by Tina Martin
“Wow. More family?”
“Yes, and I haven’t met them as of yet. What do you think about me trying to get everybody together at the same time?”
“Oh, um…you know what…I know Montgomery well, and I believe it would be very overwhelming for him to meet everybody. I think he would just like to know his big brother for now.”
“Okay. That’s fine. How does next Saturday sound?”
“I’m sure it will be fine, but let me run it by Montgomery first and I’ll confirm it with you.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Thank you. Talk to you soon. Bye.” I hang up and—
“Boo!”
“Aaah!” I scream. Monty snuck up behind me and poked his index fingers into my sides. Now, he’s laughing, looking all cute and whatnot. I laugh, too. This is not something he usually does. He’s not playful – that’s more of Major’s speed. To see him loosen up like this is refreshing.
“Stop sneaking up on me like that, Monty.”
“Stop talking about me behind my back.”
“I wasn’t talking—”
“I just heard my name come out of your mouth. Now, what do you have to run by me?” he asks and does that super sexy lip bite. I wonder if he knows how much of a turn-on it is.
“Okay, um—do you remember me asking you about your brother?”
“Major?”
“No. Your older brother. The one you and Major lost contact with after being separated into different foster homes.”
“Yes. I remember you asking me about him. What’s up?”
“That was him on the phone just now.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes. His name is Magnus. Does that ring a bell?”
He shakes his head. “No. It doesn’t. You were just on the phone with him?”
“Yes. He wants to know if next Saturday is a good day to meet.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, Monty.”
“How did—”
“I just did a little digging.”
“And are you sure that’s him?”
“Positive. Here, look at this,” I say, pulling up the screenshot I took of Magnus, straight from his company’s website. I hand Monty my phone. “Y’all look alike. You, him and Major. Same complexion. Same hair. Same green eyes. My guess would be you have the same biological parents.”
He hands the phone back to me and says, “That’s amazing.” He smiles. “You actually found him.”
“I told you I’d look.”
“I really didn’t expect you to.”
“Why not?”
“I just didn’t. You got enough on your plate with me.”
“You ain’t never lied about that.”
He smiles.
“What do you think about meeting him?”
“Let me think it over. I’ll get back to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Monty
She wears a dress that forms to her figure-eight body. It’s black – matches my suit. Her hair is swinging loose. I love her braids. She’s not the woman that works for me tonight. She’s just a woman. A beautiful, mind-blowing, down-to-earth human being.
It baffles me how I never noticed this about her in the two years she’s worked for me. I’ve noticed her beauty, but never took the time to appreciate it like I’m doing now. Staring at her. Ogling her. Making her blush while I commit her face and its many pretty features to memory.
As we’re eating, I say, “You know what I don’t like about you?”
“What don’t you like about me, Monty?”
“The fact that I hardly know you.”
“You know me.”
“No, I don’t.”
“You know me well enough to stay with me for nearly a month.”
“Yes, because I know you’re trustworthy. I don’t know you in the sense that I don’t know much about your personal life. Like, where did you grow up?”
“In Charlotte.”
“Are you an only child?”
“Yes.”
“No siblings?”
“No.”
“And your parents?”
“What about them?”
“Are you close with them?”
“My father died when I was ten and in a way, my mother died with him.”
“How so?”
“She changed. She hasn’t been the same since. She remarried, but still—no one could ever replace dad.”
“I see. Sorry to hear about your father, by the way.”
“Thanks.”
“How was life for you growing up?”
“It was perfect when my dad was alive. We did mostly everything together. I think my mother was jealous of that because I was her little girl, you know. She expected me to do little girl things. Instead, I was more into sports and watching him work on his car.”
“I imagine you took it hard when he passed.”
“I did. He was—he was my dad. I still miss him.”
“That’s understandable.”
She takes a sip of wine then asks, “Is that all you want to know about me?”
“No, but I don’t want to bombard you with questions.”
“I can handle it.”
“Oh, can you?”
“Yes. Ask away.”
“Okay. Why aren’t you married?”
She laughs. “You skip straight to marriage, huh? You don’t ask why I’m single. You ask why I’m not married.”
“Yeah, so answer it.”
“I don’t date.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I’m always occupied. With my work schedule, I don’t have time to date.”
“So, it’s my fault.”
“In a way it is. Yes.”
She looks away from me like she always does, getting her thoughts together. Thinking of which way to take the conversation so the heat is off of her. She doesn’t like being in the spotlight, I conclude. It’s why she usually hides behind baggy clothes, aprons and head scarves. She doesn’t want to be seen. Doesn’t want to attract anyone.
Tonight, she’s seen.
Seen by all the men in here who sneaks glances, but she’s unaware. Her own beauty escapes her. It’s why I desire to know more about her. Her upbringing. Values. Things her mother taught her about being a woman in this world where all too often black women are undervalued, not taken seriously or not respected as queens. Was she taught to stay hidden or to reach for the stars? To be a personal assistant or the woman who owned a company of personal assistants? To look a person in the eye when they talked to you or shy away?
She takes another sip of wine. Glances up at me. Looks away.
“I have something for you,” I tell her.
“You do?”
“Yes. I do.” I take a rectangular white box from my pocket, place it on the table.
She smiles and frowns at the same time. “What’s this, Monty?”
“Open it.”
She pulls the red bow, takes off the top and I watch her eyes widen when she sees the diamond, white gold tennis bracelet. She looks up at me. Her smile leaves. The frown remains. “Monty, I can’t accept this.”
She bases her decision on how much she thinks the bracelet is worth, I imagine. She doesn’t know it cost ten thousand dollars. She only knows it’s expensive. To her.
“Sure you can,” I tell her.
“It’s beautiful, but—”
“You don’t think you’re worth it?”
“I—I don’t know.”
“You are,” I tell her. “You’re worth much more. In fact, I have something else.” I hand her an envelope.”
“And what’s this?”
“It’s your pay for the last three and a half weeks.”
“You don’t need to pay me. I’ve still been getting my direct deposits every week. You’ve been paying me all along.”
“I know, but you’ve been my nurse, my therapist, my personal chef and private investigator for nearly
a month and you should be properly compensated for your time. Take it.”
She takes the envelope, opens it and looks at the check. “A hundred thousand dollars! Are you—crazy? This is way too much money.”
“Who determines if something is too much? The giver of the gift or the receiver of the gift?”
“Monty—”
“If I told you it was too much work to change my bandages and rub that greasy stuff all over my face, would you have stopped doing it?”
“No.”
“Then, in the same token, you can’t refuse my gift. Thank you for everything.”
“You’re welcome, Monty, but I don’t understand. Why are you talking like you’re going somewhere?”
“Because I am,” I tell her. “I’m going back home tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she says.
I can see her disappointment, but she pushes it aside and forces a smile.
“I guess it’s time now, huh?”
“It is. I have to get back to work. I’m already behind three weeks.”
She nods.
“Are you okay?”
“With you leaving? Yes. I mean, you, um—I’m happy you’re well enough to want to get back to work.”
If she’s happy, she doesn’t look it.
“Um, I wanted to know if you’d consider coming back to work for me? I know I was a jerk to you before, but thanks to you, I’ve changed. At least, I think I’ve changed.”
“You have changed.”
“And I really could use your help,” I tell her. It’s true. I could use her help, but my reason for wanting her to continue working for me is a personal one. I couldn’t imagine not seeing her every day. I can’t have this line drawn between us where we go our separate ways. I want her around. Need her energy. Need to be able to lay eyes on this beautiful face whenever I want.
I sip wine and look at her. She has yet to answer me. It makes me think she’s against the idea.
“Okay,” she says.
“Yeah?” I ask to confirm.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
She smiles, but I still see hints of sadness in her eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Monty
I get up in the morning to shower, pack up my clothes and gather other items I’ve left lying around her house. It’s around ten when I finish putting everything in the car. I sit on the bed and hang my head. This is bittersweet. I didn’t think it would be, but it is. I never imagined I could grow this attached to a woman, but truth be told, I have. Leaving her is messing with my head.
She doesn’t come out of her bedroom. Not for breakfast, to water her flowers or sit on the front porch like she usually does. I don’t hear a peep, but I know she’s not still sleeping. She’s not the type to sleep in. Like me, she’s an early riser so where is she this morning?
I go to her room, tap on the door and twist the knob. The door is locked, but I hear her say, “Yes?”
“I’m about to go, Cherish.”
Moments later, she comes to the door. She’s dressed in a baggy T-shirt and sweatpants.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“You already packed up your stuff?”
“Yes.”
She draws in a breath. “Oh.”
“I didn’t want to leave without saying bye to you.”
She nods, tries to smile, but she can’t blink away the tears that form in her eyes.
“Please don’t cry,” I tell her.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it,” she sobs.
I embrace her, hold her close to my chest while she cries.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she asks.
“Yes, sweetheart. I’ll be fine. And you’ll see me on Monday, right?”
She sniffles. Nods. “Yes.”
“Then stop crying. Thanks to you, I’m healed.”
More sniffles come. “You’re not completely healed. The doctor says it takes six weeks for your ribs to heal, Monty.”
“I know. I’ll take it easy.”
More tears fall from her eyes. I cup her chin and prompt her to look at me. I’m staring into the eyes of a woman who loves me. Who’ll do anything for me. There’s no doubt in my mind about that. “Cherish.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be okay.”
She nods. “Okay,” she says sadly.
I take a final, long hug then leave a kiss on her temple. “I’ll see you on Monday. Okay?”
“Okay.”
With that, I head outside, get in my car and drive away, feeling a sense of loss with each mile I’m away from her house. My life has changed drastically. I’m not the same man I once was. I’m a better man. A better person. Major was right. A good woman will do that for a man – prompt him to make his own changes without demanding him to, and not only prompt him but walks with him as he makes those changes. It’s what Cherish has done for me. I’ll be forever indebted to her for that.
* * *
Back home, I feel like a different man – almost like I went to rehab and came out refreshed. I unpack my clothes and do a quick walk-through. None of the workers are here today. They don’t work on weekends. Saturday and Sunday are my days to fend for myself.
My residence looks as good as it did when I left it. Neat and clean. Everything in order. Nothing out of place. After getting settled, I take a trip to the barber. He comments on how lucky I am to have survived a car crash as severe as the one I was in. Said I looked as good as new, but I told him it was a long road getting here. He asks what kind of cut I want. I tell him the usual, but to leave about two inches of length since I know a certain woman who likes it. Then we go right back into our normal conversations about business. While he’s talking, I’m thinking about what Cherish is doing right now. It’s close to two in the afternoon on a Saturday. Last Saturday, I remember her doing laundry. Maybe that’s what she’s doing now. Laundry.
When I’m back at the estate, I go to visit mother. She’s at her residence, greets me with a hug when she sees me and comments how good I look. How well I’ve healed. Said Cherish took good care of me. She would be correct in that assessment.
After visiting her, I head back over to the west wing and spend some time in the office, studying a drawing of the taser. I examine it for flaws – make sure the handle is not the same width as the handle of a gun so if these were tested in the field, there would be no confusion between the two.
I read through some old emails. There are a ton of meetings I’ve missed. Calls I need to return – most of which will happen on Monday.
* * *
Sunday comes around and I’m feeling like relaxing today. I spend some time in the indoor pool, working muscles that have been dormant for some time. It takes some exertion, but I’m able to form pretty good strokes swimming back and forth across the length of this pool.
When I’m out, I take a shower to wash off the chlorine. When I’m done, I wrap the towel around my waist and stare in the mirror, looking at the scar on my chest. It’s healed, hiding behind chest hair, barely visible. The scar on my leg is healed but still looks pretty bad – a forever tattoo to remind me of the time I almost died.
I head down the hallway to the den – a room that’s rarely used by me – and turn on the TV. While I’m sitting there, I can picture Cherish lying against my chest while we share a tub of popcorn and take in a movie. I can see myself playing in her braids. Feeling her warm skin. I’d have a front-row seat to her smiles and the way she looks at me.
I miss her.
I miss her so much I’ve been fighting the desire to drive to her house. I think about calling to wish her a good night like I’ve done so many times before but we both need the space to get ourselves together. To get back in work mode. Tomorrow, I’m her boss and she’s my employee again – that’s if she comes back.
Chapter Thirty
Cherish
I arrive at The Hawthorne Estate at 4:00 a.m. nervous as can be. Why? Because it feels like ev
erything is back to normal. Monty is back at his home. His throne. His kingdom. This is the place where he’s always in work mode. Focused. Likes everything in a certain kind of way. He plays no games with his work. I’m worried he’ll fall back into his regular routine of being domineering and arrogant – being rude to the workers. Will that Monty emerge, or will the Monty I’ve come to know over the last three weeks make an appearance? The kind-hearted one. The one whose smile could make a woman faint.
When I step into his bedroom, I notice the bed is made. There are no slippers. No water bottle on his desk. Did he make his own bed? Clean his own room?
The bathroom door is closed. I don’t hear the shower, but I imagine he’s in there, getting ready to take a shower. Standing naked with his hairy, bare chest, looking like Wolverine with all that hair.
Shrew. I fan myself. Is it hot in here or is it just me?
“It’s just you, silly. Pick out the man’s clothes for the day and get to work,” I mumble.
After giving myself a pep talk, I head on to the closet to pick out a suit for him. It’s where I run into another distraction. His scent. It engulfs me, takes me captive as if his very arms are encircled around me. Those strong, muscular arms.
My goodness…
How am I supposed to work under these circumstances?
“Focus, Cherish.”
I fan through the suits. The dark ones. I know he’ll be in hardcore work mode today so I go to the power black suits. Ones that still has the tags on it. The never-been-worn suits made by Givenchy and Saint Laurent.
I take one off the rack, look it over and hang it back up having second thoughts. It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining. I don’t want him in a dark suit today. I choose a khaki-colored one and pair it with a light teal shirt and brown Louis Vuitton leather shoes – all items he’s never worn before. I lay out the tie, the cufflinks, the socks – take my time doing so hoping that by some chance, he’d want to see me today. Maybe he’d cut his shower short just to corner me in his closet.
That doesn’t happen. I get no surprise visit from him.