by Pamela Yaye
“Cheyenne’s a cool girl. Smart, down-to-earth, funny.”
“That’s nice.”
“She’s not you though.” Rashawn smiled. “I thought about you all night.”
“You did?”
He reached for her hand, stopping her. “The score is simple, Doc. Of all the women I could’ve chosen, I picked you. Not Teagan. Not Cheyenne. But you.”
Grinning, he dropped his voice to a devilish whisper. “Come here.”
Yasmin obliged.
“Let’s start over,” he suggested, taking her in his arms. “I’m Rashawn and you my Nubian queen are?”
Her lips spread into a smile. “Has anyone ever told you you’re crazy?”
“Nope.”
“Well, you are.”
“I’m crazy about you. And only you.”
Silence came and with it clarity. Yasmin looked at him and felt a connection she had never felt before. “I should have believed you when you told me the steroids weren’t yours. I assumed you used drugs because—”
Rashawn yanked her to his chest before she finished her sentence. “Enough talk,” he told her, lowering his mouth to her lips. Surprised, yet filled with joy, Yasmin curled her body into his. She reveled in the feel of being back in his arms. Focusing on the here and now, she pushed all thoughts of their fight out of her mind and welcomed his kiss. He kissed her with finesse, with confidence, with sensuality. His tongue eased its way inside her mouth, inviting her to return his gentle, amorous kiss. Nothing was more important than this moment. She had chosen to forgive him, chosen to trust him and from now on she would believe in him. Rashawn wasn’t like other superstar athletes. He was a stand-up guy who put the needs of his family, his friends and his community above his own.
Standing in the middle of the street, kissing Rashawn, under a curtain of stars, was an incredible feeling. Yasmin couldn’t remember the last time she had felt such freedom. Such liberation. The easy familiarity she had with Rashawn was more than just shared interests; it was deeper than that. They were kindred souls, brought together to heal past hurts and disappointments.
As he stroked her hair, she finally recognized her feelings for what they were. She couldn’t see the future, and didn’t want to, but she was falling in love with him. He listened to her, admonished her to live in the moment and acknowledged her inner beauty. He genuinely cared about her and the feeling was mutual.
“We better quit before we get arrested for disturbing the peace,” he joked, when he broke off the kiss. Nuzzling his chin against her ear, he slipped a hand under her tank top, stroking the delicate slope of her back. “How do you feel about going to Miami?”
Caught off guard by the question, she forced her mind to focus. It was hard concentrating when he was touching her in such an intimate way. “When?”
“The twenty-third.”
“I wish I could, but I have to work.”
“You nine-to-fivers don’t know how to have fun,” he teased, nibbling on her earlobe. “What’s the point of having your own business if you can’t take time off when the mood strikes?”
Yasmin purred. “W-what’s going on in Miami?” she asked, between nibbles.
“My match has been moved to another venue.”
“That’s good, right?”
“That’s real good. A bigger venue means a larger audience and a lot more money. Now, we’re the undercard of the Roy Jones Jr. fight. Most people are coming to see him, but it’s my pay-per-view debut. Will you come if I cover your expenses?”
“Trust me, you don’t want me there. I’d probably embarrass you. I know nothing about boxing and even less about—”
“I don’t care. I want you by my side. I can’t show up to my victory party without a date.” Grinning, he added, “And, you, Dr. Ohaji, are sure to turn heads.”
“Oh, I get it, you want me to be eye candy for you and your friends?”
“Absolutely.”
“I didn’t spend five years doing post-graduate studies to become a groupie,” she told him, her tone rich with humor. “Forget it. I’m not going.”
“But you’re not just another groupie,” Rashawn said, in the smoothest of voices. “You’re my groupie.”
Yasmin laughed. “You’re too much.”
“So, what’s up? Are you gonna come?”
“I’ll think about it and get back to you. I’m speaking at a conference in Fort Lauderdale that week, so maybe I can come and spend a couple extra days. “
“Cool.” Interlocking hands with her, he leaned forward until their heads were touching. He kissed her with such intensity every nerve ending in her body came to life. Yasmin felt like a rebellious teenager in the backseat of a car. Only this time they were outside, in her old neighborhood, kissing on the very street where she had first learned to ride her bike.
Chapter 15
Niobie balanced the appointment book in one hand and pushed open her boss’s door with the other. “Sorry I’m late, but Miles was throwing up all night. It’s been one of those mornings, but I’m here now and ready to review the day’s agenda,” she finished, short of breath.
Yasmin slipped off her eyeglasses and rested them on the desk. Reviewing the Kolodenko file would have to wait. “Niobie, this is the second time you’ve been late this week. The tenth time this month.”
Niobie lowered herself onto a chair. “I’m sorry. I tried to make it here on time, but Miles was too sick to go to school so I had to take him to my mom’s house. I thought of calling, but my cell phone died on the way over.”
Glancing at the clock, she shook her head. Niobie had more excuses than Bobby Brown before a family court judge. And the more she lied, the angrier Yasmin got. “Was traffic to blame when you were an hour late last Friday?”
“No, I couldn’t find my car keys, remember?”
Yasmin couldn’t believe her assistant had the gall to answer, especially when they both knew her tardiness had nothing to do with her son and everything to do with her new boyfriend. The sanitation worker called several times a day, stopped by the office and brought Niobie greasy cheeseburgers. Niobie had been a model employee before he came along. Sure, she dressed like a backup dancer for Lil’ Kim, but her work was faultless. These days, Yasmin spent so much time double-checking her reports, she didn’t have time to eat lunch.
“You’ve always been a dedicated employee, but the last month you’ve been disorganized, late and your work’s been sloppy.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way.”
Frustrated by her response, Yasmin said, “Niobie, no one’s going to give you a free ride. Not only do you need the education and skills to do the job, you have to look the part, too.” Standing, she educated the single mother about the business world. “People judge you not by what you say, but by what you do. Be on time. Do your best. Take pride in your appearance…”
Niobie wasn’t a stranger to hard work, but she’d rather focus her energy on more important things, like finding a husband. A shrewd businesswoman, her boss worked around the clock and foolishly expected her to, too. “I can’t stay past five, Dr. Ohaji. My mom works long hours at the nursing home and I don’t feel comfortable leaving Miles with just anybody.”
“This is not just about your performance, Niobie, it’s about your attire, as well.” Not only was she twenty-five minutes late, she was wearing a short, shimmery dress that looked like it was strangling her. “This isn’t working out. A Better Way Counseling Services obviously isn’t the right environment for you anymore.”
Licking her plump lips, Niobie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She didn’t appreciate her boss’s tone. It was cold, brisk, unfriendly. What was her problem? Bougie, career-minded women had no idea what it was like to be a single parent.
At seventeen, she’d dropped out of high school and moved into a halfway house for teenage mothers. She’d been taking care of herself and Miles since he was born. No child support. No financial aid. No help whatsoever. So what if she was a few minutes l
ate? If Dr. Ohaji thought she was going to forsake her social life to keep her job, she was sadly mistaken. But instead of speaking her mind, she said, “I promise to do better from now on.”
“It pains me to say this, Niobie, but I have to let you go.”
Niobie squeezed out a tear. If she was going to convince Dr. Ohaji not to fire her, she was going to have to pull out all the stops: tears, trembling and wailing. “I know I’ve messed up in the past, but I can change. I need this job. I have rent to pay, groceries to buy and Miles needs…braces. Where am I going to find another job with full benefits?” Willing herself to cry, she dissolved into tears.
Yasmin came around her desk and rubbed Niobie’s shoulder. This was unanticipated; she hadn’t expected her to cry. This wasn’t the first time she had reprimanded Niobie. The single mother had promised to change before, but instead of improving, things had gotten worse. Niobie wasn’t happy at A Better Way Counseling Services, so why was she begging to keep a job she disliked? “I think you’d be a lot happier working as a telemarketer or—”
“No! I want to work here, with you.” Burying her face in her hands, she begged for a second chance. “Please, please don’t fire me. I need this job.”
Yasmin made a mental list of all the pros and cons of keeping Niobie around. The cons far exceeded the pros, but she was willing to give her another chance. A last chance. When she told her the news, Niobie leapt from her chair and threw her arms around her.
“I’m going to make you proud, Dr. Ohaji. You just wait and see.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“I’ll have the assessment reports typed up within the hour.” Cleaning her face, Niobie collected the appointment book and exited the room before her boss had a change of heart. Back at her desk, she took her seat in front of her computer. That was a close one, she thought, typing in her password. If she hadn’t invented the story of Miles needing braces and broken down in tears, Dr. Ohaji would have fired her for sure. Niobie couldn’t let that happen. She had dreams of a better life, but until she found a multimillionaire to take care of her, she was stuck working at A Better Way Counseling Services.
Niobie checked her e-mail. She had ten messages and all of them were from Lonnie. In the last month, she had started dating Lonnie Boland, a thirty-five-year-old sanitation worker she’d met online. Niobie wasn’t attracted to him, but he was liberal with his money and Miles liked him. He wasn’t her Prince Charming, but he’d do until someone better came along.
Fixated on the computer screen, Niobie didn’t hear the front door open and close. For several seconds, Daquan Maxwell stood with his clipboard to his chest, watching her. Her breasts were obviously her favorite part of her body, because every time he saw her they were on display. Like today. It didn’t bother him, though. He liked sisters who flaunted their physical assets and the shapely receptionist had a lot going for her. “Lookin’ good this mornin’, Niobie.”
Disregarding the courier’s praise, she stuck out her hand, waiting expectantly for the day’s mail. Every time the UPS deliveryman came by the office, he complimented her look and followed it up by asking her out. Today Niobie wasn’t having it. He was a decent guy, always polite and complimentary, but what could a minimum wage–earning courier do for her? She needed someone with a 401(k) plan, someone who could buy her cars, jewelry and furs. Lonnie wasn’t that man and neither was Daquan the courier.
“Seeing you is the highlight of my day,” he told her.
“I don’t know why.” Niobie scrawled her name on the dotted line.
He handed her a stack of mail. “Not only are you smart, you’re pretty, too.”
“Thanks. Bye. Have a nice day.”
“I have two tickets to the Jamie Foxx concert. What do you think of that?”
Her face warmed. Now, Jamie Foxx was someone she could get with. The Oscar-award winner was her ideal man. He knew how to work a crowd, had a commanding voice and made enough money to finance her dreams. Despite her modest lifestyle, Niobie liked to be surrounded by beautiful things. It would take some scheming on her part, but if she could find a way to get backstage, she would be one step closer to having that mansion in the hills.
Sorting through the mail, she considered Daquan’s offer. The courier wasn’t her type. He wasn’t rich, he wasn’t athletic and he wasn’t gorgeous. Niobie would never date him, but she did want to see Jamie Foxx. A package bearing Rashawn’s name caught her eye. Dr. Ohaji would fire her on the spot if she saw her opening the package, but Niobie didn’t care. Besides, she had been doing it for months and as long as she glued it back together carefully the good doctor would never know. Using a staple remover, she carefully opened the envelope and emptied the contents onto her desk.
Inside, were two first-class plane tickets, a hotel confirmation slip and a short handwritten note. Niobie read it, her shoulders sinking under the weight of the discovery. “Looking forward to seeing you in Miami,” it said.
Envious thoughts crowded her mind. Dr. Ohaji didn’t need the tickets. She did! Her boss had money; she could afford to pay her way. Thanks to the boxer’s generosity, Dr. Ohaji would be attending his match and spending three nights at the lavish Concord Miami Hotel in South Beach. Niobie’s face drained of color. Had they been sneaking around all this time? She had been intercepting his calls, chatted with him in length at the charity fund-raiser and had even dragged Miles to the Boxing Institute of Champions a few times. How had she missed this?
“Jamie Foxx’s bad on that piano, huh? He does a ten-minute tribute to Ray Charles and everything. I finish work late tomorrow, but I—”
“No, thanks.” Niobie didn’t have time for idle chitchat. She had been hanging out with Lonnie, instead of seducing Rashawn, and her boss had swiped him right from under her nose! The boxer wasn’t a multimillionaire yet, but he was a hell of a lot better than an illiterate sanitation worker. Niobie had been wasting precious time with Lonnie. What she needed to do was concentrate on getting close to Rashawn. They had made a connection; she was sure of it. He hadn’t come right out and said anything, but she could tell he liked her.
The telephone buzzed. Niobie pressed the talk button. “Yes, Dr. Ohaji?”
“Have you finished the progress reports?”
“I’m working on it. I’m just sorting through the mail.”
“Please hurry. I’m waiting on them.”
“I’m on it.”
Her boss ended the call.
“God, what’s her problem?” Niobie mumbled, glancing at the files piled to her left. “I’d get through this crap a lot faster if she came out here and gave me a hand.” Grumbling to herself, she stuffed the plane tickets back into the envelope to give to her boss. Maybe she’d finish her work quicker if Dr. Ohaji wasn’t checking up on her every ten seconds. Noting Daquan’s presence, she snapped, “Why are you still here? Don’t you have packages to deliver or something?”
“Nothing’s more important than being with you, boo.” Daquan stared at her, his eyes wet with lust. “Are you free next Saturday? We could go for dinner or have drinks.”
“And why would I want to do that?” she snapped, irritated by his persistence. “I need someone who can take care of me, not a lowly delivery guy who makes eight-fifty an hour. Can you pay my rent? What about my cable bill?” When he didn’t answer, she sneered. “I didn’t think so, courier boy.”
“I—I—I should go,” he stammered, backing away from the desk.
“You do that.”
Head down, he trudged out the front door.
Niobie had a week’s worth of paperwork to do, but instead of tackling the evaluation reports, she settled comfortably onto her chair, kicked off her sandals and signed on to Blackstuds.com. After clicking on more than a dozen profiles, a handsome businessman with the screen name “Mr. Determined” popped up. Niobie bolted up in her seat. “Now, I’ll be damned!” she said to herself. She recognized him from the charity fund-raiser. He was average height, but his refined, almos
t dignified mannerisms made him seem much taller. Playing a hunch, she composed a short, scintillating message sure to send the bachelor’s libido into overdrive.
Eyes narrowed in concentration she bit down on a long, acrylic nail. “I was thinking too small,” she decided, visions of five-star restauraunts and shopping Rodeo Drive dancing in her head. “Forget Rashawn and his meager boxing career. I could be a mayor’s wife.” A smirk crossed her lips. “Or…a well-kept mistress.” And with that, she added her cell phone number to the end of the e-mail and hit Send.
Chapter 16
“Frilly hand towels? Purple potpourri? Scented candles? Oh, hell no!” Shaking his head, Rashawn stuffed the items back into the plastic bag and chucked it against the living-room wall. “Can’t do it, Doc. Sorry.”
“It’s not purple, it’s lilac. And what’s wrong with buying things to make the bathroom smell nice?”
“I appreciate the thought, really I do, but I can’t have all that feminine crap in here. What will my boys think?”
“That you have great taste?” she asked, smirking.
“No, they’ll label me a punk and enroll me in charm school!”
Yasmin erupted into laughter.
“Don’t laugh. You know it’s true.”
She patted his chest. “Okay, okay, no potpourri. Any other requests?”
“Spend the night.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Yasmin averted her gaze. How could she say no without hurting his feelings? The afternoon had been filled with laughs, tender moments and, even after spending the entire day together, she wasn’t ready to go home. But that didn’t mean she was ready to sleep over.
After a brunch at a nearby waffle house, they’d driven to her favorite furniture store. Under her watchful eye, Rashawn had selected a four-piece bedroom suite, sectional sofas and couches, Maytag appliances and an assortment of lights, rugs and picture frames for the living room. He paid extra for same-day delivery, but now his house was finally furnished.
