Negotiating for Love

by Sharon C. Cooper

  While they were at dinner, he seemed preoccupied. He might have been thinking about the party, but she suspected something else was bothering him.

  When Paul didn’t speak, she glanced over her shoulder to find him smiling

  “What?” She walked across the room and plopped down on the sofa next to him, stretching her legs across his thighs. “What’s with the smile?”

  “I’m just imagining you at that party.” He shook his head. “That probably wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “I’m surprised you mentioned it.”

  “I’m surprised too, especially since I know how you feel about those types of events. And before you start freaking out, I don’t have any preconceived notions that you’re going to be suddenly interested in integrating into that part of my world. A world that I’m not even sure, I want to remain in.”

  Martina shifted next to him, sliding her legs beneath her. “What does you not remaining in that world mean?”

  “It means that I’ve had enough. I have allowed my parents to live vicariously through me. Our family has always been in politics, but I’m a third generation U.S. Senator and my parents assume that I plan to stay in politics until I retire, the way my grandfather had.”

  Martina removed her legs from his lap and moved closer, waiting for him to say more.

  “Despite the way I make them sound like a nightmare, I do love them. It’s just that the last few years they’ve become almost unbearable when it comes to my career, especially my mother. She has big dreams for me, but I’m tired. Tired of living my life for them and as long as I stay in politics, that’s exactly, what I’m doing.”

  “Have you told them how you feel?”

  He chuckled bitterly. “You have to know my mother to understand how funny that question is. She hears what she wants to hear and me not making a run for the White House is not something she wants to hear. It probably doesn’t help that I showed an interest in politics when I was a kid.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Six.” Paul wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer to his side. “I wanted to be like my grandfather and my father. They made the political scene seem exciting. I liked that they wanted to be a part of history and make a positive difference in people’s lives. But politics is so much bigger. The constant battles within and between political parties, the number of events and all of the traveling has gotten old. My heart isn’t in it anymore. I’ve been thinking more and more about opening a restaurant.”

  Martina interlocked her hand with his, debating about what to say. He was an outstanding cook and crazy smart so she could easily see him starting a restaurant. And though she always gave him a hard time about his political position, she knew he had a good heart.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” she finally asked. “You’ve made a difference in the Senate. Maybe you shouldn’t be too hasty in leaving.”

  With a raised eyebrow, he turned to her. “I would think you of all people would be happy that Satan’s spawn is thinking about hanging up his political hat. Isn’t that what you want?”

  She regretted she had ever called him that.

  “Baby, it doesn’t matter what I want. Question is, is this what you want? I’ll admit that you’re good at what you do.” When his eyebrows went higher, she continued. “Don’t go getting a big head, I still don’t like all the crap you spew, but you mean a lot to me. As quiet as it’s kept, I want you to be happy.”

  The left side of his beautiful mouth quirked and a full 100-watt smile spread across his kissable lips.

  “So I mean a lot to you, huh.” He ran the back of his fingers slowly down her cheeks, and she leaned into his touch. “I want us both to be happy.” His voice went deeper. The emotion in his tone and the way his large hand slid down the side of her body, sending sweet tingles to every nerve ending, said way more than his words. “And since I know something that would make both of us happy, why don’t—”

  “Hold up.” She squirmed beneath him, feeling his erection press against her hip. “Before you start getting all touchy-feely, let’s get back to this party. For you to have brought it up, knowing how I feel about these types of events must mean it’s important to you.”

  After a long hesitation he said, “I need you to go as my date. It’s a matter of life or death.”

  She squinted at him trying to figure out if he were serious, but then she noticed the twinkle in his eyes. “Whose life…or death?”

  “Mine…or my mother’s,” he said with a straight face. Martina grinned at how cute he looked while trying to pretend seriousness. “If you don’t go with me, she’s going to fix me up with her friend’s daughter.”

  The smile slipped from Martina’s face. “So rich people really do that kind of stuff? I thought that was just in the movies or in those mushy romance novels.”

  Paul chuckled, playing with her hair. Martina was enjoying their times together, especially moments like this. She never thought she would get into lounging around the house, talking like a couple planning to attend their next event or outing.

  “I can’t speak for other wealthy families,” Paul interrupted her thoughts, “but my mother feels it’s her duty to find me a women who she thinks will make a good first lady. She’s determined to get into the White House. And since my father didn’t make it, I’m her only chance.”

  Martina thought she had problems with her mother. Their differences were nothing compared to what it sounded like Paul had to deal with when it came to his mother.

  “I’m sure this party is my mother’s way of pushing her agenda. She has their friends and my constituents thinking like her. But I plan to make it loud and clear at the party that I won’t be running for another term in the Senate or anything else for that matter.”

  “Apparently, I’m going to have to teach you how to deal with difficult parents. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be able to say something to them one time, and they’ll know you mean business.”

  Paul laughed and pulled Martina close and placed a kiss against the side of her forehead. “That’s why I need you in my life.”

  He turned her in his arms until their lips touch. He nipped at her top lip, then her bottom. Martina’s pulse thumped wildly, and her senses exploded when he took full control of her mouth.

  A guttural moan slipped from her throat and her slender arms coiled easily around his neck. Yeah, she needed him in her life too, especially when his skilled mouth pressed against her lips and did wicked things to her whole body.

  “I’ll go to the party with you,” she said panting. She unbuttoned her blouse, letting it slide down her arms and onto the floor.

  Paul’s arms snaked behind her, quickly undoing her bra. “Did I hear you correctly?” He nuzzled her neck and worked his way down nipping at her skin. “You’ll go to my parents’ house with me?” he mumbled against the top of her breasts as he palmed them between his hands.

  “You heard right,” she said, barely able to think with him teasing her nipples with the pads of his thumb.

  He lifted his head, and their eyes met. “Why the change of heart?”

  “Because I’ll be damn if I’m going to let your mother try and hook you up with some prissy little debutante. You’re mine.” She cupped his smiling face between her hands. “Besides, it’s about time she and I met.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.” He kissed her softly before standing, pulling her up with him. “God, I love you.” He palmed her butt and lifted her into his arms. Her legs wound around his waist and he headed toward the bedroom.

  “And I love you.”

  A month ago, she couldn’t say those words out loud. Now they flowed like water and she meant them. Sometimes the fear of rejection and fear of ending up like her mother reared its wicked head, but no way was she letting fear win out any longer. She and Paul belonged together, and Martina had every intention of keeping it that way.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The day before the
Kendricks’ party, Martina and Peyton showed up at Jada’s house, the go-to person when it came to fashion.

  “All I want to know is, can attend this party with you?” Jada asked as she led them into her closet, which was a spare bedroom.

  Martina had no idea why one person needed this many clothes, shoes and everything else that could be found in the women’s section at Bloomingdales. Heck, the space looked like a department store. Long racks of clothes lined the perimeter of the large space while accessories were displayed on tall tables in the center of the room.

  Martina strolled across the room to the boots section. She picked up a pair of purple suede, thigh-high boots.

  “Really, Jada? Where do you even wear something like this?”

  “MJ, don’t start.”

  Martina put the boots back. “Oh and as far as the Kendrick’s party, I’m sure they won’t have a problem with you attending. Though you’ll probably have a better chance of getting in if Zack is with you.”

  Zack was the city’s golden boy. Everyone loved him. Not only had he been one of the greatest running backs of his time, he also supported numerous nonprofit organizations.

  “I’ll keep that in mind. I only want to go because I want to watch you do something outlandish that will probably land you on the cover of the society page.”

  “I plan to be on my best behavior. Just show me the dresses.” This was one of those days when she was glad they wore the same size. Since being married, Jada, thanks to Zack, had put a little meat on her bones. No longer able to wear a size two or four or whatever she used to wear. She now owned sizes six and eight. Perfect for Martina.

  “Before you say anything, I’m not giving you a black outfit,” Jada pulled three dresses from one of the built in cabinets.

  “I’m only wearing black because I only have black pumps. And there is no way in hell I’m wearing a pair of your break-your-damn-neck heels.”

  “Do you know how much I spend on shoes?”

  “Yes, I do. Before Zack came along, we were the ones who had to suffer through your shopping sprees.”

  “Well, then you should know me well enough to know that I’m not letting anyone wear my shoes, especially you.” She moved to another cabinet and pulled out several boxes of shoes. “That’s why I bought you your own to go with the dresses. Ones that will hold up if you decided to take one off your foot and hit someone with it. Or if you decided to kick them off and leave them at the party.”

  “That happened one time, Jada. Almost ten years ago! Why are you even bringing that up?” Back when Martina and Peyton were in their early twenties, they had attended a party, and Martina had let Peyton talk her into wearing heels. They had danced all night until Martina eventually kicked off the shoes. When the party was raided by the cops, she ran out of the house, leaving the shoes behind.

  Martina turned to Peyton and glared. “As a matter of fact, Jada, how did you know about that since you were too young to hang out with us back then?”

  Peyton lifted her hands. “Don’t look at me. I didn’t tell her.”

  “It doesn’t matter. Let’s get this party started. Take a look at the dresses and tell me what you think.” Jada laid the outfits on a dressing table.

  Martina folded her arms. “I don’t like ‘em. They’re not black.”

  “Everyone is going to be wearing black to this event except Paul’s mother. Based on what you’ve told us about her, she’ll probably wear red.”

  Martina and Peyton stared at Jada until Peyton spoke.

  “What makes you think she won’t wear black?”

  “Because I wouldn’t. I would wear red, especially if I told everyone else it was an all-black affair.”

  She said it as if her words made perfect sense.

  Martina shook her head. “I don’t care about all of that. Just find me a cute, simple, black dress.”

  “No. These are your choices. MJ you always march to your own beat, doing your own thing. This is a perfect opportunity to show this group who you are and how you operate. Besides, you and Paul are going pretty hot and heavy these days. Mommy Dearest needs to get used to seeing you and know that she has no power over you. So you might as well stand out when you make your entrance. I always do.” Jada lifted an eyebrow, her hands on her narrow hips as if waiting for Martina, to deny anything she had said.

  Martina folded her lower lip between her teeth and studied the dresses. Jada was right about one thing. She always marched to her own beat. She also wanted to make it clear to all the single hussies with plans to get their hooks into Paul that he wasn’t available.

  “Red, light gray, or baby blue, which is it going to be?” Jada asked after she held each one up for her review.

  “Which would you recommend?” Martina asked.

  “The red one … or the light blue. Red always stands out and catches attention. And since the dress is long with this serious split up the side, all heads will turn when you step into that house.” She lifted the light blue one again. “Now this little number will show your no-fear attitude. It’ll stop just above your knee and with the high collar, it’ll make your boobs look twice their size. Oh and if that doesn’t get attention, when you walk pass, all mouths will fall open when they see the back.” She turned the outfit around, and Martina’s mouth dropped open.

  “Dang, Jada. These look more like your taste, not mine. Don’t you have a cute little tuxedo for women somewhere in this department store?”

  “I do, but you’re not wearing it. These are your choices. So what’s it going to be?”

  Martina sighed dramatically and had thought about closing her eyes and just pointing at one. She needed the perfect dress.

  “Here. Try this on.” Jada shoved the red gown into Martina’s hands.

  Peyton, who hadn’t said much up to this point, finally spoke.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I agree with Jada. Well except the part about you not wearing black. If it’s an all-black event, you wear black. Wait.” She held her hands out when both Jada and Martina started to speak, “There’s something else you need to be mindful of.”

  “And what would that be?” Martina grabbed the red dress and shoes. She took the items behind the elaborate dressing screen that stood in a nearby corner.

  “Paul is a U.S. Senator. You are not only there to stake your claim, but you’re there to support him. You are a reflection of him and just as important, you know what Grampa always says. Wherever you go, whatever you do, you’re representing the Jenkins family.”

  “So whatever you do, don’t go in there acting a fool,” Jada added.

  “Like you did at the breakfast that day,” Peyton said as if Martina needed a reminder of how she had run off at the mouth.

  Martina shook out of her button down shirt as she thought about the speech her grandfather had given her after that incident.

  She shivered at the memory of seeing Steven Jenkins that angry. He had told her if she ever showed her tail the way she had that day, disrespecting a Senator or anyone else, not only would she not ever attend an event representing the family business, but she would be looking for a new job.

  She didn’t know how he found out everything because she knew Peyton hadn’t said a word. All she knew was that he had heard enough to almost quote every word she had spoken in that banquet room.

  Martina wiggled into the dress as she remembered another time her grandfather had been that angry. It was that night when Toni was arrested at a drug house. The scene of her arrest had been blasted on every local television channel. And of course, the media had everything wrong. Had it not been for Craig, who was a police detective, there was no telling how long it would have taken to clear Toni’s name.

  “Any day now, MJ. What’s taking you so long? Let’s see the dress.” The impatience in Jada’s tone resonated loud and clear.

  Martina turned to the full-length mirror and took in the sleeveless gown that wrapped around every curve making her appear more volup
tuous than she thought possible. The sparkling beads on the shoulders and down the sides of the dress reminded her of diamonds, and all Martina could do was stand there and stare.

  “Come on already, MJ! Don’t make me come back there!”

  Most of the Jenkins girls lacked patience and Jada was the worse.

  Martina stepped from behind the screen feeling like Cinderella and smoothed her hands down the front of the soft, flowing material.

  “So, what do you guys think?”

  Jada squealed. “The red it is. You are going to blow Paul away!”

  “Oh. My. God.” Peyton gawked as if not recognizing her. “Though I think Jada gave you terrible advice about not wearing black, you look incredible in that dress.

  Martina wanted to look good for Paul, but he was only part of her agenda. Since his mother was into matchmaking, Martina needed her and every woman in attendance to take notice. Paul was no longer on the market, and she planned to make it clear that they were together. She just hoped no one tried to challenge her. Otherwise, Paul might be sorry he asked her to be his date.

  *

  Paul adjusted his bow-tie as he strolled up the walkway that led to Martina’s small bungalow. For the past couple of weeks, he waited for the call informing him she had changed her mind and couldn’t attend. It never came.

  Back together for a few months now, Paul was glad that she finally seemed comfortable with them being a couple.

  He rang the doorbell, and shuffled side to side, rubbing his hands together. The November chill in full effect tonight went straight through his jacket. He turned to find the driver that he’d hired for the evening, still standing comfortably near the back door of the car as if it weren’t ridiculously windy and twenty-eight degrees outside.

  Paul reached to ring the doorbell again, but before he could, the door swung open. His words lodged in his throat. His pulse amped up as he took in the statuesque beauty standing before him, loving the transformation. With curls piled on top of her head and a few tendrils framing her perfectly made up face, Martina could have easily graced the cover of any fashion magazine. His gaze went lower, taking in the form fitted evening gown that wrapped around her curves like a second skin. Then he noticed the deep split up the side of the dress that not only revealed a shapely leg, but a firm thigh that…