by EM BROWN
“Is your attorney a man by the name of Murray Jones?” she asked, her voice quivering slightly.
“I have a lot of attorneys,” he answered. “He’s one of them. Why?”
She glanced at Eumie before returning her gaze to him.
Her bottom lip trembled. Her eyes narrowed. “So it’s true. It was you.”
He looked at Eumie. Had Eumie told Kimani about his acquisition of the Tribune? But how would Eumie have known? He suddenly remembered their last night together: he had left his bathroom door open, Eumie was showering, and...shit.
Sensing a storm, Eumie decided to seek safer grounds. “I should go see if Aunt Alice is ready. We’re going to see a movie. The new one by—well, I should check on her.”
He barely noticed Eumie leaving. His gaze was on Kimani, and the emotion on her face was like a knife to his gut.
“Why—” he began.
“I don’t know why I didn’t... Jesus, I can’t believe you would do such a thing!” Kimani exploded.
Before he jumped to conclusions, he asked in a steady voice, though his pulse had quickened, “What are you referring to?”
“You! You bought the Tribune and shut it down.”
She stared at him as if challenging him to deny it.
“I did,” he acknowledged.
“That—that’s so wrong!”
“What was wrong was the Tribune running that article suggesting the independent expenditure was connected to Uncle Gordon.”
“Okay, that article was premature, but it contained only facts. In a way, the IE was connected to your uncle through you.”
“I removed myself from the IE before it was officially formed. The way those ‘facts’ in that article were laid out made it seem Uncle Gordon and I were doing something unlawful. And you know that.”
“That’s no reason to shut down a good paper—out of revenge.”
“I’m trying to protect Uncle Gordon. That piece you’re working on now about him—”
“It’s supposed to help Gordon! My editor wasn’t even sure he wanted to run it because it wasn’t hard-hitting enough.”
“How can you be sure that the article will be favorable? What if you guys end up doing more damage?”
“So you’re going to try to control the press?”
“If you’re upset about losing your job, I’ll—”
“It’s not just about me! You put a lot of good people out of work.”
“What do you want? A larger severance for everyone?”
“Look, I don’t know what it’s like in China, but a free press is vital to democracy. And it’s getting harder and harder for quality journalism to survive.”
“Frankly, that’s not my problem.”
Shit. He shouldn’t have said that.
She stared at him in silence, her chest rising and falling with large breaths.
He drew in his own breath to lower his blood pressure. “I’ll extend the salaries of everyone—”
“You can do that, but I’m not going to take your money. I don’t want your money.”
She grabbed papers off the printer and stuffed them into her handbag.
Fuck. She was pissed. He didn’t want her upset, but his own anger hadn’t dissipated.
“Kimani, I’m sorry that—”
She shook her head as she shouldered her handbag. “I don’t want to hear it.”
She started walking out of the headquarters. He matched her quick strides. “What I did...you might have considered doing the same if you were in my place.”
She glared at him. “No, I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t have shut down a legitimate newspaper just because I could. I wouldn’t have paid two hundred thousand dollars to have sex with someone for a week. Just because you can doesn’t mean you should!”
He grabbed her arm and stopped her. “Would you rather I’d left you with Jake Whitehurst?”
“That wasn’t the point I was making.”
She yanked herself free and was out the door. Exactly where she was headed, he couldn’t tell.
“The point you’re making is that you’re a better person,” he said. “Fine. I won’t deny I’m an asshole, but all’s fair in love and war, love.”
“That is a bogus cliché to excuse men from playing less than fair.”
“Fair? You want to talk fair? How is an FPPC investigation into an innocent man fair?”
She pursed her lips. “I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry in so many ways, there’s probably not enough ways for me to say it. So I guess we’re even now.”
They were in front of a bus stop.
“I’ll take you home,” he said.
“I don’t want you to take me home.”
She looked down the street. There was no bus in sight. Spotting a man standing next to his car, she hurried toward him. “Excuse me, sir, would you mind giving me a lift?”
Bill glanced at Ben, clearly taken by surprise. “Well, um...”
“I’ll pay you fifty bucks,” she offered.
“You don’t need a ride,” Ben intervened. “Bataar can—”
She whirled around to face him. “I don’t want a ride from you. I don’t want to be with you right now!”
“So you’re going to get a ride from a total stranger?” he demanded.
“I’ve got my cellphone, I’ll be fine,” she responded through gritted teeth. “And, frankly, I’m not your problem.”
Without waiting for Bill to respond, she opened the passenger door and hopped in. Bill looked awkwardly at Ben but fished out his keys.
Fuck! He didn’t want to let her go, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to convince her to stay. Maybe she would be better off with some time and distance to cool off. He gave Bill a nod.
Bill got in the car. “Where do you need to go, miss?”
Ben watched them drive away. He could total a car right now. Drive his fist into a streetlight. Instead, he only stood on the sidewalk as conflicting emotions raged inside him. Part of him was tormented by her anger and dismay and only wanted to make things right for her. Another part of him was incensed that she couldn’t see his side of things. Sure, saying that the shutdown of her newspaper wasn’t his problem sounded harsh, but it was the truth. And the Tribune wouldn’t have lasted long anyway.
But knowing that didn’t make him feel better.
Turning around, he walked back toward his car. Bataar, leaning against the Porsche and soaking in the warm California sun, straightened. Seeing that his boss was unhappy, Bataar didn’t say a word. It was one of the better qualities in men. A woman would pounce with questions like “What’s wrong?” and “Is everything okay?”
It was fucking obvious that things were far from okay. And he hadn’t even had the chance to ask Kimani about the football game.
Chapter Nineteen
Kimani hit the decline button on her cell when Ben’s number came up. How many times had she tried calling him? Now the shoe was on the other foot. She didn’t refuse his calls because she was into payback. She didn’t want to talk to him because she was too heartbroken. In a way, the closure of the Tribune was her fault. If she had never told Sam about that text that led to the article that led to Ben’s anger, the Tribune might still be up and running.
She looked herself over in the mirror to make sure she looked good in her slim trouser pants, blouse and blazer. A local lifestyle magazine was looking for a part-time writer, and though the job included some marketing duties and was far from ideal, Kimani wanted work. She could keep herself busy with Gordon’s campaign, but the more she worked for Gordon, the more she increased her chances of running into Ben.
She noticed he hadn’t left a voicemail this time. His previous two messages had been short, mostly asking her to call him back. A part of her was surprised he bothered calling her...as if he cared.
After seeing that her hair was in order and noticing that the taxi cab was outside, she grabbed her cell, handbag and portfolio. Stepping out of her house, she nearly jumped out
of her skin.
“Jesus! What are you doing here?” she asked Ben.
He stood within arm’s reach of her, looking amazingly sexy in a simply slim-fit Henley and jeans. He wore the Louis Vuitton sunglasses he had let her borrow while on Jake’s boat.
“You wouldn’t pick up my calls,” he explained.
“I didn’t feel like talking to you,” she replied and made a move to indicate she wanted to pass.
He didn’t budge.
“Kimani, I’m sorry.”
She took in a deep breath. He sounded sincere, and she rather suspected that apologies were not something he said often. But was it enough to absolve him of what he had done?
“I’ve already told Murray to increase the severance package for everyone,” he continued. “It’ll be a sliding scale after three months, but you’ll have up to six months of pay with full health benefits.”
“That’s very generous, Ben, but you can’t buy your way into everything.”
He seemed taken aback. “Do you know that when I bought the Tribune, the owners weren’t going to keep it open past three months? Now you get full pay without even having to go to work.”
“And if the Tribune wasn’t struggling? Would you still have purchased it?”
“Yes.”
“All because of that one article we ran?”
“That article could cost him the election in the end. I need to make it right for Uncle Gordon.”
Hearing the pain in his voice, a part of her wanted to comfort him, to tell him that it wasn’t his fault. But she wasn’t ready to forgive him.
“Does your uncle know what you did?” she asked him.
“No. I haven’t told him because he doesn’t have to know.”
“And because he wouldn’t have approved of what you’re doing!”
“I would have done what I did with or without Uncle Gordon’s approval.”
Kimani shook her head and tried to walk past him, but he caught her by the arm.
“Kimani, I’m sorry that you don’t have a job at the Tribune anymore. If there’s anything I can—”
“Oh, no, you’ve done enough. In fact, I have an interview to get to. So unless you want to make me late...”
Reluctantly, he let her go. “I’ll give you a ride to your interview.”
“I don’t want a ride or anything else from you.”
The words came out more sharply than she intended, but she was able to walk away and get into the taxi. After telling the driver her destination, she settled back into the seat and almost felt like crying. Had she done the right thing? Should she have been more forgiving? Did it matter?
The questions occupied her right up to the interview, which didn’t go as well as Kimani would have liked, so she wasn’t surprised when the magazine called her the next day and told her they were going to go with someone else.
THE REST OF THE WEEK, Kimani channeled her anger and misery into organizing the community event for Gordon. She had sent press releases to the media, gotten local grocery stores to donate bottled water, and coordinated with Gordon’s campaign staff to supply snacks and volunteers to take donations. The event was looking good.
She only hoped that Ben didn’t show up. Surely he had better things to do, and given how things had ended between them last, he might not want to see her either.
A part of her felt bad about the way she’d reacted. He was trying to protect his uncle, and she tried to imagine if she might, as he’d suggested, do the same, were she in his shoes. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t imagine shutting down a paper for personal interests. A newspaper wasn’t just a source of information, it was a seeker of truth, a light to shine on the best and worst in the world, and a voice for those who otherwise might go unheard.
But he had a right to be suspicious of the Tribune, given what had happened...
Kimani blew out a large breath as she tried to focus on the event. She wanted to arrive early to help with setup.
“It’s game day, Kimani,” she told her reflection in the hallway mirror. She had worn her hair in a double French braid and was dressed in sweats in case she decided to shoot a few hoops herself.
“Good luck with your event,” Marissa said. “I wish I didn’t have to work so that I could come and help you out.”
“I’ll be fine, but thanks. I’ll see you later,” Kimani returned as she left the house with a large gym bag of basketballs draped over her shoulder.
Stepping out—she froze.
But it wasn’t Ben this time. Across the street stood a tall, beefy guy she recognized as Vince, Jake’s bodyguard, or something like that. He was leaning against a wall, a cigarette sticking from his mouth, casually watching her.
She hadn’t thought to include him in the restraining order. Is that how Jake was going to try to intimidate her from now on?
She stared at Vince, whose lips curled in a small smile. She fished out her cellphone and took a picture of him, proof that she needed a restraining order on him, too. He seemed startled and walked away.
It wasn’t a damn coincidence that he was there. Despite her best efforts to shake it off, she couldn’t help but be unnerved.
Don’t let that asshole get the better of you.
Taking a deep breath, she focused on getting herself to East Oakland. She was the first one on site, but a number of volunteers from Gordon’s campaign showed up shortly after. They set up tables, the refreshments, and PA system.
“This was such a great idea,” Gordon said to Kimani after he had arrived. “I’d love to do more events like this.”
“I’m happy to help out,” Kimani said.
Her mood had improved since arriving. The weather couldn’t be nicer for a mild, sunny autumn day. The turnout was looking good, and kids were already having fun playing ball.
“You plan on playing any ball, Mr. Lee?” she asked playfully.
“I can try,” he answered. “It should be good for a laugh or two. But I’ll probably leave the ball playing to Ben.”
Kimani’s breath lodged in her throat. “Is he, uh, coming?”
“I don’t know. I mentioned the event to him in passing, and he sounded surprised. I guess I had assumed he knew about it.”
She cleared her throat but didn’t respond directly to that. Instead, she asked, “All set to kick off the event?”
Microphone in hand, Gordon welcomed everyone and thanked the volunteers and the nonprofit organization.
“And I would especially like to thank Kimani Taylor, who had the idea for this event and who organized it almost single-handedly,” he said. He gestured for her to join him. “Let’s all give her a great big thank you.”
She waved at the crowd as they applauded.
Gordon went on to talk about what the event meant for him and the neighborhood, what he believed needed to be done differently in City Hall to better address the needs of the community, and what values he and his campaign stood for. He kept his remarks brief so that they could get on with the fun parts of the event. Kimani had gotten an old friend from high school to provide some music, and Maybelle showed up with barbecue, beans, and collard greens.
Halfway into the event, they had raised five hundred dollars.
“I made a call to the East Bay Neighborhoods Foundation,” Gordon said to Kimani, “and the Executive Director there agreed to match the donations we’ve collected today dollar for dollar.”
“That’s wonderful!” she exclaimed.
A television reporter interrupted to ask if she could interview Gordon.
“You really ought to be interviewing this extraordinary young woman,” he said. “She put it all together.”
But Kimani didn’t want the limelight. “All I’m going to say is that Gordon inspired me to want to do this.”
And before the reporter could say anything, Kimani trotted off. She went to check on the basketballs. Two of them seemed kind of flat, so she pulled out a pump.
“You playing?”
She bobbled the p
ump and nearly dropped it. Jesus, would she ever get to a point where Ben’s appearance didn’t totally discombobulated her?
“Maybe later,” she answered. Her spirits were high, and she didn’t want to be angry at anyone at the moment, especially Ben.
He picked up one of the balls and dribbled it. Finding it had a lackluster bounce, he took the pump. She watched him as he filled the ball with more air. He didn’t seem angry with her.
“How about a little one-on-one?” he asked.
She remembered the last time they had played ball together. She had ended up on top of him, and there wasn’t much ball playing after that. Actually, they never got back to playing ball at all.
“I’ve got to make sure the event runs smoothly.”
“What’s the purpose of this event?”
“Provide Gordon some good PR and raise some money to fix up these courts.”
Ben looked over to the reporter still talking to his uncle. “I’d say your first goal has been accomplished. How much have you raised so far?”
“With the matching grant that your uncle secured, we’ll probably be close to a thousand.”
“You’ll want more than a thousand.”
“This is a grassroots community event. Most of these folks don’t have a ton of spare cash lying around, even for the worthiest causes.”
“These courts need more than a little repair work.”
She raised her chin. “Have you had a chance to donate yet?”
“I’ll play you for it.”
Oh no. He had that look. Like he was going to have her for supper.
“What do you mean?”
“You win, I make out a check for five thousand dollars. I win, I get you.”
Her throat went dry. “What?”
“I didn’t get the full week I paid for. You owe me three days.”
Her legs grew weak, but she threw back her shoulders. Even if she was scared on the inside, she wasn’t going to show it. “Take that up with Jake. Your deal was with him, not me.”
“Too chicken to take me on?”
Her jaw dropped, but she returned his challenge. “You’re not going to make a donation out of the goodness of your heart—at an event your own uncle is hosting?”