by Naomi Chase
Brandon remained silent, refusing to give Dominic the satisfaction of knowing that he was getting under his skin.
But Dominic was determined to provoke him.
“I’m feeling generous this afternoon, so I’ll let you in on a little secret.” He propped his elbows on the table and leaned toward Brandon, lowering his voice as he confided, “Once when I was hitting it from the back, bruh, she called out your name.”
Brandon swallowed hard. The surge of satisfaction he felt was quickly obliterated as his mind conjured images of Dominic and Tamia fucking doggy style.
“Yup,” Dominic continued humorously. “Fucked me up when she did that. You know I couldn’t let her get away with it, right? No, sir. Not me. So you know what I did? I wore the hell outta that pussy, and you’d best believe she never did that shit again.”
Brandon glanced toward the closed door, wondering how much damage he could inflict on Dominic before the guard posted outside came rushing into the room.
That’s when he knew it was time for him to go.
“Listen, asshole,” he snarled, leaning toward Dominic. “I didn’t come here to compare notes on who was better at banging Tamia. I let you get to me last night, but as much as I enjoyed fucking you up, I don’t want my father’s campaign to suffer behind my actions. Call off the press conference tomorrow and drop the damn lawsuit.”
“Or what?” Dominic challenged.
“Don’t play with me, motherfucker. I already told you I ain’t the one. We’re both businessmen, so I’m prepared to offer you something in return for your cooperation. But my offer’s only good for a limited time. Once I walk out that door, it’s on, and let the chips fall where they may.”
Dominic glared balefully at him. “Tell Tamia to drop the charges against me.”
“Hell, no. You disobeyed a direct order from the judge when you decided to roll up on Tamia last night, so you’re gonna have to take your chances at the hearing tomorrow. If you’re lucky, the judge will release you on bail and give you probation since it’s your first offense. Quite frankly, I hope he locks your ass up and throws away the key. But that’s just me. Name something else you want.”
Dominic looked disgruntled. “I want my assets unfrozen so that I can continue sending money home to my family.”
It was the first trace of humanity the man had ever shown, and it caught Brandon by surprise. “That’s what you want?”
“Yeah.”
“All right,” Brandon said slowly. “I might be able to help you with that.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
“That’d be great,” Dominic muttered, looking both relieved and embarrassed at having to ask Brandon for help. “My grandfather passed away last week. I hated like hell that I wasn’t able to fly home and pay my respects to the man who practically raised me. Things have been really rough for my mother and grandmother, and the added funeral expenses didn’t help. If there was any way for me to send them enough money to tide them over for a while, I’d appreciate it.”
Brandon considered his adversary for a long moment. Dominic looked and sounded so sincere, he knew that the brotha was on the level.
“I’m sure the judge who froze your assets could be persuaded to set up an escrow account for your family,” he proposed.
Dominic eyed him with grudging respect and awe. “You could really do that, couldn’t you? Even though the police have me in their crosshairs, you could call in a favor and get the judge to set up that account for me.”
“That’s right.” Brandon paused. “As long as you understand that the funds would only be available to your family, not you.”
“I understand.”
“Good.” Brandon regarded him a moment longer, then shoved back his chair and rose from the table. “I’ll be in touch.”
Dominic nodded.
Brandon strode to the door and knocked, alerting the guard posted outside that his visit was over.
As the door opened, Dominic called out quietly, “Chambers.”
Brandon glanced over his shoulder.
Dominic met his gaze. “It was never personal.”
A cold, sardonic smile lifted the corners of Brandon’s mouth. “It’s always personal when you fuck another man’s woman.”
And with that, he turned and walked out.
Chapter 27
Fiona
Fiona rocked back and forth on the rickety porch swing, watching as rain fell from the night sky like glass-bead curtains. Because the inclement weather had chased her neighbors indoors like rats scurrying from light, the street was empty, and the old shotgun houses had an air of desolation.
Fiona took a deep drag on her blunt and exhaled, sending soft clouds of smoke floating toward the wet sky.
Ever since Tamia moved out, she’d been entertaining the idea of selling the house and striking out for greener pastures. God knows she made more than enough money now to afford a nicer place. Maybe she could move somewhere downtown that was close enough to Tamia to piss her off but not close enough to make Fiona seem like a stalker.
She scowled to herself. This was a free country. So there was nothing to stop her from packing up the house and moving on, just as her sister had done.
But this was the only home Fiona had ever known. Every time she pondered leaving, she was gripped by a sense of panic that immobilized her. So she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.
Toking on her blunt, Fiona opened the old photo album she’d brought outside. On the first page were pictures of her as an adorable, chubby-cheeked baby with a head full of curly hair.
She began turning the pages, smiling nostalgically at images of herself nestled in her beautiful mother’s arms, or propped up on Tamia’s lap as they both beamed into the camera.
Her throat tightened painfully at a photo of Mama Esther. She was flanked by Tamia and Fiona, their small hands tucked into each of hers as they stood outside the house one Easter morning, dressed in their Sunday best.
As guilt assailed Fiona, she quickly turned the page.
When she came to a photo of her father, she froze.
Sonny Powell leaned proudly against a gleaming black Iroc-Z—a car he’d never admitted stealing, though everyone knew he had. He was a tall, good-looking man with a charming smile that seduced while masking a violent temper that made category five hurricanes look like child’s play.
Fiona stared at Sonny’s picture as she toked agitatedly on her blunt. The smoke that filled her mouth suddenly tasted as bitter as if she’d just inhaled ashes. She swallowed hard, then ran trembling fingers over her father’s smiling image.
She’d hated and feared him.
Loved and revered him.
But she’d spent one too many afternoons sitting on the porch steps, waiting for him to show up and take her to all the exciting places he’d promised. But he never had. And with each broken promise, her love had grown dimmer and dimmer, slowly evolving into a cold, seething hatred that would eventually consume her.
Suddenly her cell phone rang, interrupting her reverie.
Swiping tears from her eyes, Fiona snatched the phone off the porch swing and answered, “Hello?”
There was no answer.
“Hello?” she repeated impatiently.
Silence.
A fine chill ran through her. Nervously she glanced up and down the dark, rain-washed street.
“Hello?” she croaked into the phone. “Is someone there?”
Still no answer.
Just as she was about to disconnect the call, a soft, eerie voice whispered, “Guilty ...”
Fiona’s blood ran cold.
Seconds later, the line went dead.
Chapter 28
Tamia
“To recap our top story this hour, local businessman Dominic Archer was denied bail at a hearing this morning after he was arrested for violating a restraining order filed by Tamia Luke. According to police reports and a statement issued by Assistant District Attorney Cal H
artwig, Archer went to his former mistress’s home and assaulted her over the weekend. At today’s bail hearing, the judge ruled that Archer poses a threat to Luke, so he will therefore be held until trial. Miss Luke, who was recently acquitted of the murder of Archer’s wife, was absent from today’s court proceedings and could not be reached for comment. In other news—”
Tamia cut the ignition, plunging her car into silence.
On one hand, she was glad to hear that Dominic would be spending more time behind bars. After everything he’d done to her, he deserved to get a taste of what she’d gone through.
On the other hand, she hated having her name back in the news. After the trial, she’d hoped to be forgotten by the media so that she could resume some semblance of a normal life. But thanks to Dominic’s reckless behavior, she’d be dragged into another three-ring circus whereby the lurid details of their affair would be rehashed with renewed vigor.
If Tamia didn’t know better, she would think that Dominic had gotten himself arrested on purpose. Because the timing of this incident couldn’t have been worse. Not only had she begun making progress with Brandon, but she was scheduled to report for her new job at Chernoff, Dewitt & Strathmore today. She’d already expected to be the object of curiosity, stares, and whispers. But now, in light of Dominic’s shenanigans, she might as well have a giant spotlight on her when she made her entrance.
Heaving a deep, resigned sigh, Tamia checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. Satisfied that her hair and makeup passed muster, she smoothed the creases from her gray pencil skirt and brushed stray strands of hair from her ivory blouse, then climbed out of her Honda Accord.
Armed with her leather attaché case, she strode across the underground parking garage to reach the elevator, which whisked her up to the forty-ninth floor of the building.
As she stepped off the elevator, she had a flashback to the last time she’d been there. It was the night she’d shown up unannounced to beg Brandon to take her back. But she’d never gotten the chance to make her appeal. When she’d arrived at his office, she’d found him fucking Cynthia like his life depended on it.
Shoving aside the painful memory, Tamia entered the elegant reception area paneled in rich, dark wood and gleaming marble. A middle-aged white woman wearing a phone headset sat behind the large reception desk, efficiently manning the phone lines.
When there was a lull in incoming calls, Tamia smiled at her. “Hello, Iris. How are you?”
“I’m doing jus’ fine, missy,” the woman responded with a thick Southern accent that raised eyebrows even in Houston. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“Same to you.” So far so good, Tamia thought. “How are your grandsons?”
Iris beamed. “Are you kidding? Those boys are as busy as ever! I’ll have to show you their latest photos when you get a moment later.”
“I’d like that,” Tamia said warmly. “I bet they’re growing up so fast.”
“You know it! Anyway, hon, I was pleased as punch when Brandon told me you’d be working here. Which reminds me—” She retrieved a thick envelope from her desk and passed it to Tamia.
“What’s this?”
“Some HR paperwork for you to fill out while you wait for Noemi to get out of her meeting and come fetch you.”
“Okay. I know it’s only nine-thirty, so I’m early.” Tamia hesitated. “Is Brandon around, by any chance?”
“He’s with a client. But I’ll let him know you’re here as soon as he’s finished.”
“Great. Thanks, Iris.”
“Sure thing, hon.”
As Iris returned to answering the phone, Tamia took a seat in the plush reception area.
No sooner had she pulled out her pen than she was joined by Cynthia, who sat down right beside her and crossed her legs, one Prada-clad foot tapping in the air.
“Since Brandon didn’t have the heart to rescind his job offer,” she said tightly, “I was hoping you’d have the decency to politely decline. But it’s obvious that I gave you more credit than you deserve.”
Tamia smiled coolly. “Hello to you, too, Cynthia. Are you the welcome committee?”
Cynthia smirked. “Very funny.”
“I thought it was.”
Cynthia glanced toward the reception desk, where Iris was pretending not to watch them as she spoke on the phone.
“Can we talk in my office for a moment?”
Tamia hesitated. “I’m waiting for Brandon’s assistant.”
“I’ll take you to her cubicle when we’re finished.” Without waiting for Tamia’s assent, Cynthia stood and started from the reception area.
Tamia sighed heavily. After tucking her paperwork inside her attaché case, she got up and reluctantly followed her nemesis down the corridor.
Once they reached Cynthia’s small office, she closed the door and motioned to the lone visitor chair. “Have a seat.”
“No, thanks,” Tamia declined. “I won’t be staying long.”
Cynthia frowned, perching on the corner of her desk and folding her arms across her flat chest. “I think we need to have another woman-to-woman talk.”
Tamia blinked innocently. “About what?”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed. “Nice try. I know what you’re trying to do, Tamia. But I’m here to tell you it won’t work.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, bitch. You’ve been enjoying the role of damsel in distress—”
“Enjoying?” Tamia echoed in disbelief. “I spent the past five months confined to a prison cell not much smaller than this office. I was on trial for a murder I didn’t commit, facing the possibility of serving a life sentence or worse. Please tell me what could possibly be enjoyable about what I’ve just described?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Cynthia hissed accusingly. “You’ve been milking your misfortune to play on Brandon’s sympathies—”
“What!”
“—and I’m sick and tired of it! Do you have any idea how much bullshit I’ve gone through for you? I could have been a total bitch when Brandon told me he planned to represent you, but I wasn’t. I put aside my own personal feelings and supported his decision without ever once complaining, even though you tested my patience with your constant phone calls and needy demands. I held my tongue because I love Brandon, and I looked forward to having him to myself again once the trial was over. But I should have known you had no intention of leaving him alone!”
Tamia arched a brow. “You mean the way you left him alone when he was mine?”
Cynthia gave her a look of outraged innocence. “What the hell are you talking about? I did leave him alone! As I told you months ago, Brandon and I were just friends!”
“But you wanted to be more,” Tamia shot back. “Every time I turned around you were there, hanging around him. I still remember the first night I met you. Brandon and I were supposed to be spending some time together, but when I got here, you were cozied up to him in his office. You’d let your hair down, kicked off your shoes, and made yourself real nice and comfortable. Remember that, Cynthia? Remember how you innocently fucked up my special evening with Brandon?”
Cynthia just looked at her, nostrils flaring.
“Yeah, you remember,” Tamia jeered. “Deny it all you want, bitch, but you knew exactly what you were doing that night. So how does it feel now that the shoe’s on the other foot? How does it feel now that Brandon’s your man, but you find yourself feeling threatened by the other woman in his life, the one who simply refuses to go away?”
Cynthia swallowed visibly.
A slow, satisfied smile curved Tamia’s lips. “It doesn’t feel very good, does it? Tell me something. Have you and Brandon started arguing about me yet? Have you found yourself questioning his true feelings for you? Have you often wondered just what you have to do to make him see that you’re better for him than I am?”
Cynthia glared at her. After several seething
seconds, she pushed abruptly to her feet, stalked around her desk, and sat down hard.
“Get out,” she snapped.
Tamia laughed. “Oh, now you want me to leave? And just when our woman-to-woman talk was getting good.”
“I’ve said all I wanted to say to you,” Cynthia spat.
“Is that right?” Tamia taunted, sauntering over to the desk. “Then allow me to offer my closing argument. I’m not going away, Cynthia. I love Brandon—”
“Some love!” Cynthia scoffed caustically. “You fucked another man and lied to Brandon about everything! If that’s how you treat the people you love, God help everyone else!”
Tamia congratulated herself for not flinching with shame.
“You’re right,” she conceded humbly. “Cheating on Brandon was a terrible mistake that I will regret for the rest of my life.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes. “Cry me a damn river.”
Tamia frowned. “Mock me all you want. Quite frankly, I don’t give a damn what you think of me. All you need to know is that I love Brandon, and if I’m lucky enough to get a second chance with him, I’m never letting him go.”
Cynthia smirked at her. “That’s so sweet, but let’s keep it real, Tamia. Do you honestly believe that Brandon will ever marry you? You dated him for nine months before he reluctantly decided to introduce you to his parents. That should have clued you in to the fact that he’s just not that serious about you. Yet you insist on clinging to the misguided notion that you could actually be the one. Why? Because you’re a former porn star who knows a few tricks? Bitch, please. A guy like Brandon can get good pussy anywhere, so what else do you have to offer him?”
Tamia glared at Cynthia, wishing she could dismiss the malicious barbs that had spewed from her mouth. But she couldn’t, and they both knew it.
As Cynthia’s expression grew even smugger, Tamia’s gaze wandered across the desk to a framed photograph of Joseph and Coretta Yarbrough. It was one of those professional studio shots that made the couple look good enough to grace the cover of a magazine.
“Awww, isn’t that sweet?” Tamia cooed mockingly. “You keep a picture of your parents on your desk.”