Alex looked out of the limousine up at the building where Brooklyn apparently lived. It made him immediately grateful that his profession paid so well, not to mention the trust fund he had yet to tap into. He had spent time in some divey places before, but this was pretty sketchy. He sighed and got out, feeling distinctly out of place in his tuxedo, amid the suspiciously rickety fire escapes and gritty signs in Chinese.
She lived surprisingly close to his current apartment downtown, but that was the thing about the East Side. You could walk two blocks and find yourself going from the well-to-do to the well-worn. Brooklyn lived in a building that would no doubt be torn down soon enough to make way for the luxury apartments built to accommodate the surge of foreign investors driving up prices in Manhattan.
He pressed the button for her apartment.
“Hello, Alex?” replied a scratchy voice that sounded nothing like her.
“Uh, yeah,” he said uncertainly. “Is Brooklyn in?”
“Yeah.” He heard laughter in the background. “Buzzers broken, I’ll come down.”
A full two minutes later the front door was opened by a white girl about the same age as Brooklyn, wearing a tie-dye tank top and cut-off shorts. Her arms were covered in tattoos and Alex counted at least three piercings on her face alone. The most distinguishing feature, which was saying a lot, was the half of her head that was completely shaved, leaving the other side falling to her shoulder in a rainbow of colors.
They both blinked at each other in surprise. Alex because, well, because. Her, because he was a bit more than she expected.
“Wow, you really are good looking,” she said, thus revealing the reason for her surprise. “I’m Annie,” she said, holding out a hand with a smile and pulling him in as soon as he took it.
Four flights later and Alex had a better understanding of why Brooklyn had such a delectable ass. It was a good thing he worked out regularly. He could hear the laughter of at least a few more feminine voices behind the door that Annie led him to.
She bounded through the door and he found himself in a rather bohemian looking interior. There were patterned scarves tacked up on walls, more pillows thrown around than anyone could possibly have any use for, even a beaded curtain covering the entrance to a hallway. Inside were three additional females all turning to look at him with open curiosity—and a distinct undercurrent of hostility.
It was like a mini United Nations. One looked like she was half white, half Asian combined in one tiny little package that couldn’t possibly be taller than 5 feet, with a cute pixie haircut. Next to her on the couch was a black girl with small, tight dreadlocks falling all the way down to her butt. There was a small bar through her nose and she had distinctively exotic looking eyes that were casting a dubious slant in his direction. The girl, probably Puerto Rican, leaning against the wall was the most intimidating, wearing a brutal scowl that was a sharp contrast to the almost adorable buns on top of her head that made her look like a sexy Minnie Mouse.
He gave a brief, tight-lipped smile as they all sat there, no-doubt ruminating on all the juicy details Brooklyn had obviously given them regarding his “lie of omission.”
He used the uncomfortable moment to take in the part of the apartment visible to him. His eye was caught by a large canvas over the couch. It was an interesting collage of vibrant interlocking squares and circles overlaying hints of African tribal images. Without thinking he moved in closer. This close he could see that it was digital, not painted.
“This is really cool,” he said. “Where did you get it from?”
He could almost feel the temperature in the room go down a few amicable degrees behind him.
“Brooklyn made it,” said the half white, half Asian girl seated below him with a hint of pride.
He looked down at her with surprise. That would explain the tattoo. “I didn’t know she made art.”
“Well, it’s hard enough affording New York working at an IT help desk. Being a starving artist would be far worse.”
He spun around at the sound of her voice and was stunned yet again.
He let out a breath at how beautiful she looked. Her mass of natural curls was piled up on top of her head, leaving a few wisps hanging down to frame her face. The purple ends were now platinum blonde which gave it an artistic flair.
The dress was certainly what caught the eye. It was a simple, skin-tight, black lace number that covered her from neck to toe, hugging every single curve. She twirled around and his breath caught again. The back was completely cut out revealing…everything, from the nape of her neck right down to the top of her ass. Any lower and they wouldn’t have been able to attend, which, frankly, would have been fine by Alex.
“You like?” she asked with a coquettish lilt.
Of course he did. His eyes trailed the line of tattoos as she stood there showing the best feature of her dress. “Very nice,” he said.
“You don’t think it’s too scandalous?” she asked.
“Let’s hope so,” he said with a grin.
She laughed and he could feel the tension in the room drop a few degrees more. She twirled back around to face him directly.
“These are my friends,” she pointed out. “Martina (the Puerto Rican still casting a grim look his way), Kay (the biracial girl with the pixie cut), Justine (the one with dreads), and you met Annie. This is our happy little apartment.”
“You all live here?” he blurted without thinking.
She placed a hand on her hips and gave him a brazen look. “Maybe your father could give us one of his apartments in the Wright Tower?” she replied sarcastically. “But to answer your question, no. Martina and Justine live across the hall. They’re just here to make sure you behave.” She gave him a smirk.
The other four tittered under their breath as they cast warning glances in his direction.
“Anyway, let’s go,” she said, giving him a break he probably didn’t deserve.
She said her goodbyes and followed him out to the hallway. At the top of the stairs she stopped him.
“Wait a second,” she said, reaching down to lift up one leg. “There’s no way I’m making it down four flights in these heels.”
Alex acted without even thinking, lifting her up in his arms, causing her to yelp in surprise. “I can’t very well have you dirtying those pretty little feet of yours.”
“It’s four flights!” she exclaimed with a laugh.
“I work out, and fortunately, you have the body of someone who lives on the fourth floor of a walk-up.”
By the time he got to the first floor he had serious doubts about his workout regimen. Brooklyn may have weighed one-hundred-and-nothing, but four flights were still four flights.
“Are you okay?” she laughed, patting him on the back as he stopped to take a breath after setting her down.
“Nothing a little champagne won’t solve,” he said, perking back up. “Shall we?” He offered her an arm, which she took with another laugh, and led her to the waiting limo.
He had a bottle ready in the car, along with a bouquet of pink tulips.
“Flowers?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “I thought this was a conspiracy to get your brother to notice me. This feels suspiciously like a date.”
Alex bristled a little but kept it from his face. “Just because I’m a conniving accomplice doesn’t mean I can’t be a gentleman.” He said, quickly recovering.
The flowers had been an impulse buy. The stand had literally been on the corner from where he met his limousine. At the time it seemed a shame to get all dressed up and offer champagne without going full monte. In retrospect it was more than a bit telling. What the hell was going on here?
Brooklyn sat in the back next to Alex, sipping her champagne and thinking. The poor man had been lucky to get out of her apartment alive, especially with Martina within 10 feet of him. Now, holding the lovely tulips in her lap, she felt bad.
Actually, she felt conflicted. Prior to learning that he was actually Michael�
�s brother, she was pretty certain that he had succeeded in erasing the man from her mind. Once the truth had come out she put him right back on the shelf that she put all other men like him on: Good for One Time Use Only. Because that’s what it had been: one time. Or one weekend anyway.
Yet here he was, whisking her off like Cinderella to a fancy gala to meet her Prince Charming. He was doing it just to help her in her quest to attract another man. A man she wasn’t quite sure she wanted anymore. Did she want Alex? Did he want her?
She took a sip of her champagne and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was staring out the window with a slight frown that she couldn’t interpret. He caught her looking his way and turned to give her a small smile. She smiled in response, then went back to sipping her champagne, all of a sudden at a loss for words.
“So you’re an artist?” he eventually asked, breaking the awkward silence.
“Graphic designer,” she clarified. “It was my major in college.”
“So why IT?” he asked.
“Pays better? More in demand? Take your pick. I gots to pay the rent somehow,” she sang. “Not much call for abstract prints. My current job doesn’t take much, just knowing your way around software…and how to tell people to ‘turn it off and then on again,’” she laughed.
“I thought the piece in your apartment looked amazing,”
She was filled with pride as she smiled back at him. “Thanks,” she said, wondering if he was just being nice.
“No, really,” he insisted. “You have real talent.”
Her smile grew, then she looked down at the flowers in her lap with sudden shyness.
They resumed riding in silence until the limo reached the Botanical Gardens. The gala had long since started and she could see only a few late-comers making their way in as Alex reached in to help her out.
He offered her his arm. “Let’s go find your Wright in shining armor, shall we?” he said with a wink and a smile.
She looked at him a moment, searching his face, then smiled in return, taking his arm.
So be it.
Chapter Seventeen
London was surprised to see a hand holding a flute of champagne reach around in front of her, stopping her in her tracks. She stared down at it with cross-eyed confusion until she saw that the hand was attached to Michael Wright.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to get me drunk,” she said, giving him a sardonic smile.
“Well that depends,” he said with an inquisitive stare. “Are you a mean drunk, or the kind that runs through the street naked?”
She laughed despite herself, or maybe due to the previous glasses already in her system.
She saw his face light up in response and felt a tiny little tingle of pleasure at the attention he was showing her. She had no idea what his intentions were, but at least she wasn’t standing around by herself like the wallflower she was. She did not inherit her father’s natural ability to schmooze.
“How come I’ve never seen you at any of these events before? I’m sure I would have remembered a face like yours,” he said, taking a sip from his glass.
“This isn’t really my domain,” she said. She leaned in with a confidential air, “I’m not really Wright material.”
He leaned in close to her and whispered, “neither am I.”
She smiled with amusement, enjoying the musky smell of whatever aftershave it was that he used. “What does that mean?”
“Wright is my father,” he said. The smile on his face faltered a bit. “I like to think I’m my own man. These sorts of events are for people like him. Not really my cup of tea.”
“So what are you doing here, then?” she asked, pulling back with honest curiosity.
“I have to appease my mother every now and then by at least making a show of trying to get hitched.”
That was an interesting turn. “You don’t want to be married?” she asked.
“Do you know who my father is?” he replied, as though that answered the question.
London shrugged. In a way she understood. Her parents were almost 35 years strong. Who knew which wife Richard Wright was currently on?
“You don’t necessarily have to follow in his footsteps, you know.”
“Especially if I never get married in the first place,” he replied
“Touché,” she said raising her glass.
He was turning out to be a lot less stuffy than she originally imagined. She wondered what Brooklyn would think of her “mature” older crush if she found out he had no intention of settling down. She was probably better off with whomever it was that paid for the use of that Town Car.
“So what are you doing here then?” he asked.
She took a sip before answering. “Recuperating,” she said cryptically.
“Ooh,” he reacted, “Sounds serious if this is your medicine. It’s not contagious is it?”
“Not if my sister is any indication,” she murmured into her champagne glass.
Brooklyn. It reminded her of why she’d decided to lay into Michael in the first place.
“So what’s up with my sister and your brother?” she asked.
“I’m just as much in the dark as you are,” he said. She could see his mind working, no doubt having the same questions she had. “All I know is, he has his own season ticket. I suppose there are some benefits to being a Wright after all,” he said giving her a guilty smile.
“So, what? They just meet at a basketball game and two days later he sends her off in a Town Car?” she was becoming surprisingly sober, once again thinking about Brooklyn’s welfare.
Michael paused as he brought his glass up for another sip. “I have to admit, that sounds awfully unlike him. But then again, I haven’t really spoken to him in a while. He tries to avoid New York.”
“Strange,” she said, taking a worried sip.
He saw her expression. “Well, I can assure you he isn’t a serial killer,” he said, giving her a teasing smile.
“Oh?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Even though you ‘haven’t really spoken to him in a while?’”
“Are we back on the subject of inappropriate men for your sister again? I thought we established that she was an adult.”
“I just—”
“You just have your own issues to deal with. I think you’re projecting.”
Her mouth flew open.
“Ah, there it is.”
And…she was done. “Once again, thanks for the drink,” she said sarcastically, raising her glass and walking away.
“Oh, stop,” he said, grabbing her arm.
She looked down at the hand on her arm with indignation. “Do you mind?”
“Can I apologize?”
“You can do whatever you want. We are done here,” she said shaking her arm free.
“Hey, hey,” he protested, using his long legs to outpace her. He stopped right in front of her.
She tried going to the left of him, only to be blocked. He blocked her again as she tried to go past him on the right. Finally she gave an exasperated sigh. “What do you want?” she pleaded.
“Tabula Rasa” he offered. “Clean Slate?”
“It’s blank slate, and you’re using the term incorrectly,” she said.
He laughed in response. “Fair enough. No more talk about younger siblings or recuperation. We can just drink champagne and you can talk to me in Latin all night. It is the root of the Romance languages,” he said leaning in closer with a devilish grin.
She smiled despite herself. “What exactly are you after?” she asked suspiciously.
“Well, that rolls back around to what kind of drunk you are,” he said, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.
She giggled. “How many glasses have you had?” How many had she had?
“Why don’t we go take a look at the orchids,” he said, changing the topic and taking her arm again. “I hear they are spectacular, and it feels a bit stuffy in here.”
She let h
im take her arm “Listen, I don’t know what you want but you are most certainly not my type.”
“Well, that’s refreshing,” he said with a laugh.
London looked up at him in surprise. She had been certain he was hitting on her. Despite her pronouncement she was still a tiny bit disappointed he wasn’t at least a little offended. Did he really just want to escape to see the orchids?
She sipped her champagne as they entered the mostly empty orchid display. Once inside he stopped and spun to face her. He gave her another inquisitive look as he sipped his champagne. The amused twinkle of his dark blue eyes had yet to disappear and she wondered if that truly was their natural state after all.
“So why am I not your type?” he asked after finishing his sip.
Her eyes blinked in flustered surprise at the return to the topic. “Well…um,” she looked him up and down. “You’re…just not.”
“I see,” he said nodding his head knowingly. “Have you ever dated a white man?”
“I didn’t say it was because you were white!” she protested.
“So it’s not that then?” he said, the twinkle in his eye getting more pronounced.
“Okay fine. Don’t get me wrong, you’re very good looking,” she confessed. A broad smile came to his face before she continued. “But I grew up in Harlem. I went to HBCUs.” She saw the confused look on his face, “Historically Black Colleges and Universities. And then,” she paused before going on. “I was with the same man for a long time. Too long,” she muttered, taking a sip.
“Sounds to me like it’s about time for something new,” he suggested with a smile.
She just smiled and shook her head, taking another sip of champagne. “Have you ever dated a black woman?”
He squinted his eyes as if tapping into his memory bank.
“You have to think that hard about it?” she laughed with astonishment. “Exactly how many women have you been with?”
“I’m not flipping through my numbers,” he chided. “I’m debating how much to tell you.”
“Now I’m intrigued,” she responded, truly curious.
“Oh heck, I’ve had enough champagne. Brooke Howard and I…we may have connected a few times at Harvard, actually maybe more than a few times. In all fairness, she was the one to break it off.”
Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance Page 9
