“Is she psychic? How does she know already?”
“Damn good question.”
“Are you okay?” Jessa asked, not sure of what else to say.
“The blow doesn’t land so hard when you’re waiting for it to fall,” Keegan said, motioning for the waiter to refill her wineglass.
“I’m ready to order,” Jessa said. “Are you on more than a liquid diet?”
Keegan shifted her eyes up to the waiter as she smoothly flipped her red hair over her shoulder. “What I’m hungry for isn’t on the menu,” she said, letting her eyes fall eye level to his crotch.
Jessa leaned back a bit with a slight frown, wondering if Keegan was feeding into the hype of the big dick brotha, as she watched the woman lick her lips as the waiter smiled like he had just won the lottery. “Maybe you two should get a room?” Jessa said, slightly sarcastic. “After you take my order for the short ribs, please.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologized, his eyes still on Keegan. “And what can I get for you?”
Keegan shook her head in regret as she looked away from him. “Just a house salad,” she said.
“You sure?” he asked.
Jessa cut her eyes up at him. “Yes, she is sure. Thank you.”
Something in Jessa’s tone or the look in her eye made him double step from their table. Keegan’s eyes followed his walk away.
“If it wasn’t for the fact that I plan to annihilate my husband in court and sit back pretty on his money, then I would’ve chanced a ride on that pole,” Keegan said, directing her eyes back to Jessa.
Jessa did smile at that. “So you’re going for the jugular, huh?” she asked, taking a deep sip of her water.
Keegan’s eyes sharpened. “Oh, yes, sugar. His first wife got half and now I’ll take half of that half and let his new bitch ponder living on just a quarter of his worth. And he best be happy as a pig in slop that we didn’t have children, because I would have made sure my babies got their birthright.”
Jessa’s eyebrows arched a bit as she leaned back in the chair and crossed her long legs. She thought of the baby growing inside of her. Although she was capable of providing a good lifestyle for her baby, so could Eric if he had lived.
“Eric’s death has made a substantial amount of resources available to me. Financial and otherwise. ”
Eric’s resources. Eric’s finances.
And I am carrying his one and only heir.
Does Eric escape his responsibilities through death, or was it her job as a mother to make sure her baby received his or her birthright?
“Excuse me, Keegan,” Jessa said, easing her cell phone from her purse as she rose from her chair and walked to the restroom.
She checked to make sure each stall was empty as she dialed. Her call went straight to voice mail. It was after business hours and she expected that.
“Lincoln, this is Jessa Bell, and I need for you to call me first thing in the morning. I am curious to see if I have any legal standing to contest a will on behalf of my unborn child as the sole heir—”
“Hello, Ms. Bell?”
She turned and gazed at her reflection as her attorney’s voice suddenly filled the line. “Hello, Lincoln.”
“I’m in the office working late in preparation of a trial tomorrow,” he said. “Now, what was this about contesting a will?”
Jessa leaned against the wall and studied her reflection as she rearranged her hair with her fingertips in the mirror as she coolly explained her pregnancy, the death of her child’s father, and her child’s right to any inheritance.
The line was quiet for a few seconds. “And the father did not know about the pregnancy?”
Jessa shook her head. “No, he passed away before I even knew. So no provisions were made in the will. I’m not sure I want to pursue this, I’m just curious if it’s even possible.”
“And his widow has no children?”
“No,” Jessa said simply, her eyes narrowing as she remembered Jaime calling her child a bastard. Jessa felt a sharp pierce of anger.
“How far along are you?” he asked.
Jessa could tell he was taking notes. “Three months.”
“It’s too risky for a paternity test.”
“That’s if you’re even pregnant, bitch ... and if you are, your bastard child means nothing to me. Clear?”
Jessa hated that Jaime’s words echoed inside her head— and pierced her heart. “You know what, Lincoln, I want to pursue this. I want to fight for what belongs to my baby. Be it a dollar or five figures. I want it and I don’t want to give his widow a chance to spend what doesn’t belong to her,” Jessa said, her voice cold as she made her decision.
“This is going to be a little bit of a battle.”
Jessa shrugged. “No problem. It’ll make the win all the more better. I’ll be in your office first thing in the morning and I want those papers served to his widow before close of business tomorrow.”
“I have to be in court by nine,” her attorney said.
“Then I will be to your office by seven, or I should I look for more legal representation?” she asked as she swung the bathroom door open wide and strutted out like she owned the world.
Lincoln laughed. “Now, we go too far back for that type of chess move,” he said.
Jessa felt some of her tension ease. Lincoln had been her lawyer for years, and they were always straight up and straight shooting with each other. They had even dated very briefly when she first graduated from college. They had no chemistry and a friendship had been forged. “See you at seven?” she asked with the hint of a smile in her husky tones.
“See you at seven,” he agreed, sounding more like an agreeable older brother than anything else.
Jessa ended the call and made her way back to their table. Keegan sat with her chin in her hand as she gazed out the window at something. Or maybe nothing.
She looked up at Jessa as she retook her seat. “Everything okay, honey?”
Jessa nodded. “Just handling some business,” she said, unable to deny that bit of excitement she felt as she pictured the look on Jaime’s face when she got served those papers.
Aria Livewell
Writer’s block was a bitch.
It was true and real and kicking my ass. Again.
But they were the highs and lows and ebbs and flows of being a writer. And that’s what I am. It’s what I was born to be. Be it short stories, poems, news articles, blog entries, or celebrity interviews for major news publications, words were my life. I was rarely at a loss for them.
God meant for me to be a writer. Well, that and Kingston’s wife.
I know after everything we have overcome and fought for that God meant him for me. I just thank Him every day that we made it back. My jealousy and insecurities and fears about men because of my own shady-ass past had made me afraid to trust him. Afraid to discover that he was just as low as those men my cousin Jontae and I used to seduce and then rob when I was a teenager.
That dumb-ass stunt by Jessa Bell’s tricking ass had just poured salt on the wounds, and I believed her words and doubted my husband. She was my friend since college, but she revealed the secrecy of my infertility to my husband out of spite? Jealousy? Hatred?
I don’t know her reasons. I didn’t really give a fuck. I just know that I could never forgive her.
Even though that no-good bitch’s stunt actually made my life better after the initial storm. She pulled the Band-Aid off of wounds that were festering and needed to be healed. She tried to destroy my happiness, and instead her betrayal of our friendship had led to us fighting even harder for our love.
But I could never forgive her.
Even though her revelations actually led us to therapy, and in time our foundation was strengthened even more than before.
Even though I discovered that God was still handing out miracles and I was blessed with a pregnancy even though I had two abortions all those years ago and even more years of never getting pregnant.
&
nbsp; Even though my husband was at my side at the hospital, just as happy as I was to hear about the pregnancy, and anxious to return to our home with me.
Even though my therapist, Dr. Kellee, was still guiding me through the layers of pain and guilt and shame I had about the bullshit I pulled in my teens. The same guilt and shame that kept me from believing in my husband.
My and Kingston’s love was better than ever. The shit little girls dream about. The kind of stories told in romance novels.
But that was not Jessa’s intention.
I pushed back a bit from my desk and opened the top drawer to find the crumpled envelope with my name on the front in Jessa’s familiar handwriting.
Kingston had set the letter on my desk a couple of weeks ago and told me about it when I got home from doing an interview with a rapper just released from prison for drug trafficking.
“I caught Jessa leaving a letter in the mailbox,” he said after meeting me at the door to take my suitcase from me.
“What now?” I asked, hating the nerves set off inside me.
Kingston pressed a kiss to my temples, my cheek, and then my lips before he shrugged. “She claims it’s an apology,” he said. “I didn’t open it. It’s on your desk.
“I don’t have time for Jessa’s bullshit,” I said, before kicking off my heels, grabbing my husband’s hand, and leading him back to the couch to snuggle up close together. Soon any thoughts about Jessa were lost in the heat of our passion.
But in the weeks since she sent the letter, my mind ran across it.
Especially when Kingston, Renee, and even Jaime said the bitch apologized to them. That surprised me.
Jessa Bell apologetic? Shocker.
And now she was claiming to be pregnant by Eric.
More drama.
So even if Jessa didn’t have the restraining order against me for bopping her upside her head with her own cell phone in the Terrace Room, I couldn’t beat the bitch’s ass if she might be pregnant.
Or was this another Jessa Bell stunt?
Or ... was my ex-best friend and I pregnant at the same time?
I picked up the letter and stared at it before dropping it back into my desk and closing the drawer.
I couldn’t spare another moment on Jessa Bell ... but I couldn’t bring myself to throw the letter away either. One day curiosity would kill the cat, although I highly doubted that scandalous trick could say anything to make me forgive her.
Sighing, I tried my best to focus my thoughts and type the first word onto the computer for my article on the impact of reality TV on bullying among girls. But the words wouldn’t come.
As my stomach grumbled loudly in protest, I pushed back, away from the desk, and made my way downstairs to the kitchen. I used the remote to turn on the small flat screen on the granite countertop next to the professional-grade refrigerator. Pushing loose strands of hair off my face, I grabbed a tiny container of Ben & Jerry’s strawberry cheesecake ice cream and a spoon before sitting at the large island in the center of the kitchen.
“Today on The Kerry Kay Show we are bringing some of the most scandalous news stories across the country into the forefront. And first we’ll be talking with Jessa Bell—”
I almost choked on my ice cream as I looked at Jessa Bell sitting on stage next to Kerry Kay. I grabbed the remote to turn up the volume. “No, this bitch is not doing interviews. What the fuck?”
“She is a former mistress who almost lost her life recently when she attempted to end the affair with her married lover ...”
I sat for the next twenty-five minutes in stunned silence as I watched Jessa Bell play with the sympathies of both the studio and television audience. I shook my head at the tears, the sad face, the pensive sighs.
“I didn’t know this crazy bitch could act,” I said, feeling my anger for Jessa rise, particularly when she brought up that her lover’s wife had had her own affair. She said no names, but it wouldn’t be hard for anyone to research and discover Jaime’s identity.
“You slick bitch,” I said in a low voice before I turned and jogged up the stairs to enter her office. I snatched open that top drawer and grabbed the letter from Jessa to press into the small shredder next to her wooden desk with a shake of her head.
Chapter 7
“Welcome back to SQN’s Hardline News. I am your host Nunzio Gonzalez, and we are breaking down and exploring every horrific detail of the brutal murder of the unsuspecting wife of a mega-church minister by his mistress. ”
Jessa tensed from her seat in the news station of one of SQN’s affiliate stations in New Jersey. She listened to the fiery and controversial host of the cable news show introduce his entire panel that included attorneys, a popular minister of a mega-church, and her. God be with me, she prayed as the light over the camera that she faced lit up.
She remembered to keep her face neutral as she listened to the two attorneys go back and forth with each other and the host for the next two segments on the upcoming trial.
“I want to take another look at this case, at the events leading up to this mistress actually planning and then going forward with her decision to brutally shoot the wife of her minister lover. Let’s bring in a former mistress whose attempt to end the affair ended with her lover attempting to kill her before he shot himself in the head. Jessa Bell—and, no, the irony of her name is not lost on us—why do you think there seems to be such violence attached to affairs in the headlines?” Nunzio asked.
Jessa forced herself to relax in her chair. “I’m not trying to say that my experience makes me an expert on this subject, but I think history shows this is not a new phenomenon. Um, in my case, I wasn’t aware of the issues that the man I was dealing with had. I had no clue that he was in a mental situation to snap and become violent with me. He had never been that way before. And so for me, this is more than just a mistress done wrong or a mistress no longer wanting to be second place, the capability or ability to murder someone is just ruthlessness in an individual regardless of what situation they’re in. Although I will admit that at one time I did want him to leave his wife for me, but that I can’t fathom murdering her or anyone else for that matter.”
“Is there a ruthlessness to admittedly being the other woman?” Nunzio asked in his hard, pull-no-shorts voice meant to titillate his viewers.
“Of course, and that’s why I have made the choice not to enter into that type of relationship again, but I will say I think a lot of the blame for the affair is placed entirely on the mistress. This minister is just as culpable for the affair and maybe even for not seeing that the person he brought into his life and his relationship was dangerous. But the focus is on the woman, as if she made the man overlook the marriage vows that he made, particularly in Reverend Franks’s case as a man of the cloth.”
“True,” Nunzio said with a nod of his head.
“I think about one of my neighbor’s husbands who is pursuing me to no end and the pervert is intrigued that the triangle I was in ended in violence—”
Nunzio slammed his hand down on the desk and his mouth fell open emphatically. “What kind of sick neighborhood are you living in?”
Jessa laughed. “Seriously, the man said to me—after telling him in no uncertain terms that I am not interested—that he wanted to try some ‘bleep’ that was good enough to make a man want to kill me. That is crazy, and that to me is a clear sign that he is a fruit loop ready to flip.”
Nunzio frowned in distaste.
“I considered telling his wife. I feel like she should know who she is married to. I feel like I should tell her, but then I don’t want to destroy her either because it could be perceived as spite. I’ve done spiteful things in the past, but this time I just really want to warn her to get away from this man.”
“Touchy situation,” Nunzio said, tapping his pen on the desk.
Jessa nodded. “It really is.”
Nunzio shifted papers on his lit desk before he looked back up at the camera with his lean and hard featu
res. “Now, Reverend Franks has not been legally implicated in the murder of his wife. Do you believe he is still responsible for her death?”
Jessa shrugged as she turned her lips downward. “I believe that he is wholly responsible for the affair. I don’t know enough about the case to say he plotted with his mistress to have his wife murdered. I have faith in the judicial system that if they cleared him of any wrongdoing, then his responsibility ends at the affair. To me, even if this man promised to divorce his wife and run away with this woman and then backed away from that promise, there is never a reason for someone to kill someone else. Never. To me, it completely lies at her feet for her actions. Having been someone in this type of secret—and at times exciting—relationship where he made promises to me that he didn’t keep, I ended the relationship with him and tried to move on, but murder never entered my mind. So that’s her crazy that could’ve manifested in any situation. She is just capable of murder. Period. Not because she’s a mistress who was wronged, but because she’s crazy. Period, point blank,” she finished with emphasis and a look like “Right?”
Nunzio chuckled as he picked up a few sheets of paper and swiveled in his chair to push them in a drawer. “True, Jessa Bell. Very true,” he said. “Before we say good-bye to you, what about this name of yours. It’s hard to miss that if you say it three times fast, it sounds like the infamous Jezebel.”
Jessa smiled a little, feeling more comfortable in front of the camera. “Yes, I know. But I married and became a Bell, so that wasn’t a mark on me my whole life or me living up to my name or anything like that. It is just a coincidence. Because of being almost killed, I am truly trying to make amends and correct my life, and it’s just a name, Nunzio,” she said with a soft smile. “I’m thinking of adding my maiden name back to it to break it up. It’ll be Jessa Logan-Bell.”
Nunzio laughed. “I think that’s a good idea.”
“Me too,” Jessa said with a nod of her head.
Mistress, Inc. Page 9
