by Zuri Day
He told her. “Ashley’s post was untimely and in poor taste,” he finished. “But it was the chipped bone that got her released.”
“Nicki must be devastated.”
“It was her worst-case scenario.”
“That still doesn’t excuse what Ashley’s done and continues to do. Did you know she talked to XYZ?”
“I did not.” Nor did he care, at the moment.
“We should have handled that Ashley matter years ago after what happened with Niko. But your father talked me out of it. Felt as you did, that she and her mother were minor, insignificant and should be ignored. Now your lady has become fodder for tabloid media, and that conniver who’s been trying to come up for years sees another bootstrap to try and ride up on since she can’t seem to use her own. Well, I know you are not going to stand for that, and the members of your family, darling, stand with you.”
“Mom, you know I’m not good at this kind of stuff. I don’t fight with people like her. I treat them.”
“I treat them, too, dear. We only differ on the prescription.”
“Besides, Ashley isn’t the one behind that smear campaign. Someone angry at me used her as a pawn.”
“Go on.”
“No need. I’ll handle it.”
“Of course you will. You always do. You’re the only child of mine who can do so without my having one inkling about what’s going on. It’s something that I find equally admirable and annoying.” Julian truly laughed for the first time all day. “What will Nicki do now?”
“Go back to New York. Start looking for work.”
“But you just said she’s out for at least six weeks. Why does she feel the need to go back so quickly?”
“It’s home. She feels more comfortable there. Able to do things, move around, with a support system of her neighbors and friends, and her mother in New Jersey.”
“Does she know about her support system in Paradise Cove? What happens to one of us happens to all of us. Tell her that. Never mind, I will. Please remind her of the lunch date we discussed over the weekend. Let her know I’ll be calling tomorrow to firm up those plans.”
Julian knew Jennifer. There was a motive for this meal. “I’ll let her know.”
“Good. I’m excited to share an idea with her.”
“As long as whatever you have in mind can happen from New York. She’s planning to leave at the end of the week. I doubt those plans will change.”
“Is that what you want?”
Julian thought about what he’d wanted, and what had happened that night in Times Square when he’d worked up the nerve to act on his desire. Hadn’t turned out so good.
“Julian, did you hear me?”
“I heard you. I want Nicki to be where she’s happy. At the end of the...hold on, Mom.” He muted his cell phone and pushed the intercom button. “Yes, Katie?”
“You have a visitor, Dr. Drake.”
Julian slowly stood, his voice calm. “Who is it?” Natalie? At the mere thought his back stiffened, despite his resolve not to react. He was so not in the mood.
“It’s your brother.”
His body relaxed. “Which one?”
The door opened. Ike walked in. “Your eldest brother, Doctor. The one who matters most.”
Julian unmuted his cell phone. The unexpected interruption brought out a smile. “Mom, I have a visitor. Let’s talk later.”
“Sure, son. Love you. Goodbye.”
Julian motioned for Ike to have a seat, then sat behind the desk. Ike bypassed the two modern chairs facing Julian’s desk and walked into the seating area where he saw patients. There was a fabric-covered love seat done in a geometric charcoal and gray print with blue microdots breaking the monotony. A similar chair to those facing Julian’s desk was by the love seat, in the same color blue as the dots on the couch. On the opposite wall was a leather chaise. Across the back was a colorful fleece throw for those patients who felt more comfortable lying down when baring their souls and their problems.
Ike nodded his approval as he returned to the desk. “Very nice, little brother.” He sat, continued to look around with an expression of wonder mixed with pride. “These offices have the look and feel of a bona fide psychologist.”
“Imagine that.”
“Not cold and impersonal, though, like those stereotypical ones you see in the movies. It feels comfortable, warm. Mom handled the interior decorating, I assume?”
“It’s signature Jennifer.”
“I’ve often said the only difference between Mom and the people she hires is their degree.” Ike looked at Julian. “I’m proud of you, man. Still remember you at family gatherings off in some corner with a computer or book. So quiet. Missing nothing. I should have known you’d grow into someone focused on the mind.”
“You clearly had heading up the family business on lock, so I had to find my lane.”
“Ah, so that’s how it happened?” Ike stretched out his legs, clasped his hands behind his head. “You were never all that into the business, though you would have made an excellent CFO. Sales? Not so much. On account of to sell a property you have to talk and all.”
“Which is why Terrell as sales VP is a perfect fit.” Said with that almost smile. He looked at his watch. “So, Ike, to what do I owe this pleasure? Since it hasn’t happened before, I appreciate you coming by the office, but I doubt it was just to check out the decor.”
“That was part of it. A visit to see the end result of a decade in college was long overdue.”
“And the other part?”
“I wanted to see how you were holding up, not how you said you were doing, because that answer is always ‘good’ or ‘fine.’ But you’re the quiet one. You don’t do drama. So I came to see for myself how this weekend’s scandal has affected you.”
“I learned how not to do drama by watching you. Terrell is who I expected to come by.”
“Come by to add to it?”
Julian nodded with gleeful eyes. “But then again, guess life has never been the same for you since Quinn shook you up.”
“Are you equating my wife with drama?” Ike asked in a way that suggested Julian should be careful of his answer.
“Absolutely,” Julian replied, totally carefree.
“You’d be right. I know you know, but I wanted to tell you personally that anything we can do to help, anything you or Nicki need, just let us know. Maybe you guys can come over Friday night. Quinn would love that. She once dreamed of being a ballerina. I think she’s a little starstruck.”
“She’s flying home on Friday.”
“How’d you run her away, bro?”
“She misses New York.”
The intercom beeped. “Excuse me, Dr. Drake?”
“Yes.”
“Could you pick up, please?”
Julian knew the call was about a patient, and Katie was following protocol to maintain privacy. “Okay.”
“It’s Frank Snyder calling. Again.”
“Take a message. And can you pull his file and draft a formal letter with my explicit instructions for him to continue seeing his present psychiatrist?”
“Sure, Doctor.”
“And please do the same for the folders placed in your inbox. There should be three or four. Thanks.”
He replaced the receiver, brow furrowed.
“Problem?”
“A situation.” Julian leaned against the chair back, idly rubbing his chin as he pondered the call. “Several of Dr. Johnson’s patients wanting my help.”
“Current patients?”
Julian nodded.
“Why?”
“Speaking generally, there are many reasons why it happens. Feeling uncomfortable, not with the treatment but with the person. Not connecting. N
o rapport. Or too comfortable, not feeling challenged, not progressing at the rate or level one thinks they should. Trust is paramount to healing, and what establishes that trust is subjective. Not long ago an associate of mine lost a client because he’s a Mets fan and the patient was a Yankees season ticket holder.”
Ike shrugged. “It’s a free country. If people want to change therapists and come to you, it’s their choice, right?”
“Yes.”
“Why is that a problem?”
“Because in a town this size, Johnson knows what’s happening.”
“Did he confront you?”
“He didn’t have to. Natalie did.”
“I don’t know her.”
“We went to grade and middle school together.”
“Look, don’t give the competition another thought.”
“I’m not competing with anyone.”
“When there’s a shared goal, a choice to be made and money involved, it’s competition. This isn’t personal, it’s business. Sounds like Dr. Johnson might have a problem. Because when it comes to competition, Drakes always win.”
“Thanks, Ike.” Julian stood. “I’m glad you stopped by.”
Ike stood as well. “I’ve overstayed my welcome so you’re kicking me out?”
“No, I’m escorting you out. Duty calls.”
Julian returned to his desk, glad his brother had decided to stop by. Ike had lifted his spirits and given him resolve. His brother was right. Drakes didn’t lose. When it came to wanting something, they went all out to get it. And Julian wanted Nicki to stay in PC.
He looked at his watch. Five minutes until his client arrived. He turned to his laptop, checked his schedule, made some changes and then clicked on a search engine. Nicki might go home on Friday. But it wouldn’t be for his lack of trying to convince her otherwise.
Chapter 15
Vince hadn’t followed Nicki’s suggestion to lose her number. Instead he’d texted or called almost a dozen times since yesterday. That she knew of—could have been more. He’d only left one voice mail, ratcheting up the danger he faced. Demanding she call him. But there’d been a few calls from unknown numbers, too. She hadn’t answered, and no messages had been left from those numbers. Even if she’d had an inkling to, which she hadn’t, what was revealed in the texts wouldn’t have changed her mind.
Nicki reached for her tablet and clicked on the app she’d downloaded that morning—a way to save the text messages in a printable document, a backup in case they disappeared from her phone. She typed in her password. The app opened up to Vince’s messages. Exchanges that had changed in topic and tone. Growing more erratic. More threatening. More desperate. Making Nicki more uneasy with each note she read.
The phone on the counter vibrated. Nicki jumped, startled. She chanced a glance, hoping that instead of the 929 prefix of Vince’s number, she’d see the friendly face of a number she’d saved. A wide, impish smile and bright green eyes looked back at her.
“Paige! I’m so glad it’s you.”
“I’m glad you answered. You didn’t last night.”
“I’d silenced the phone. Checked messages this morning, though, and didn’t get yours.”
“Didn’t leave one. Figured you’d call back when you saw the missed call.”
“I’ve been trying not to look at my phone.”
“Oh no! Is it the reporters? Are you being hounded about the fashion show pics or this morning’s press release? I’m so sorry for you, Nicki. It just isn’t fair.”
“That I’ve been released from the show? They announced it?”
“Sounds like you knew already.”
“Milo called me yesterday.”
“What did he say? Because I thought he’d agreed to hold your spot for the four weeks it would take to heal.”
“Looks like it’s going to take longer than that. Besides, the investors like what Arielle brings to the role. They’re considering a film version of the show and want her in it.”
“How do they figure when you are clearly the better dancer? What she brings to the role? What does that mean?”
“Doesn’t matter. Like I said, the injury is worse than first diagnosed. It’ll take six to eight weeks to heal. She would have replaced me anyway.”
“Your ankle is broken?”
“Fractured. The doctor in New York didn’t see the full extent of the injury. The specialist Julian’s family recommended, a doctor who specializes in sports injuries, was concerned about the bruising still visible after two weeks. He did an MRI and discovered that a piece of bone had been chipped off.”
“Yikes!”
“Yep. And that I’ve tried to put pressure on it didn’t help. Now I’m in a cast for the next two weeks to keep the ankle immobile so the bone can reattach. Where’d you read the announcement about the change?”
“The cast got an email last night.”
“It’s probably everywhere by now.”
“This is such a bummer, Nicki. What are you going to do?”
“Paige, to be honest, I don’t know. With everything going on, it may be a blessing in disguise.”
“How so?”
“Vince is still contacting me, to the point where I’m getting a little freaked out.”
“What is he saying?”
“He only left one voice mail, demanding I call him. But he’s left these texts.” Nicki tapped on the messages icon. “The first one said, ‘You hanging up on me now? This is not a game!’ I didn’t respond. The second one. ‘Come on, Nicki, I need this. These guys want their money now!’ The third one. ‘They’ll back off if I send at least half. Can you loan me ten K? Today? Use PayPerson with this number.’ The fourth one. ‘I’m going to get my money one way or the other.’”
“Oh my gosh, Nick! That’s an all-out threat!”
“Yep, and it’s this last one that really got me. It says, ‘Those guys think you’re the problem. Do they need to pay you another visit?’”
“Okay, that’s it. He’s taken this to a whole other level. When are you coming back? As soon as you do, you need to go to the police, tell them everything and get a restraining order.”
“Agreed. But will that be enough?”
“What else can you do?”
Nicki saw that a new message had come in. She tapped her screen to open it and read the text from Julian. “Right now I’m going to get off the phone and get dressed to go out. Julian just texted me saying he’d be by in an hour and be ready to go.”
“Have you told him yet?”
“No, and I have my reasons so don’t go there. I already know how you feel.”
“You need to tell him, Nicki. Not necessarily about the affair, but definitely about the threats. Promise me you will.”
“I never thought about revealing the threats but not the affair. But you’re right. There’s no need for him to know that part of the story. You have my word, Paige. I’ll tell him today.”
* * *
A short time later, Julian breezed into the house with the signature subconscious swagger of a confident Drake. He’d gone from feeling sad about Nicki’s inevitable leaving to being excited about the challenge of trying to convince her to stay.
“Nicki!”
“Yeah, babe. Up here!”
“You ready?” He took the steps quickly to see for himself.
“Just about.”
He entered the master suite. “Where are you?”
“In here.” Nicki turned while putting on an earring as he reached the en suite doorway and leaned against the jamb.
“I thought I told you to be ready, woman!”
“I am.”
“Ready would have been downstairs on the couch waiting with purse in hand.”
“W
here are we going? Is this okay?”
Julian took in her outfit, brown velvet palazzo pants, matching cropped turtleneck, a tan leather ankle boot on one foot and a knitted bootie over her cast. Several strands of vibrantly colored wooden beads completed the fall look.
“It’s perfect.” He stepped in and gave her a kiss. “Let’s go,” he said, glancing at his watch as he reached for her hand. “Our plane is scheduled for takeoff in thirty minutes.”
Nicki snatched back her hand and reached for the second wooden hoop lying on the counter. “Plane? Where are we going? And why didn’t you tell me to pack?”
“Someplace special. Come on. We need to leave.”
“Julian!” She reached for the crutch leaning against the wall. “Move! I need to throw a few—”
He grabbed her hand once again and halted her progress. “You don’t need to do anything but grab your purse and maybe your makeup. I’ll take care of whatever else you need.”
“Take care of me having something to wear? How, by buying me a whole new wardrobe?”
“If that’s what it takes to get you out of this bathroom and into the car. Now, are you going to use that crutch or should I carry you down? Never mind.” He scooped her up and headed toward the door.
“Wait, Julian. My purse!”
“I’ll come back for it.”
“Don’t make picking me up a habit. I can walk on my own.”
“Why? I thought women liked being swept off their feet.”
Minutes later the couple were off and headed for the landing strip that serviced private planes.
“Where are we going?”
Julian glanced over, turned on the car’s music system, kept on driving. Nicki huffed and crossed her arms.
“Baby, listen.” He gave her a sexy look. “Remember this?” He turned up the volume. “I’m addicted, and I just can’t get enough.”
Nicki pouted, gave him a side eye.
“Come on, babe. That crazy party you invited me to. What was that, our second date or third one?”
Nicki’s pout deepened. “I don’t remember.”
Julian laughed out loud. A rare sound. “Yes, you do!” He bobbed his head to the beat. “Come on, you know you want to dance. This is one of your favorite groups. Then there’s this one.”
