Janice’s grasp slackened. “Dear, that’s his dream, not yours.”
“Doing this for him is doing it for me.” Patrice pulled her hand away.
Milton walked over. “Are you sure he’s not just interested in your connections?”
“Yes, I’m sure. He didn’t know anything about my past until Chad stormed back into my life.”
Chad smirked. “You say that as if it were a bad thing. I am your brother.”
“And we’re your family,” Janice said. “We love you.”
Patrice met each one of their gazes. “Then help us.”
Her mother sighed before giving her the same serene smile that said she wasn’t really listening. “I’ll do anything to help you.”
Patrice rolled her eyes. “I’m going to my room.”
“Of course, dear. You can change for dinner. Afterwards we’ll talk about the party tomorrow.” Janice’s eyes drifted to the riot of kinks framing Patrice’s head. “Maybe we could have a mother daughter day at the salon.”
Patrice turned away from her mother, not sure if she would be able to talk without letting out her frustration.
Beth jumped up from the chaise. “Wait, I’ll go with you.”
Patrice smiled and nodded, even though she wasn’t really in the mood for company. But it was hard to say no to Beth’s enthusiasm.
• • •
Patrice opened the door to her old room and stopped.
“I know, it’s completely different,” Beth said from behind. Her sister shuffled forward to stand next to Patrice in the doorway. “They did everything a year after you left.”
Completely different was an understatement. All hints that Patrice once lived there were removed. Pictures of her in high school, posters of her favorite singers, even the soft pink wall color, gone. Her parents had never changed a thing while she was in college. Now pale mint green walls, white lace curtains, and white furniture gave the appearance of any formal guest room in America.
Patrice finally got her feet to move and entered the room. “Where’s all my stuff?”
“In the attic, I think. When you stopped calling them after the first year they decided to redecorate.”
Patrice plucked at the fluffy pastel green and white duvet on the four poster queen bed. “If they were so eager to get rid of any reminder of me, why did they invite me back?”
“They weren’t eager to get rid of reminders of you. I think it was Mother’s way of getting over you not being here anymore. It was too hard to see all your stuff and know you didn’t want to be here anymore.”
There was no blame in Beth’s voice, but Patrice’s throat constricted for the pain her abrupt departure had caused her parents. “From what Chad told me, they always knew where I was and what I was doing.”
“We did.”
“There was no need for an investigator. I called you and let you know I was okay.”
Beth leaned a shoulder one of the bedposts. “That wasn’t enough for Mother and Father. They were worried about you. Even though they wouldn’t talk about it.” A hint of hurt crept into Beth’s voice.
Crossing the room, Patrice examined the connecting bathroom also redecorated with new marble and tile.
“I couldn’t ignore my problem anymore.” Patrice meandered around the room, picking up the various vases and books in the staged room. “I won’t ignore problems anymore.”
“No one is asking you to, but your leaving hurt us, Patrice. I understand why you left and I can appreciate your need for time, but you also have to accept that your departure had consequences.” Beth ran a hand across the foot of the bed. “I blamed myself.”
“Why on Earth would you blame yourself?”
“I knew about the bulimia.” Beth’s gaze lowered to the floor.
Patrice sucked in a breath. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know what to say. You hid it well; I didn’t notice until right before you broke up with Roland and left.”
Roland knew, Beth knew, and no one said anything. She’d been right to leave. Patrice moved to stand before the window. Below, Kareem paced in the rose garden. Her shoulders relaxed. He hadn’t left, even though she wouldn’t blame him if he called the entire thing off.
Patrice opened the doors that led out to the second floor balcony for a better view. “So many times I thought about coming home, but each thought brought back those old feelings of panic.”
“What’s different now?”
“Chad butting in the way he always does. Even though he made me angry, the anger reminded me how much I missed everyone.” Letting out a heavy sigh, Patrice leaned her hands on the balcony’s iron rail. “I can’t run away from my problems forever.”
“And you’re not alone.” Beth gazed down at Kareem. “I like him.”
Patrice’s jaw slackened. “You do?”
“Yes, I do. I can tell that he cares about you.”
If only that were true. This wasn’t real.
“Why would you say that?” Patrice asked.
“Because of the way he protects you.” Patrice frowned, and Beth’s light laughter filled the air. “He is protective of you—the way he put his arm around your shoulders when you first came in and the way he touched your back after Chad tried to be a jerk. He was itching to jump to your defense.”
Beth came closer, and grabbed Patrice’s arm with both hands. “Then there’s the way he looks at you. I can see why you fell for him. Not only is he sexy in that dangerous sort of way, but his eyes are trained on you.”
Patrice shifted her stance, but her sister’s grip didn’t lessen. In less than ten minutes Beth saw exactly why Kareem intrigued Patrice.
“He’s always like that. With everything he does.”
“Even so, if helping him keeps you around longer, I will.”
“How can you help?”
“I’ll talk to Lad,” Beth said with a grin.
Patrice jerked her arm away. “Roland’s brother? I can’t go to my ex-fiancé’s brother for help.”
A don’t be silly chuckle from Beth. “It’s not like that. You’re not the only one getting married.” Beth held up her left hand, where a huge diamond glittered on her finger.
Patrice grabbed her sister’s hand and inspected the diamond. “Seriously?” she said with a grin.
“Seriously.” Beth’s voice was filled with love and excitement. “And I know what you’re thinking. Lad and Roland don’t hate you.”
Not quite the thought in Patrice’s head.
“Roland made sure everyone understood your breakup was mutual. He had nothing but good things to say about you after you left. There’s nothing weird between our families.”
At least Roland lied for her. He’d begged her to change her mind and go with him to Europe. Eventually he’d accepted her decision but told her he thought she was making a mistake and they could work through her problems together. The pain and sincerity in his eyes had haunted her for the first six months after she left. When she was so homesick and lonely she didn’t know if she’d made the right decision.
“He really said that?”
“Yes. He’s going to be thrilled you’re back. He’s moved on and is dating someone else, and now you have Kareem so working with them won’t be weird. Roland is the president of the state chamber of commerce, and Lad is a CEO at Chapman Bank. With their support you’re sure to make your business a success.”
Patrice twisted her foot back and forth. Her gaze drifted back to the rose garden, but Kareem walked toward the front of the house. Hadn’t she asked him here to keep Roland at bay, now she was going to ask him to work with the same guy?
“I don’t know, Beth. Going to an ex for help is never a good idea.”
“He’s more than an ex. He’s a friend, and pretty soon he’ll be family.” Beth took Patrice’s hand in hers. “He told me himself he’ll always treasure the time you had, but he’s no longer in love with you. I’ll talk to Lad. Between the two of us we’ll get y
ou set up.”
If she were really engaged to Kareem, she doubted he would be cool with going to her ex-boyfriend for help starting a new business. But they weren’t really engaged. And she doubted Kareem would appreciate her ignoring a very good connection.
“I’ll give Roland a call,” Patrice conceded.
Beth bounced on her toes. “No need. He’ll be at the party tomorrow.”
Of course he would. “Then I’ll bring it up to him then.” And hope that her fake fiancé would agree that asking Roland for help was the right move.
CHAPTER 9
Kareem lit his cigar and leaned against one of the pillars in the gazebo of the Baldwin family garden. With the first drag some of the tension in his shoulders evaporated. Until he thought about the dinner he’d just sat through following a get to know you conversation with her father. The talk with Milton had gone how he expected: “Hurt her and I’ll hurt you.” That Kareem respected. But the dinner. That had to be the worst family dinner he’d ever experienced. And thanks to his parents’ love for family meetings, he’d sat through what seemed like hundreds. An hour of polite conversation about the party the next day. As if their oldest daughter hadn’t just walked back into the house after a five year exile.
Neecie’s mother and sister whisked her away the second dinner was over to show her the dresses they’d ordered for the party. The dresses included a few Janice purchased in the hopes Neecie would come home. Neecie—he refused to call her Patrice—seemed somewhat excited about that. Kareem viewed the whole deal as their way of transforming his vibrant Neecie into a cold carbon copy of themselves.
Footsteps came from Kareem’s left. “Want a hit?” Joshua’s eager voice interrupted Kareem’s solitude.
Kareem let out a heavy sigh. The kid had watched him like he was some type of hero all night. If only the privileged boy realized the hard life wasn’t as sexy as music and movies portrayed it.
“Hit what, boy?” Kareem asked, standing straight and taking a drag from his cigar.
Joshua held up his hand. Even in the muted light of the garden he could see the joint in the boy’s fingers. Kareem shook his head and chuckled without amusement.
“So you smoke weed, huh?” He didn’t bother to hide the mocking in his voice.
“A little. Come on, you can’t tell me you don’t want this instead of that weak ass cigar.”
“Actually, boy, I can. I don’t do drugs.” He frowned as Joshua lit the joint and inhaled. The pungent scent of marijuana filled the air. “And you shouldn’t either.”
“I’m not a boy,” Joshua said, not realizing the declaration made him sound more childlike than adult. “And what are you, a spokesperson for the anti-drug crowd? I know you went to prison for carjacking. Then you got into some trouble inside.”
Kareem’s stomach hardened. He forced himself to breathe normally. Only three people knew exactly what happened that night in that cell. He and Tim hadn’t told anyone. The third man was dead.
“What do you know about my trouble on the inside?” Kareem’s voice was cool, but hard.
“All my dad can dig up is a fight, but there has to be more. Your family got it covered up pretty good.”
“Your family is good at digging.” Dread crept across his skin. The exact happenings of that night were too humiliating. To have Neecie’s family know, and possibly use that knowledge against him or her, was unacceptable.
“Good enough.” Joshua took a drag off the blunt. “My dad is on a mission to keep you away from Aunt Patrice.” His voice tightened and went up an octave.
“Out of everyone in this house I’m least likely to hurt her.” Kareem put out the end of his cigar on the bottom of his shoe and started toward the house. “Just say no, kid.”
“Hey wait,” Joshua said after Kareem took several steps away. Kareem stopped, and Joshua walked over to him. “You still hang with the Runners? Can you tell me about that? I bet you all got into some cool shit.”
This boy had a serious problem with his understanding of cool. Kareem could relate to Joshua’s curiosity. Society parties, school, and playing the good kid didn’t compare to the allure of the streets. Kareem’s same wish to be big, bad, and bold as fuck had led him to screw up his entire life.
“That cool shit earned me five years in prison. I’m not a part of that anymore.”
“But you’re still tight with them, right? My dad said you aren’t a member but you’re still affiliated with the group. That former members work in your barber shop and stuff.”
Kareem’s hands tightened into fists. Chad was balls deep in Kareem’s business. If Neecie’s family needed to get this involved in his background, no telling how involved they would try to get in Neecie’s life.
“Goodnight, kid.” Kareem turned his back and marched back to the house. Joshua called him a few times but didn’t follow. Probably so he could finish smoking his joint. Wonder if the perfect parents and grandparents knew the boy was a weed head? This family needed a serious case of intervention. No wonder she’d run away.
The voices of the men in the study drifted down the hall when Kareem came back inside. Bypassing them, he made his way to the curved staircase. Thick carpet, so perfectly white someone had to clean the damn thing weekly, cushioned his footsteps as he made his way to the room he shared with Neecie.
His body heated. The room she insisted they share.
Kareem opened the bedroom door and stopped. Neecie jerked clothes out of her suitcase and marched them to the closet where she haphazardly hung them. More clothes lay strewn over the bed, along with shoes, scarves, and bottles of what he assumed to be beauty items. Her hair was a halo of curls around her head. The wild mass in all its glory made him itch to touch it.
He itched to touch her. Licking his lips, he took in the round curve of her ass in a pair of tiny grey pajama shorts. Each stomp across the room made her perfect tits bounce beneath the matching long sleeved top. She dropped one of her shirts on the floor and bent over to pick it up, revealing a glimpse of her behind. His cock jumped to attention.
She picked up the shirt and reached for a hanger only to drop it again. “Dammit! Now I’m fat and clumsy.”
That broke him from his thoughts. “What did you say?” Kareem stepped into the room and slammed the door.
She sucked in a breath and spun around. “How long have you been standing there?” she asked in a breathless voice.
“Long enough to hear you say something crazy.” He crossed the room to stand on one side of the bed. “You can’t possibly think you’re fat?”
Her shoulders slumped and she came over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I was being sarcastic.”
“To who?”
“Myself.” She made no sense to him, and his confusion must have shown. “I’m not the same size I was when I left five years ago. The two dresses my mom got for me don’t fit.”
“Did she call you fat?” As if he needed another reason to dislike this family.
Neecie waved a hand and shook her head. “No. Not directly. She was very ... surprised to discover I’ve gone up a few dress sizes.”
“What size do you wear?”
She blinked several times and leaned back. “Excuse me? You don’t ask a woman her dress size.”
“I do when the woman’s complaining about it. What’s your size? Because from where I’m standing …” He let his gaze drift over the smooth expanse of brown skin along her thigh on the bed. “There’s nothing wrong with your size. I think half the men in the shop would agree with that.”
She averted her eyes, her sunshine smile peeking out. “Guys like booty, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to fit into a dress.”
She stood and walked back to the closet. He eyed her booty. He’d prefer to see her ass in those sexy shorts over a dress any day.
“Besides, I know I’m not fat, and I’m not freaking out over my dress size.” She took a hanger and put the shirt on the handles. Her hand hesitated as she put the hanger back on the rack.<
br />
“You used to.” It wasn’t a question; he could hear the discomfort in her voice.
“All through high school and college I was a cheerleader and dancer. You know, those good activities for well brought up young ladies.”
“I don’t know.” Kareem sat on the edge of the bed and slid aside a pile of her clothes. “I remember the cheerleaders in my high school and what happened on the back of the bus during away games. If I were ever crazy enough to have a daughter, she’d play chess.”
Neecie’s bright laughter filled the room, sending that need to belong through his chest. A comic he was not, but he’d love to make her laugh again.
She came back over and sat on the opposite side of bed. “Okay, not all cheerleaders were freaky on the back of the bus. Besides I was in private school.”
“Private school girls were the worst. They were always looking for a bad boy.”
“And were you willing to play the bad boy?”
“I was sixteen and drunk on my own hormones. Hell yes, I played the bad boy.”
That got another laugh out of her and a smile out of him. When her laughter died down, she gave him a warm glance.
“You should smile more,” she said.
“I never had a reason to smile before.” Until her. He saw the look of pity on her face and moved on. “So, you were a dancer and cheerleader. Did that make you obsessed with your weight?”
“That was only part of my obsession to be perfect. I was head cheerleader, had the lead in the school ballet, a 4.3 grade point average, and was elected student body president. And that was just high school.” He cringed, and she chuckled. “College was a repeat of the same, except dancing was replaced with sorority activities. Everyone told me I had this perfect life … and don’t get me wrong, my life was far from terrible. I let myself get caught up in the hype. My life was perfect, my family was perfect, I needed to be perfect.” She slapped her hip and gave him a small smile. “Extra curves … not perfect.”
“Maybe in your circles, but in mine, a girl with curves like yours would have gotten all of the guys’ attention.” She definitely had his.
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