Every Chance I Get

by Altonya Washington

  “Are you crazy? We’ve been getting exposure left and right.”

  “Print exposure.”

  Asher smiled. “What have you got in mind?”

  The look Talib slanted was answer enough.

  “Hell, man, why don’t you just go and talk to her?”

  “That’s all I want.” Talib stood and walked over to lean against the tall pine bar in the room. “But she wants no part of it—of me.”

  “That’s a lie, you know.” Asher’s voice was light as he nuzzled his son’s hair.

  “I’m not so sure it is, Ash.” Talib studied the invisible pattern his index finger traced into the bar top. “She’s more than angry with me. I suspected it before, but now I know.”

  Concern shadowed Asher’s light eyes. “You know what?”

  “She’s terrified.”

  “Of you?”

  “I think so. No, no, that’s not right.” Talib pushed off the bar and strolled the room. He stroked the silky whiskers darkening the honey tone of his face. “No, I don’t think she’s terrified. I’m bloody sure as hell of it.”

  Misha found solace on a secluded bend along the back porch. She wiggled to a more comfortable position on a cushioned seat and heard a crinkle from the paper she accidentally sat on. She smiled, finding several outdated newspapers belonging to their competition. Silently, she commended Riley’s thoroughness. The girl always liked to see what the other guy was doing, so she could take it one step further—one step better. Despite that, Misha felt her approval waning when she saw a copy of The First Beacon.

  Misha placed aside her disgust and browsed the paper. But it just returned full steam when she saw that the Beacon had added a new section to the paper. That week’s edition boasted the debut of “The Word on Entertainment” by editor Justine Duke.

  “That shady wench.” Misha seethed with anger as she conjured the image of her former colleague and greatest enemy. The woman’s irresponsible reporting had caused several upsets between Riley and Asher. Not to mention the upsets between Misha and Talib.

  Misha felt her anger gradually taper into anticipation. The need for a slice of revenge was rising sure and steady.

  “There you are!” Gloria Reynolds’s firm voice filled the area when she waltzed around the corner. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

  “Well, you found me.” Misha made room on the lounge chair and watched as Gloria angled her tall, curvy frame next to her.

  “The baby’s baptism is turning out to be the biggest business party of the season.”

  Misha had to laugh at the woman’s excitement. “I’ll bet you’ve got enough scoops to keep The New Chronicle thick for the next year.”

  “I won’t deny that.” Gloria gave a quick toss of her auburn locks. “But it’s not The New Chronicle I’ve collected the biggest scoop for, but The Stamper Court.” She spoke of the new publication Riley had been slated to run with Misha as her chief editor.

  Intrigued, Misha sat up a bit straighter on the lounge chair listening as Gloria talked of a feature on Hud-Mason.

  “We’ve already got Asher’s and Talib’s blessings to run with the thing. The co-owners are eager for as much exposure as possible.”

  Misha knew that wouldn’t be difficult for them to obtain. Talk of the successful agents was everywhere. Even the advertising world had caught the fever. Talib’s and Asher’s faces were gracing everything from NYC subways to billboards in Times Square.

  Misha noted that an exposé would be great for her and Riley’s new publication which was garnering almost as much talk as Talib’s and Asher’s new venture.

  “Are we talking more of a background piece or something more specialized?”

  Gloria bit her thumbnail and considered the question. “Oh, this would definitely be more specialized.”

  Misha reached for her phone to input notes, but realized she’d left it in the baby’s nursery when she first arrived at the party. “Well, I can put Coyt Parsons on it.” She ran down the project in her head. “He’d love the opportunity. He certainly does have a flair for flashy writing and this would probably call for just that.”

  “You may want to wait on that.” Gloria scooted to the edge of the lounge. “The board is gonna insist on you handling it.”

  “Why?” Misha moved to the edge of the lounge, as well. “I’m an editor, Gloria, not a writer. Trust me, I know my limits.”

  “That may be, but you writing the story was the one thing they insisted on.”

  “Right.” Misha leaned back and regarded her publisher with clear suspicion in her tilting onyx stare. “Is this what Riley and me are gonna have to look forward to with our new publication? Will the brass always insist on how we should handle our stories?”

  Gloria was about to respond, when she paused and looked past Misha. “Not our brass, hon.” She patted her hand to Misha’s knee and stood.

  Misha followed the direction of the woman’s gaze to Talib Mason.

  Chapter 2

  “Talib,” Gloria greeted the man with a nod and soft smile. She hurried from the porch, tuning into the fact that war was in the air.

  “What are you doing?” Suspicion all but blazed from Misha’s eyes.

  When he approached, she retreated. Talib noticed and it triggered his frustration anew. He moved forward until he’d invaded her personal space quite adequately.

  “When would you like to start meeting to discuss the story?”

  Misha attempted to make a move around him, but he wouldn’t allow it.

  “I can send someone out first thing on Monday,” she said.

  Talib slipped a hand into a side pocket of his cream trousers and bowed his head. “Gloria did tell you we expect your personal attention on this, didn’t she?”

  “Do you realize that I’m a very busy woman?” She blinked hair from her eyes so he could see the full extent of her emotion. “I don’t have to be involved in every stage of research to write this story, you know?”

  “For this story, you do. Take it or leave it.”

  Her smile was sweet. “I’ll leave it.”

  He stepped aside when she tried to move past him that time.

  “Your bosses aren’t going to like that you walked out on one of the biggest stories of the year.”

  “Spare me, Talib. You and Asher are everywhere. I’m sure the world knows all about the two former ballers making yet another splash in the agenting world they already rule.”

  Talib took a seat on the porch railing. “No one else has this part of the story—the background on who we are—who we really are.”

  Curiosity winning out over suspicion, Misha walked toward him. “Exactly what is your intention for this feature?”

  “What time may I expect you on Monday?”

  Misha muttered under her breath and attempted to control her temper. “Don’t for a second think you can rile me in my own business. I don’t know yet what you’re trying to do—”

  “Trying to do, love? I’m trying to give you a story.”

  “Mmm-hmm, I know what you’re trying to give me, Tali.”

  “Is that so?” She was close enough to touch and he took advantage. “Why do you keep running from me, then?”

  Misha didn’t try to twist out of the grip he had on her forearm. Patiently, she waited for him to release her but discovered too late that he had more in mind first.

  The kiss and caress that followed wasn’t forced. Misha leaned into it willingly, needingly. Talib loosened his hold on her arm the instant their lips met. He didn’t move from the rail and only began to caress her when she moved closer. Her hair brushed his hands when he massaged her back and shoulders. Whimpering sounds vibrated from both of them while their tongues fought a slow duel. Misha raked the silky curls tapered at Talib’s neck and arched closer into the powerful wall of his chest.

  Reluctantly, Talib acknowledged that he’d have to be the one to end things. He’d take her right there against the rail if he didn’t let her go soon. B
reaking the kiss smoothly, he let his mouth trail her neck.

  “So when may I expect you on Monday?”

  The words, no matter the elegant tone they were delivered in, were like a cold splash. Misha twisted away from him.

  “I’ll call you.” For the second time that afternoon, she stormed away from him.

  Talib’s cool expression merged into one less certain. Slumping on the railing, he prayed this plan of his would have a chance at actually working.

  “What’s Talib done now?” Riley drawled while setting her baby’s stuffed animals to a far corner of the crib.

  “Why don’t we talk about how long you’ve known about Justine Duke’s new publication.”

  Riley’s hands paused on the toys. “You know I always keep up with the competition.”

  “But you had to know I’d be interested in something like that. Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I didn’t want you flying off the deep end about the woman. You almost lost your mind over the crap she pulled before and with your history…”

  “Riley, please, you’ve got no idea about our history.”

  Riley made sure the baby’s monitor was on, then firmly ushered Misha into her bedroom which was connected to the nursery.

  “I need my phone,” Misha said, remembering.

  “It’s already on the nightstand.” Riley motioned for Misha to sit down on the bed next to her. “Talk.”

  “What—” Misha spread her hands “—is this about, Justine?”

  “This is about you telling me the rest of what happened. Now.”

  “We… Justine and I worked together before—”

  “Hell, Misha, I know all that.”

  Wearily, Misha leaned forward, resting her elbows to her knees. “There was a client…Talib and Asher were preparing to sign him. They were just starting up the agency. Talib had been in town wooing clients while Asher was still setting up shop in Phoenix.”

  Riley got up and moved over to sit on the vanity stool before her dresser and listened.

  “Anyway, the guy they were going after the hardest…he was a real jerk. Nothing like Vic,” she said, referring to The New Chronicle’s former fact-checker and Hud-Mason’s newest client, Victor Lyne. “Ray Simmons was his name. I got to meet him a few times at some parties Talib took me to. That was enough to tell me that the guy was just in it for the money. At the time, me and Justine were both working for The First Beacon.” She shrugged and curled against a pillow lining the headboard.

  “We were good colleagues. Not friends, but good enough coworkers to feel comfortable bouncing ideas off one another. There was the occasional chatter about men and dates. I told her about Talib, meeting his new client and how money hungry the guy was.” Misha leaned back and folded her arms across her chest. “Justine was trying to make a splash with her entertainment features even back then. She was a so-so writer, looked down on being an assistant when what she really wanted were full-fledged reporting creds. She figured Ray Simmons was just the ticket. So she wrote a splashy story on the guy and got the paper to run it because he had connections to the up-and-coming Hud-Mason agency. Humph, Hud-Mason never had the chance to sign him. Justine’s story revealed that Ray held no loyalties to anyone—he was going with whoever got him the biggest bucks. Another agency worked up a deal for him and scooped him right out from under Talib and Asher.”

  “Talib didn’t take that too well, I guess.”

  Misha gave a mock salute in Riley’s direction and closed her eyes on the memory.

  “Men take betrayal far more seriously than women do. He was like someone I didn’t know. He accused me…accused me in ways and of things… He said I’d slept with him for the story. It took days before I even knew what the hell he was talking about.”

  The despair in Misha’s eyes tore at Riley’s heart. She wanted to go to her, but resisted, knowing there was more to the story.

  Absently, Misha fidgeted with the frame holding Asher and Riley’s photo on one side and Ahmad’s ultrasound on the other. Seconds passed before she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and raised the hem of her dress. She rubbed the scar at the bend of her knee.

  “This won’t ever heal, which is probably a good thing. That way I’ll always have a reminder of—”

  “The accident.”

  “Of why I had the accident.”

  “Misha—”

  “I was completely out of it. Talib was the only thing on my mind. It’s a wonder I knew where my keys were, let alone how to drive a car. I’m still amazed that I didn’t kill myself.”

  Riley bristled then but knew she had to ask. “Is that what you were trying to do?”

  “No. No.” She spoke without hesitation and repeated the word when Riley stared. “I love living too much for that, but that night…me and Talib would’ve been together three years if that story hadn’t broke. We met at a charity event. It was his third year in the league. I was there with someone from work. The guy couldn’t dance worth a damn but it was a good networking opportunity. I’d just met someone from the Beacon and gotten an interview. I was even feeling good enough to risk my toes to a poor dance partner who twirled me right into Talib. His date was not thrilled.”

  Riley covered her mouth when she laughed.

  Misha’s amusement didn’t last. “Three years later he couldn’t stand my guts. That story came out and he wouldn’t even give me the chance to explain. I saw him that day, tried one last time to talk—it didn’t go well at all.” She pounded a fist to the gray comforter. “None of this was my fault. Idle chatter with a coworker who took it and ran. I thought about that, getting madder and crazier every minute. Then I got in my car.” She left the bed and walked to the windows overlooking the backyard.

  Riley nodded, finally understanding her friend’s real fear.

  “I can’t fall for him again.” Misha turned her back on the windows. “Correction. I can’t fall any deeper for him. If it fizzles again… What if the next time I get in my car…”

  “Hey.” Riley left the stool and came over to smooth her hands down Misha’s arms. “You’re smarter than that. Way too smart to let something like that dictate a decision not to have a future with the man you love.”

  “Talib doesn’t love me.” Misha shook her head, not willing to speak to the status of her own emotions then. “I don’t know what he’s up to, but it isn’t about love.”

  “And how are you so sure?”

  Misha flinched and turned back to the windows.

  “So the question you have to answer is, why do you still want to keep Talib away?”

  The party finally thinned out a couple of hours later. Riley insisted on Misha taking a nap in one of the guestrooms. When she woke, Misha decided to leave through the back and call later to let Riley know she was okay.

  But leaving through the back was out of the question once she reached the garage and found her Acura blocked in by a black Navigator. She didn’t have long to curse the driver, who arrived moments later.

  “What the hell?” She waved toward the hulking vehicle.

  “Slipping out through the back, what would our hosts say?” Talib chastised as he crossed the carved stone pavement.

  “Move it, Talib.”

  “What time shall I expect you on Monday?”

  “Didn’t I say I’d call?”

  He was standing over her so suddenly she hadn’t even noticed he’d quickened his pace.

  “It would be unwise for you to continue to play with me on this. I’m as busy as you are.”

  “Then you’ll understand why I can’t drop everything to come running when you command it.”

  His dimpled smile emerged then and he rubbed the material of her bodice between his thumb and forefinger. “I remember a time when you always came running for me.”

  The suggestion in his words had her leaning back on suddenly weak legs. “Well, I’m not that girl anymore.”

  He backed off, as well. “No, you’re not that girl an
ymore. You’re a high-powered editor whose bosses won’t appreciate knowing we haven’t even set up our first meeting.”

  “And you’re a jackass.”

  “Then you should understand how uncomfortable I could make this for you, love.”

  “Is it really worth it, Talib? The agitation?”

  “I, for one, don’t see it as agitation. And yes, it’s really worth it.”

  She watched him for a long moment and then stopped trying to figure him out. “Fine. Monday at ten.”

  He grinned. “Make it nine. You can treat me to breakfast.”

  “Talib, you—”

  “I really like that place Red Sun.” He was already striding off to move his car. He started the engine, backed out and left the truck idling while Misha fumed.

  For the third, and what she hoped to be last time for that day, she stormed off. She was frustrated that Talib convinced her to take the meeting and even more frustrated to admit to herself that she wanted to.

  Chapter 3

  Over a mug of coffee on Monday morning, Misha thought about all that had happened between her and Talib during the past several months. Going back any further than that was dangerous.

  She stayed in for the remainder of the weekend following Ahmad’s baptism party. She wouldn’t call it cowardice. New York was a big place. It wasn’t like she was going to run into Talib at every turn, for Pete’s sake. Breakfast that morning would be more than enough “together time.” Besides, she’d needed the rest of the weekend to mull over Riley’s insights over her real resistance to Talib’s sudden interest.

  She wasn’t afraid of a relapse but of something else she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit. What did that mean? She smirked into the coffee mug and berated herself.

  Jeez, Misha, can’t you even be honest with yourself in your own damn house?

  What she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit was that she still loved him so very much that the emotion went far deeper than falling for someone. She loved and was in love with him as much as she’d been the day she’d cursed him and gone mad over the fact that he didn’t believe in her.