by Zuri Day
“Come on, now. You know I never met a sport that I didn’t like.”
“You never met a woman you didn’t like either.”
“Aw, man. You wound me. I have very discriminating taste. But Shayna Washington is the real deal; on a good day she’s the fastest running female in this country.”
“Sounds like a winner, my brother. But I still don’t understand why she’s going to your home instead of meeting you at the office.”
“I thought it might help to loosen her up, have a more casual meeting. When she signed, her lawyer did most of the talking. Other times we’ve met, she’s answered my questions, but not much more than that. If I’m going to rep her, I need to get to know her; I need us to develop a camaraderie and trust. Plus, you know how the tabloids have been on me, ever since that last situation.”
“All the more reason not to have her at your house!”
“That’s just it. I spot them in or near the office almost every day and that’s cool, because security is so on point. But so far my residence is still off their radar.”
The downtown-LA skyscraper that housed the Morgan Sports Management offices boasted a very efficient and loyal security staff. And chances were that since it was Friday night, he could have suggested this penthouse spread with its 360-degree panoramic views and contemporary furnishings for their meeting. But he liked to play his cards close to his chest. The competition would know soon enough that he’d just landed the next track star sensation. This was what he told his brother.
“I guess I’ll have to roll solo then,” Gregory said.
“Look, if the meeting wraps up early I might join y’all for a drink. But if you have to take them both on, I’m sure that will be no problem for you.”
“Ha! No, that’s more Troy’s style.”
“Maybe,” Michael retorted to the comment about their baby brother. “But it’s probably been so long since you’ve had any that you need a double dose.”
“Mind your business, brother. The freak days are long behind me, and believe it or not, I’ve been thinking more lately about meeting that special woman and settling down.”
“Will you please tell Mama that so she’ll get off my back?”
Gregory laughed. “Better you than me. Look, I probably should let you go. I’ll take the twins to dinner, maybe even follow them to the latest Hollywood hot spot. I’ll send you a text on where we’re headed so you can maybe join us later. I’ve never known a woman who made you afraid.”
“Please. You know better than that.” A pause and then, “I’ll join you.”
“That sounds cool. Until then, have a good time with this new honey.”
“Shayna is my newest client. Period. End of story.” When the screaming silence transmitted his brother’s skepticism, Michael continued. “You just told me I needed to hone my juggling skills. With that being so, do you think I’d be adding yet another player to the roster? Don’t get me wrong, though. She is one fine specimen of a female.”
“Speaking of fine females, remind me to tell you about Troy’s latest situation. That boy’s a trip.” The youngest Morgan was a bigger playboy than Michael and Gregory combined: a fact on which all three brothers agreed.
“You met her?” Michael’s eyes never left the big screen. He smiled as Shayna crossed the finish line a full two strides ahead of the second-place winner.
“Not exactly. Stopped at the Ritz for breakfast and saw them cross the lobby. They were on their way out of the hotel.”
“How did she look?”
“Very happy,” was Gregory’s deadpan reply.
Michael laughed. “Sounds like young bro is doing his thing. And speaking of, I need to get back to doing mine.” After again promising Gregory to meet him and the twins, Michael ended the call and got back down to work. Reaching for his beer before leaning back against his plush, custom-made, tan leather couch, he forwarded the Washington DVD to an interview she’d recently done on ESPN. While a bit timid for his liking, she was poised and well-spoken. Further, a certain kind of fire burned in her bright brown eyes tinged with hazel. For a split second, Michael wondered what it would be like to stoke her flame. He discarded the idea just as quickly. He would never again date a client. Ever. This lesson had been learned the hard way, when a determined baller with the LA Sparks had refused to accept that their passionate yet short-lived love affair was over. Just like Cheryl. He’d finally had to file a restraining order and she’d tried her best to sully his name. Dang, is Cheryl going to make me have to do that again? Thanks to his baby brother Troy’s top-rate investigative skills, the near-smear campaign barely got off the ground before it was extinguished. Instead, the security firm owner had pulled in a couple favors and the former female phenomenon had been convinced—in an intellectual rather than forceful way—that damaging the Morgan name was not in her best interests. Last he heard, she’d moved to Denver and was dating a Bronco. Ride on, b-baller, ride on.
Michael leaned forward once again as images from Shayna attending last year’s ESPY awards filled up the screen. She’d looked gorgeous that night: tight red dress on her stacked chocolate body, five-inch heels, and spiky short hair that highlighted her perfect facial features. Unlike many female track stars with strenuous workouts, Shayna’s chest was not flat. She still had her girls and they were perched against the low-cut dress in a way that almost made Michael’s mouth water. Never again, Michael thought, even as his mind conjured up his mouth and Shayna’s breasts in an up-close and personal get-to-know. This meeting is strictly business. He placed his legs apart and adjusted a rapidly hardening Mr. Big, repeating the words aloud this time. “Strictly business.” And then he worked very hard to believe them.
Yeah, right. Good luck with that.
3
Shayna eased off the gas as she reached the light at the famous intersection of Hollywood and Vine. She focused on the crowd of people crossing the street: obvious and not so obvious tourists blending with the obvious and not so obvious homeless, skateboarding teens, and harried businessmen, and a sidewalk preacher holding up a sign reading: JOHN 3:16. Glad for the diversion, Shayna silently mouthed the crudely written words: FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON, THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH IN HIM SHALL—
The blaring horn from the car behind her propelled Shayna into action. Switching from brake to gas pedal, she looked into the rearview mirror and threw up an apologetic hand in the process.
What—or more specifically, who—she thought she saw behind the car that had blared the horn sidetracked her once again. Screeching brakes and another long horn blare, this one accompanied by curse words, filled the air as the SUV changed lanes to pass her, holding up the universal digital symbol to underscore his displeasure.
Yeah, buddy, I feel you. After everything Shayna had gone through in the past month, it was a wonder that her attitude wasn’t eff it all! But having that outlook would have been shortsighted because Shayna had things to be thankful for. Yes, even though her ex-personal-trainer-slash-former-classmate-slash-former-best-friend had turned into a playa-playa-play-on-slash-harassing-fool-who’d-lost-his-mind and turned her world upside down. But on the flip side, life was calmer since she’d paid a personal visit to his mother and pleaded her case, and his mother had told him to leave her the hell alone. Thank God that saga was over. Wasn’t it? Then why was her heart in her throat because of what she could have sworn she’d seen in her rearview mirror. A shiny black Beamer belonging to . . .
Calm down, Shayna. How would he know you’re in Hollywood, and why would he follow you even if he did? Dude is many things, but a stalker isn’t one of them. Girl, there are thousands of black Beamers in southern LA. Millions, no doubt. It was likely that a fair percentage of said black Beamers were driven by dark-skinned black men with squinty eyes and short hair. And what was that about everyone having a twin? Yeah, that’s it. Her crazy ex’s worldwide twin just happened to be on Hollywood Boulevard, just behind the impatient SUV whose driver
had performed a flip-the-bird drive-by.
Then again, she could have been hallucinating because now, despite glances into the mirror every nanosecond or so, not only did she not see a black Beamer, she seemed not to be able to find any Beamer of any color anywhere. She was tripping, plain and simple. What other explanation could there be?
The GPS instructed Shayna to make a left at the next corner. She switched lanes and also changed thoughts, from exes who might stalk her to the saint who would save her: Michael Morgan, the hotshot sports manager for whom she had just two words.
Day-yum!
She fought the thoughts that assailed her as she expertly navigated the curved, narrow streets leading to his place in the Hollywood Hills. Not too far from the Hollywood sign, he’d told her. Better to think of the house than the man inside it. It would do her no good to let her imagination run wild, as she had from time to time since being approached by Michael’s assistant and having the “my people will call your people” convo before the first face to face meeting. Having done her homework, she was totally prepared for his confident presentation and astute knowledge of her storied career. Googling his image had even steadied her for his classic good looks. What had thrown her when she’d actually met him was the raw masculinity, the steaming sexuality that fairly radiated from his body and, more importantly, her body’s reaction to it. Her attorney had handled the bulk of the conversation during that and subsequent meetings. She’d played it cool and calm when she was actually hot and bothered. Her mind had been focused on simply remembering to breathe and trying to appear unaffected when she was anything but. Thank goodness that was all behind her. According to her roommate-slash-busybody-slash-good friend Talisha, Michael Morgan and his brothers were notorious womanizers who fancied exotically beautiful women with long hair and even longer pedigrees. Now that she knew this truth, there was nothing for her to worry about. He wouldn’t come on to her and she most definitely was not going to flirt with him. Just thinking of the last tidbit her roommate had shared, about Michael and his brother Gregory having famously dated twins at one time or another, maybe even swapping and/or sharing them, made her stomach roil. This information nipped all romantic attraction and fanciful imaginings in the bud. Granted, adults were free to do what they wanted but from Shayna’s point of view, some things were just plain nasty!
Then why is your kundalini still tingling when you think about him? Because in spite of what she’d heard about him, there was something about Michael that she liked. He’d not only been the perfect gentleman during their meeting, but a very astute and intelligent one as well. She’d been more than a little impressed.
But she’d give Halle Berry, Whoopi Goldberg, Hattie McDaniel, and Octavia Spencer a run for their Academy Award–winning money before Michael would ever know how she really felt.
As if on cue her cell phone vibrated, reminding her of why she’d never cross the line when it came to her relationship with Michael Morgan. It was hard enough to end a strictly romantic liaison, let alone the kind she’d had with her ex, one with history and professional career and other strings attached. She reached over and silenced the phone. Within seconds, the vibration returned.
Looks like my mama-reprieve is over. Her ex was back to blowing up her cell.
Shayna almost grimaced as she ignored yet another call. Please get a life and leave mine alone. Talking with his mother now seems to have only been a temporary deterrent, and calling her mother was absolutely useless. Not only did Shayna’s mother, Beverly Powell, view Shayna’s ex as a son, but Shayna’s ex was now also her brother-in-law. Confused much? Then you know how Shayna felt when she received the mind-altering and life-changing news: that her forty-three-year-old mother had married her ex’s thirty-two-year-old brother. By this time, Shayna’s relationship with her off-and-on boyfriend often years was more off than on, and when she’d ended things for good a few months back, her mother’s situation had thrown a serious hitch in the breakup giddyup. Shayna realized she was frowning and tried to relax. Hard to do when her mother was such a trip. Why’d she have to go and make things so complicated?
“Your destination is on the right.”
Shayna gave a silent thank you to her GPS genie. If not for the advanced technological device, she’d have had no idea that this was in fact her destination or even that a house lay beyond what looked like a tropical jungle. She pulled into the driveway where more of the yard was visible. Large palm trees anchored an ivy-covered fence and just beyond that was a water feature and a profusion of exotic flowers, though bird of paradise was the only one that Shayna recognized. A curved, cobblestone walkway could be seen beyond the wrought-iron gate with steps hinting that more beauty lay beyond what her eye could presently see.
Impressive.
For the first time since the celebratory toast with her attorney, Shayna allowed herself to get just a little bit excited. Until now, she’d held on to her glee. Why? Because for Shayna Washington, life had had a way of showing her that not only was all that glittered not gold, but that what often held the dazzle of a ten-carat diamond was actually some cubic zirconium madness. How excited had she been when her former best-friend-slash-PT-slash-boyfriend had told her about an iron-clad, no-risk, pinky-promise-really-I-mean-it investment where she could double the twenty-five thousand dollars—her life savings—in six months and they could move in to the condo she wanted.
Very excited.
So much so that when the money disappeared two months later she still moved her now penniless but still credit-score-strong foolish self into a rental apartment with the man who’d squandered her life savings. “More money’s coming, baby,” was his mantra for months, as the bills mounted and the rent, when paid, was usually late. Then came the wake up call: returning from a track meet to see a yellow-noted greeting from the sheriff ’s department. Congratulations on your gold medal. You’ve got forty-eight hours to get the bump out. Okay, she’d imagined the congratulations part, but the eviction notice had been all too real. Thank God for her USC college buds, track mates, and good friends Talisha and Brittney. They’d moved her into their place without one I-told-you-so. Though both of them had. Many times. And when their lease was up shortly thereafter they’d suggested getting a place large enough for the three of them. That was the Culver City apartment where Shayna now lived. Their friendship and unwavering support had given her the courage to finally kick her first love to the curb for good, and to put up a permanent roadblock to her heart.
Like now, as she ignored the phone that vibrated for the third time in less than three minutes. She’d known her ex for more than half her life and while he’d acted crazy before, it had never been like this. What’s up with dude?
Determined to focus on her future instead of her past, Shayna took a deep breath, a last look in the mirror, and stepped out of her pride and joy, the top of the line Hyundai that was a part of her last winner’s package. It was one of the few “luxuries” that remained of the past two years’ modest yet ever-increasing success. Okay. Admit it. You are excited about this partnership with that manly mass of muscles masquerading as Michael Morgan. As she unlatched the gate and walked through the Garden of Eden that was her newly acquired sports manager’s front yard, Shayna reminded herself to keep this shred of excitement under wraps. She rang the doorbell at the same time her phone vibrated. Again. No problem with dialing down her thrill meter. Her ex was making sure that she ix-nay the green light that beckoned her to a fling with Michael Morgan, and keep her eyes firmly on the caution light that was flashing business only.
4
“Shayna the Sprintress!” Michael smiled broadly as he stepped outside his door.
“Ha! Sprint what?” Michael’s wacky-sounding comment dissipated the churning sensation that returned full force as soon as Shayna saw him—the sensation she’d relaxed on her slow walk to the door, when she’d felt nerves similar to those experienced before a race. She’d pulled in a deep breath through her nose and released it thro
ugh her mouth. She’d felt better, even as she noticed and appreciated the beauty and quiet sanctity of the front yard garden, the Buddha statue welcoming those who followed the cobblestone walkway to the side of the house, and the water feature that spilled into a koi-filled pond. Now just seconds into seeing him again and that sexy smile was stirring up nerves once more. And not just in her stomach either. No, action or rather the desire for action was working on a whole other set of nerves in a whole other area. Later for that, Shayna. Focus!
“Sprintress,” Michael repeated, after giving Shayna a brief hug. He casually took her hand and guided her inside his perfectly appointed home. “The next California Angels Track Team Superstar.”
One of those touchy-feely affectionate kind, Shayna thought, forcing herself not to jerk her hand from his. He’d been this way during their other two meetings—too ready to touch her with an innocent enough hand on her arm or around her shoulder as she’d left his office the last time. “What’s does that mean?” she asked, determined to keep her mind on what she was there for, and remembering that she wasn’t there for him to touch this or feel that.
“You know, like countess or highness. You’re going to be part of track world royalty, so hey . . . I’m thinking sprintress is a cool moniker.”
Shayna’s expression was dubious as she looked around. “I don’t know about that.” She was pleasantly surprised to see that Michael’s home was not the stereotypical bachelor pad; no black leather, fur rugs, or stacked dirty dishes anywhere. Instead there were manly yet muted tones of browns and blues, navy mostly, contrasted with silver (or was it platinum?) fixtures, light bamboo flooring, and splashes of color courtesy of pricey art hung in strategic places. But the hands-down showstopper was the view of the backyard just beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass that made up the entire back wall, where the most luxuriously styled pool that she’d ever seen in real life commanded center stage. There was foliage, furniture, and a sunken fire pit that looked warm and inviting, and the typical sterile-looking concrete that surrounded most backyard pools was nowhere in sight. A large fountain sprayed water between the pool and the spa, and the turquoise-colored water made her want to jump in. The man beside her reeking of sex appeal made her want to jump in there with him. Naked.