by Carmen Green
She spun out of his hold and headed back to the cold street. Chill bumps raced over her chest and up to her cheeks. He wanted to kiss her, but instead, he held her close.
“No.”
His desire ratcheted up in degrees. “You don’t have a choice—”
“She won’t care! She wants to fire me. She’s practically given my job away. Without a job, I have no home—considering I don’t have it anyway, I don’t have too far to go before I’m the best dressed woman on skid row. Then I’m going to need a house! This crappy piece of a job is all I have, and I can’t screw that up, too.”
Her gaze flew toward the busy traffic and he wondered if she was planning to end it all right here, right now.
She wouldn’t. Not because the thought hadn’t occurred to her, but because he wasn’t a lucky man.
Tia started toward another door, her lower jaw trembling.
He wasn’t sure if from the cold or her burst of helpless anger, although it didn’t matter. He was going to bed before noon, even if he had to cuff her to the steering wheel in his car to do it.
Tia started inside and Byron blocked her. “We have to leave.”
“Please,” she pleaded. “Go away, I don’t want my boss to see you.”
“Dammit. You’re coming with me.”
“No! No! No, I’m not!”
Everyone within a five-foot radius stopped walking, aimed their cell phones, and pressed record. Every citizen was, after all, one event away from being on The Today Show.
“Hold on.” Byron let her go, holding up his hands to show no police brutality was taking place. “Let’s talk calmly.”
“I am calm,” she said, her jaw jutting. “You’re trying to bully me and I won’t have it.”
“That’s not true. We just have two different agendas,” he said agreeably, as the cameras continued to record. “What do you propose?”
“I’ll go to work, and we go to my condo as soon as I get off.”
That was eight hours from now. Plenty of time for Tia to find trouble and dive in. If Hanks found out Byron disobeyed orders, no amount of pimp and prostitute arrests would save him. His career rested on this decision.
He’d made detective. No more uniform. No more McNult and Joey. No more Captain Hanks. He had too damned much to lose. “I can’t.”
Byron guided her away from the building by the hand without any resistance. He felt as if he were leading a toddler away from the big swings.
“Are you going to hit her?” a disappointed man asked, his camera phone pointing at himself, then Byron for the impromptu interview.
“No, sir. I’m only offering aid.”
The man snapped his phone shut and muttered foul language at Byron for wasting his time.
Byron tugged Tia’s hand as she lagged. When he turned to look at her, his heart flipped over.
She was crying. Tears fell in great big drops off her chin. She covered her eyes and yielded to the flood of emotion.
“I’m following orders. Don’t do this.” The wind carried his plea into the street and dumped it in front of a swift-moving M.A.R.T.A. bus.
Byron felt crazy as people stared at Tia and the mean police officer with the blanket in his hands. He hurriedly put it around her shoulders and in the process, brought her against his chest. He tucked the blanket around her, his resistance being clobbered by her femininity. Tia fit against him in that oh so perfect way no woman had ever done before. He tried to remain Byron, officer of law and order, but with her in his arms he was slowly slipping into Byron, the man. And Byron the man couldn’t resist a vulnerable Tia.
His lips slid across her cheek, and the dampness of her tears moistened them.
He began to groan and realized it was a croon meant to soothe her. Without words he tried to restore her peace. And for just a few minutes she let him.
When she won the struggle with her emotions, she pushed away from him. “I promise to behave all day. We can pick up fighting later, I promise.”
Despite himself, he chuckled. She shivered and even through his Kevlar vest, he felt the impact all the way to his bones.
“Do you know how much trouble you are? Do you realize everything I’ve worked my entire professional career for is on the line?”
Talk about making a bargain with the devil. He had to hand it to her. She was the prettiest devil he’d ever laid eyes on. A sigh built in his chest, and he let it go.
Tears tipped her long black eyelashes, and he wanted to rub them away.
“Cut off the waterworks because it doesn’t affect me. I have four sisters.” Another tear slid down, and God help him, he wiped it away. “Not an ounce of trouble,” he warned. “If there’s a fire alarm, a heart attack, or a car crash within a mile of this building, I’m arresting you.”
Relief swept her face into its most innocent state. The lines of fatigue and the tint of darkness vanished, leaving the nakedness of a sincere woman. Again, his chest clenched. All he could think about was being inside her.
“I promise.”
“Tia, is this officer giving you a hard time?”
A white, scrawny, cross-dressing man stared at him. He sounded like a woman, but it was clear that under the wig and make-up, the pencil leg pants and wedged shoes, was an Adam, not an Eve.
“Not really, Rhonda/Ronnie. Byron, do we have an agreement?”
“Tia—” Byron groaned.
The cross-dresser circled them. “What’s the problem? Maybe Rhonda/Ronnie can help.”
“Officer Rivers has informed me that I need to take possession of my condo right now.”
“You can’t, Tia.” Rhonda/Ronnie grew animated.
“I saw Chance the dragon slayer about an hour ago, and she’s on a tear. And she’d love to rip you a new one.” Rhonda/Ronnie leaned in. “Between us, if you go into work looking like a mangled Stepford Wife, you won’t keep the job you barely have.”
“Thank you, Rhonda/Ronnie,” Tia said dryly. Her gaze met Byron’s. “I won’t do one bad thing today. Please trust me.”
It was hard for Byron to look away because he missed looking into Tia’s eyes. He shook his head at what he was about to do.
“Five o’clock, and not a minute—”
Before he could finish, Tia wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her lips into his cheek. “Thank you.”
Instinctively he turned his mouth to her and looked into her smoldering eyes. Tia stepped back.
The cold wind moved in as she backed away. “I’ll be right here at five o’clock.”
Rhonda/Ronnie took Tia’s hand and guided her toward the corner. “Come on, Peacock. We’ve got to hurry. I’ve got some make-up and a shirt that just might fit you.”
Byron watched until they disappeared inside the building.
Wind blasted him out of his stupor, and he wondered if he’d just committed professional suicide.
Chapter Fourteen
Tia hurried behind Ronnie/Rhonda, who used a pass code to enter doors Tia had never paid attention to before. “Where are you taking me?”
“To find some clothes you didn’t have on yesterday. Honey, if I noticed, everyone will. Now be quiet, and let Rhonda/Ronnie do her thing.”
Rhonda/Ronnie had insulted her in that breezy way gay men had turned into an art form, but Tia could hardly argue. She did smell like the bottom of somebody’s foot.
At the far left corner, Rhonda/Ronnie tapped in his code, and they entered the make-up room, where the newscasters got prepped for the newscasts.
Tia ran her hand along red leather salon chairs, her heart wistful. Once upon a time, she had expected to spend a lot of time in here, reviewing her notes before going live on the air, but somewhere along the way, she’d jacked up her karma. And riding a desk on the disintegrating thread of a performance review was all she was capable of at the moment.
But, still, she felt like she belonged in this room. In this job.
Gently touching a rolling rack of tops and jackets for both men and wome
n, Tia wandered back to the chairs in front of the lighted mirrors. Sitting, she swiveled.
Rhonda/Ronnie opened a drawer beneath the mirrors and pulled out a new bag of men’s Hanes briefs, ripped the plastic, and handed Tia a pair.
“What are these for?”
“Honey, funky doesn’t become you.”
Embarrassment crept over Tia like a tidal wave. “I had a hard night. I didn’t get home, and ...” She could feel the tears coming. “I’m not myself today. Why am I putting you to all this trouble? If Chance sees me, I’m done.” Wearily, her arms fell to her sides as tears stung the back of her eyes.
“Peacock, you can’t let her win by default. Seize the opportunity to be the hero in your own life, and then tell the story. Like why you smell like the inside of a jail. I’d also like to know the identity of the hunky guy you were wrapped around outside.”
“I was not.”
“If you’d had a bed ...” Rhonda/Ronnie began to sing to the tune of “If I didn’t care.”
“Quit. He’s someone—”
“Yes, he is,” Rhonda/Ronnie agreed, with an appreciative little bark.
“I met in anger management class.”
“Ooh. Is he angry, too? Does he get all snarly and rough, get your hands behind your back?” Rhonda/Ronnie said, imitating a cop in a falsetto voice. “Don’t make me frisk you.”
Tia couldn’t help but laugh as Rhonda ran his hands all over himself on Byron’s behalf.
“I don’t think that’s the highlight of his day.”
“Would be of mine! I’d make it his.”
“Ronnie!”
“I’m Rhonda today. My Sean Johns didn’t come back from the cleaners yesterday like they were supposed to.”
“Sorry.”
Rhonda really did like men and women. That shouldn’t have surprised Tia. Rhonda’s T-shirt said THE BOY IS MINE.
“One last question before you go wash up.”
Tia indulged her new best friend. “What is it?”
“Do you think he’d ever take a trip to Down Low Boulevard?”
Of all the things Tia’d thought of Byron, being a closet bisexual wasn’t one of them. The idea of it made her stomach rumble. The truth was that although she’d been angry with him more than she’d been with any man besides Dante, there was an attraction there. And it was definitely mutual, and definitely hetero.
“Rhonda, if I didn’t consider you my best friend at this moment, I’d strangle you.”
She cocked her hip to the side. “Coulda said he was taken, Gawd. Violence ain’t cute, because there’s plenty of Ms. Rodmans out there. Now, you’d better get a move on. You have just enough time to take a five-minute shower and get your new undies on, and ten minutes for me to do something wicked with your hair. Now shoo.”
Tia started away but turned back. “Why are you doing this for me? I don’t want you to get into any trouble.”
“Don’t worry about me, doll. I’ll be fine.”
“But Chance—” Tia stopped.
“Yes?” He fingered a few of the shirts on the rack. “You can speak freely. Nothing said will go out of this room. You think she’s a bitch?”
Tia gazed up at Rhonda/Ronnie from the other end of the rack. Although they were brother and sister, Tia would never have been able to tell by the way they acted. Rhonda/Ronnie was invisible to Chance, which was unfortunate. Ronnie was a great man.
“Chance doesn’t like me, and I can get used to that, but penalizing me for sick time I earned is wrong. I heard her promising my job to someone over the phone the other day, but she has to get rid of me first. I won’t just walk away or knowingly give her a reason.”
Tia shrugged. “I just won’t. I’ll get through this, whatever the outcome. I just don’t want you to get into trouble because of me.”
Beneath all the make up, Rhonda/Ronnie’s face softened. “I’m helping you because you’re one of the good guys,” he said, in his natural voice. “Chop-chop, Peacock. The bewitching hour is near.”
Tia touched her face as she hustled up two flights of stairs to the fourteenth floor. Rhonda/Ronnie had given her the makeover of the century. Tia barely recognized herself, yet the spike in her self-esteem was short-lived when she saw she was sixty-eight seconds late for work.
Rhonda/Ronnie stopped ahead of her, doorknob in hand. “Don’t fold under pressure. Tell her the elevator was stuck and that she can get a repair log from maintenance.”
“Why delay the inevitable? She’s going to find out that’s a lie.”
Rhonda/Ronnie shushed her. “Not if you let me work my magic. You look good. Now go.”
Tia entered the floor and stopped short. “Mr. And Mrs. Norman,” she said, greeting the station owners. “How nice to see you.”
The door behind Tia banged shut. She could hear Rhonda/Ronnie taking the stairs down two at a time.
“Tia! You look amazing,” Mrs. Norman exclaimed. “What have you done to yourself? The colors you’ve put together are wonderful.”
“It’s nothing,” Tia said, swallowing. “Something I threw together at the last minute.”
“Winton, doesn’t she look great?”
“Yes, Maylene. I told you long ago she had ‘the look’ to be on-air talent. Tia, have you given any more thought to being on camera?”
Had she? That was her dream come true.
“As a matter of fact—”
“You’re late.”
The ice-cold reprimand pushed Tia to the threshold of panic, where she teetered. “Good morning, Chance.” She greeted the bristly woman with a smile. “I was just saying hello to your folks.”
“Darling,” Maylene said to her daughter. “Is that how you greet everyone?”
“Mother, Tia is on an action plan for attendance.”
“I thought that was over.”
Tia regarded Chance, with vengeance in her heart. She’d led Tia to believe the Normans had agreed to this ridiculous punishment. And since she’d signed off on the action plan, she had no recourse but to follow through, and Tia wasn’t going to make it easy for Chance to steal her job.
“You’re one tough cookie, and that’s what we like. But, Chance.” Mrs, Norman touched her daughter’s wrist, which seemed to move by remote up her jacket sleeve, leaving Mrs. Norman little choice but to stop touching her. “It hardly seems fair to penalize Tia when we were chatting with her. Right, Winton?”
Mr. Norman had gone into a nearby cube and was at the computer, involved in a spreadsheet. “That’s right. We have meetings, Maylene. Chance?”
“Yes?” Chance glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening and gave Tia the evil eye. “What is it?”
“You’re looking more corpse-like than usual. You need more vitamin C in your diet, and some ultraviolet rays wouldn’t hurt. Come up later, and I’ll give you a handful of my vitamins. Can’t do anything about you getting more sun, though.”
There was a God, Tia thought, sucking her lips in so she wouldn’t laugh. Chance looked mortified, as her cheeks took on a pinkish hue. Like when the woman slapped her. Tia still couldn’t erase that picture from her mind.
“Mother, Father,” she said through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to keep you from your meetings, so you’d better run along.”
“You’re right, of course. Tia, so great to see you.” Mrs. Norman enveloped her in a cloud of Estee Lauder. “You look great. Those colors ... I don’t know, that outfit looks familiar, yet different.”
Tia started a slow slide backward. She didn’t want Mrs. Norman, the self-professed queen of Nordstrom, to connect that the anchors sometimes wore these clothes on TV!
“You know how it is when you shop at T.J. Maxx,” said Tia. “One person’s designer is another person’s bargain. Good to see you. Let’s talk again soon.”
“Right, dear. Chance,” her mother cooed, “walk us out.”
Chance’s look said she wasn’t going to let Tia get away with anything.
Tia felt like she�
��d been the beneficiary of two miracles today. Perhaps her good luck had returned. She rounded the corner of her workstation and prayed Chance would get locked in the elevator.
At her desk, she poured four broken Tums into her hand and chewed one at a time. Down to the last pieces, Tia wondered how she’d survive the next week and a half until payday.
She’d be home tonight, and if Dante hadn’t eaten everything, she’d have her first real hot meal in days.
But the likelihood of him leaving her food was slim and none.
She needed money. She pulled out her checkbook register and read the entries for the past month. Macy’s, Quik Trip gas, Kroger, insurance, Coach store, Dillard’s, package store (She needed her weekly bottle of Pinot Grigio.) Café Lisette’s, Publix, Coach store for the matching wallet, Kroger, BP gas, Macy’s, Kroger, Chanel, Nordstrom, eBay, Publix, car note.
Tia racked her brain. She’d bought a lot of groceries last month for someone with no food. She flipped back to the prior month and noticed the same thirty-dollar withdrawal, in addition to larger entries for Kroger.
The months preceding indicated the same. It finally struck her. Birth control pills.
Her hand hovered over the phone as she contemplated. If she went off the pill for a couple of months, that would save her sixty dollars, money she desperately needed right now. She could buy the generic antacid and still have enough money left over to pay for her overdue car tag. Or she could buy groceries.
“Tia.”
She heard her name whispered but didn’t see anyone.
She popped another Tums, sad that she was almost through with breakfast. “Yeah?”
“Want to buy a candy bar from my daughter? She’s trying to go to band camp. Forty-six boxes of this crap we have to sell.”
That was Victor Nash. The man had six kids, a wife, and provided for them on forty-six thousand dollars a year. On principle alone, Tia tried to help when she could.
She started to decline but stopped short. “Vic, what’d you bring for lunch?”
“Roast beef on rye.”
“Fruit?”
“Yeah, an apple. Why?”
“How much is the candy?”
“Two-fifty a pop.”
