blue sky above before bringing them back to Mick’s face. “Besides.” She sighed, leaning close. “Don’t you want to see what they look like?” she taunted, then turned and continued on toward the house.
That evening, Mick settled down with the file County left on the Ramseys. No pictures, she noted. Clearly, the entire family was camera shy—at least to the public. Of course, Mick could very well understand. Instead, the file was packed with several news articles and other material on the family. The Ramseys were the cream of the crop in Seattle, not only within the black community, but in Seattle as a whole. Mick studied the folder intently, never realizing how intrigued she was becoming. As she scowled at the clips, however, a frown began to mar her
soft brow. Every article shed a favorable light on the clan. There was abundant coverage of charity events, school programs, hospital dedications, and other choice bits of information.
“Where’s the dirt?” Mick whispered, leafing through the clips, certain there had to be more.
She reached for the white cordless phone on her nightstand, prepared to dial County’s number. But she hesitated just as her fingers brushed the receiver. Maybe there wasn’t more, she considered. Perhaps County was right, she thought. Perhaps she was too cynical—too suspicious of people and their motives. Maybe her upbringing had jaded her. The possibility was something she’d always tried to deny, but as she grew older, especially lately, it had begun to nag at her more and more. Mick dismissed the notion with a quick shake of her head. Her grip tightened on the receiver and she proceeded to dial County’s number.
Seattle, Washington
Quaysar Ramsey’s long brows drew close as the easy expression he usually wore grew fierce with frustration. “Damn it, Q, the author is coming from halfway across the country.”
Quest Ramsey didn’t bother to make eye contact with his brother. “Do I need to tell you how little I care or can you sense it?” he inquired calmly, while casually thumbing through the report he studied.
“Don’t you even care a little that someone actually finds our family interesting enough that we merit a book?” Quaysar asked, bracing both hands against the round conference table with blatant challenge in his dark eyes.
Quest’s blank look spoke volumes to Quaysar, who muttered a curse and turned away.
“Well, what are we gonna tell ’em when they get here?” Quaysar asked, suddenly remembering the author would be there at ten o’clock the next morning.
Again, Quest was enthralled by the report he read. “We…we won’t tell ’em a thing. You were the one who couldn’t wait to get them here, so you’ll be the one to tell them they came here for nothing.”
“You’re full of crap, you know that, right?” Quaysar raged, slipping both hands inside the deep pockets of his hunter-green trousers. “This could be good for us, you know that?”
Quest sighed, dropping the report to the table. Quaysar was still spouting arguments while his brother literally walked out on their conversation.
County mimicked the impatient tapping of one sandal-shod foot by rapping her fingers along the glossy finish of the cherry-wood front desk. “Will you stop nagging me about this?” she practically growled, flashing a stern glare to her right.
Mick, the recipient of that look, reacted with a stern glare of her own. “Hmm… I’m nagging you for information on a book that you want me to write? Do you see any logic in that, Count?”
County rolled her eyes to study the line of chandeliers gracing the hotel’s high ceiling. “Why do I even try with you?” She sighed while signing for the room keys.
Mick rolled her eyes and took a minute to study her surroundings as well. The hotel was to die for, elegantly yet comfortably furnished. The cherry-wood paneling of the lobby simply emphasized the rich color and craftsmanship of the butter-soft leather sofas and armchairs. The establishment shrieked of exquisite tastes and accommodations. Mick silently toyed with the notion of tacking on a few more days to her stay. She deserved to treat herself to a more lengthy getaway in such a fabulous place.
“There,” County announced, accepting the room keys from the desk attendant. “Now.” She sighed again and turned to drop the card in Mick’s palm. “What?” she groaned, when she saw the pointed look on Mick’s face.
“The file.”
“Damn it, Mick,” County whispered, her lashes fluttering as she bowed her head, “I swear you are the most—”
“Hold it. Just stop a minute,” Mick urged, raising her hand for emphasis. “Now, even you have to admit that no family is as syrupy sweet as that file made the Ramseys out to be. Hell, even the Shelanons had skeletons in their closets.”
“Boy, did they!” County acknowledged, tapping one long spice-polished nail on her cheek as she recalled the family. “But in defense of that file, Mick, it was a promotional packet. I mean, you really didn’t expect them to place all their dirty little secrets in there all nice and neat, did you?”
Mick folded her arms across the yellow lace-neck T-shirt she sported. “Now who’s being sarcastic?”
County patted Mick’s cheek. “You’re growing on me.”
Still, Mick was determined to hear County admit that she wasn’t being suspicious or overly cynical. “Families like this always have something to hide,” she insisted, as they took the elevator to their respective rooms.
“Well, that’s why you’re the journalist, girl. Dig, dig, dig,” County advised in a merry tone. “Besides, you’ll have plenty of time to grill your sources tomorrow and I won’t even be there to kick you under the table when you ask how many people they’ve murdered.”
Mick stood still before the elevator as the doors closed softly behind her. “What do you mean, you won’t be there?”
County was already unlocking her door. “They want to meet you alone.”
“Why?”
County shrugged, heading inside the room to check that her bags had been correctly delivered. “That photo I sent must have done the job,” she surmised absently.
“I don’t like it,” Mick decided, pushing the room door closed.
County tossed her card key to the message desk. “Neither do I,” she complained, perching her curvy frame against the edge of the sofa. “From what I hear, those two are a sight to behold. I hate like hell that I can’t be there to see for myself.”
“How you ever managed to get this far ahead in business with such a one-track mind still amazes me.”
County took no offense. “Me too,” she admitted slyly. “Still, I can easily get over it in a place like this. Really classy of the Ramseys to put us up in one of Seattle’s finest hotels, and I’m damn well gonna enjoy.”
Mick, however, wasn’t so in awe, as her suspicions still ran high. “Why didn’t they tell us beforehand that they only wanted to meet with me?” she questioned.
“Ugggh!” County bellowed, slapping both hands to her navy blue crop pants as she stood. “That’s it,” she said in a defeated tone and took Mick by the elbow. Promptly escorting her best friend from the room, County dismissed Mick by slamming the door in her face.
Chapter 2
Mick was awakened by the ringing phone on her nightstand some fifteen minutes before her alarm was set to go off. With a grunt, she pushed a hoard of curls from her face and figured she had County to thank for the wake-up call. When she pressed the phone to her ear, she realized it was a bit more than an average wake-up call.
“Ms. Sellars?”
“Yes, thank you.”
“Ms. Sellars, this is the front desk letting you know that the car has arrived and is waiting to carry you to Ramsey Group headquarters.”
Mick rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “The—the car?” she stammered.
“That’s correct, ma’am.”
Grimacing at the concierge’s polite, matter-of-fact tone, Mick sat up in bed. “I’m just waking up. The car may be waiting awhile.”
“That’s quite all right, ma’am. It will be here when you’re ready.”
Mick only nodded.
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?”
“No, no, thank you,” Mick said and set the receiver back in its cradle. She flopped back to the luxurious bed and took a moment to get her bearings. A wicked smile curved her lips as she imagined how peeved County would be when she discovered “a car” had been sent for her. “Tee-hee.” She sighed, before rolling her eyes and leaving the bed.
Later that morning, Mick stood with her head back and her eyes wide. Her mouth formed a perfect O as she studied the unbelievable complex of Ramsey Group.
“This is the private entrance. Past those double glass doors, you’ll find someone waiting to carry you up.”
Mick barely nodded in respons
e to the driver’s instructions. Her hand rested limp in his palm. “Oh boy,” she breathed.
Gerald, the driver, nodded in understanding. “Yes, it’s quite a place,” he agreed, smiling as he too surveyed the impressive outlay of the corporation.
Instead of one stark high-rise, the Ramsey Group offices were situated in separate buildings that spanned the landscape. Each building housed a different area for every sort of project. The structures covered a vast expanse of the 120-acre site. Due to the hilliness of the area, the buildings were constructed at an angle. Steel beams covered the roofing of dark brick buildings that had an unexpected airiness due mainly to the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a prime view of the architects, designers, and other staff who worked diligently on the next Ramsey project. Mick could imagine the golden light from the interior cascading on the green surroundings during the evening hours. Her attention was drawn to the one skyscraper that towered above the other buildings. Windows were abundant on the lower floors, but tapered off and became virtually nonexistent near the top levels. Something told her the Ramseys’ offices would be there—clearly they adored their privacy.
“This is some place,” Gerald was saying as he guided Mick away from the Mercedes limo and shut the door behind her. “But these people really know how to make a person feel cared for.”
“Thanks, Gerald,” Mick said, taking a deep breath while fixing him with a sweet smile. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before heading toward the double doors.
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