Date Cute Marry Rich

by Alexis Nicole

  Date Cute Marry Rich

  Alexis Nicole

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Date Cute Marry Rich - By Alexis Nicole

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1 - Skye

  Chapter 2 - Chyanne

  Chapter 3 - Devin

  Chapter 4 - Skye

  Chapter 5 - Devin

  Chapter 6 - Skye

  Chapter 7 - Devin

  Chapter 8 - Chyanne

  Chapter 9 - Skye

  Chapter 10 - Devin

  Chapter 11 - Chyanne

  Chapter 12 - Skye

  Chapter 13 - Devin

  Chapter 14 - Chyanne

  Chapter 15 - Skye

  Chapter 16 - Chyanne

  Chapter 17 - Skye

  Chapter 18 - Devin

  Chapter 19 - Chyanne

  Chapter 20 - Skye

  Chapter 21 - Devin

  Chapter 22 - Chyanne

  Chapter 23 - Skye

  Chapter 24 - Devin

  Chapter 25 - Chyanne

  Chapter 26 - Skye

  Chapter 27 - Devin

  Chapter 28 - Chyanne

  Chapter 29 - Skye

  Chapter 30 - Devin

  Chapter 31 - Chyanne

  Chapter 32 - Skye

  Chapter 33 - Skye One Year Later

  Chapter 34 - Devin

  Chapter 35 - Chyanne

  Chapter 36 - Skye

  Chapter 37 - Devin

  Chapter 38 - Chyanne

  Chapter 39 - Skye

  Chapter 40 - Chyanne

  Chapter 41 - Skye

  Chapter 42 - Devin

  Chapter 43 - Chyanne

  Chapter 44 - Skye

  Chapter 45 - Skye

  Author’s Bio

  Copyright Page

  Date Cute Marry Rich

  By Alexis Nicole

  Acknowledgments

  I can understand how actors and singers who win awards feel about their acceptance speech, because it is definitely hard to remember all those who have impacted you over time and helped you through this process. To give love to all those people in a few sentences is no easy feat, but they tell me this is a necessary part of the book, so I guess it must be done.

  I always like to acknowledge God first and foremost, because without Him I would be nowhere near where I am today. He has brought me through a lot in my short twenty-two years of life, and I am thankful that He has given me a gift that can be shared with others. To love the Lord with all my soul probably doesn’t even come close to how much He loves me in return but giving Him all I have to offer is my heart’s joy.

  To Carl Weber, thank you for taking a chance on a young, inexperienced girl and making her a published author. This process has been nothing like I thought it would be, and it has taught me so much. I have gained a great deal of happiness with writing, and I pray I can continue to grow as an author and accomplish half the things talented authors like yourself have.

  To my mother, you are my everything. I don’t think God could have given me a better person to mold me into a woman. Words can’t express the love I have for you. You are an amazing, intelligent, hardworking, gorgeous, woman who has sacrificed so much for me, and my life’s mission is to make you proud every day. I promised you your own island, and I’m going to make sure I make it happen, so start thinking of names you want to call it.

  To my sister, Rachel, and my best friends, Dion and Ashley, you guys are my inspiration. Thank you for sitting up long nights with me, going over ideas and giving me good gossip to use. Thank you for the shared laughs and tears, the advice, and constant encouragement. You guys are the most amazing sisters a girl could have. I know God has great things planned for our lives, and I know we’ll be able to see each other through it every step of the way. I love you.

  To my church family, Pastor and Sister Goode, thank you for your continuous love and prayers. The Lord always leads me to a good church home, and I don’t think there is a better one than Fellowship of Prayer International. You guys are the true meaning of people of God, and I am so blessed to be a part of this family.

  To my grandparents, David and Lillian Cannon, thank you for just being you. The love you share between each other and give to your children and grandchildren is nothing but a blessing. You love me unconditionally, even when I mess up or disappoint you at times. I might hear about it for months and months, but you love me no less. Know that you are in my thoughts and consciousness in all that I do. I am so glad that I am still able to say that I have you around to teach and guide me. I love you both with all my heart.

  To Victoria Christopher Murray, you have no idea how much you mean to me. To me, you are the example of excellence in this business, and I am so grateful that I have you here for me during this process. You have taught me so much, and it is definitely not knowledge that I will take for granted. Thank you for being my mentor, my inspiration, my example, my everything.

  To my fans and supporters, I know there may not be many of you since I am just getting started, but I appreciate all the love and support. You guys give me so much positivity and encouragement, and this gives me the strength to keep writing for you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  Lastly, to those who I have loved and lost, thank you for the life experiences and the great book material.

  Chapter 1

  Skye

  Four bad dates. No, not bad dates. Four horrible dates.

  That was why I was so sure that this was going to be the one, because it was the fifth date that I’d had in the past five weeks and five had always been my lucky number. I was born in the fifth month, on the fifth day, in 1982. Okay, so eighty-two doesn’t end in five, but you get my point.

  So, I had endured all those bad dates over the past few weeks because of what I knew for sure, and that was that the fifth date would be on point.

  “You don’t have to say it, Skye. I can tell you’re extremely impressed.”

  I looked up only because my parents, the Reverend and Mrs. Davenport, had raised me right, but really, I just wanted to keep staring at my appetizer, which was so much more interesting than the man in front of me.

  “So, tell me,” said Carter Wellington, leaning forward. His light brown eyes really were beautiful; they sparkled over the flickering candlelight. “Have you been out with anyone like me?”

  Was he kidding me? No! I wanted to stand up and shout that for everyone in this five-star Fifth Avenue restaurant to hear. But, instead, I just gave Carter my raised-right smile and stabbed my appetizer, the Oysters and Pearls, which Carter had insisted that I have.

  I pushed the white sturgeon caviar as far away from the oysters as I possibly could. Oysters I could handle, but I’d told Carter that I didn’t want any part of caviar, no matter how highbrow, how sophisticated it was to chow down on fish eggs. But he’d insisted, as if he had any right to tell me what to put in my mouth. Since he was paying and I didn’t want to show my butt in front of all these stuffy people, I finally agreed. If he wanted to throw away his money, who was I to tell him not to?

  “So, tell me all the great things that Chyanne told you about me.”

  It was a ridiculous request, but a rhetorical one as well, because he never even took enough of a breath for me to get in a word. He just kept on about all the things he was sure Chyanne had told me.

  Chyanne Monroe. My best friend. I was going to kill her!

  “Oh, Skye, I have the perfect guy for you,” she’d told me last week. “Carter Wellington. He’s so cute!”

  Cute he was. It was everything else about the arrogant, self-centered man that was dri
ving me crazy. I couldn’t figure it out; what had I done to Chyanne—my best friend, who was really more like my sister—to deserve this?

  “I’m sure Chyanne told you that I was just promoted to partner, and that is no small feat at a company such as Bailey, Booker, and Smith.”

  I didn’t have to say a word; Carter just went on. It was amazing, really, that he still had so much to say, since he’d been talking like this from the moment I stepped out of the cab.

  When the cab had first stopped in front of Ocean Blue, I’d been impressed that Carter was standing right there. He’d opened the door for me, given the driver a twenty, even though the ride hadn’t even hit ten dollars on the meter, and then he’d given me one of those Sunday church hugs, where our pelvises were miles apart.

  Impressive was the word that came to my mind. But I wasn’t surprised. It was my fifth date . . . on point, remember?

  But right there, in those thirty seconds, that was when the good part of the date ended.

  “You really are a lovely girl,” Carter had complimented me as we stood at the bar, waiting for our table. He nodded as if he approved of the tight navy blue dress that I’d carefully chosen to wear tonight.

  But then, when his eyes did a slow crawl up my body, then down again, it began to feel old man creepy. I’d crossed my arms in front of my body, trying to hide myself, until Carter finally looked me in my eyes.

  “Yes,” he said. “Lovely. And that’s important for a man like me because of how handsome I am.”

  What?

  He went on. “You know, if I weren’t a top attorney, I would be a top model—the male kind, of course.” And then he chuckled, as if he’d said something funny.

  I just stared at him.

  From that point on, he talked. Even as they escorted us to our table, in the exclusive restaurant that sat only twenty-six, he talked. As we settled, he talked. As they brought our drinks, he talked. As the waiter tried to take our orders, he talked.

  We were only eating our appetizers and I already knew that the native New Yorker came from a long line of talkers—he was a sixth-generation attorney who had attended the best private schools from kindergarten; had graduated at the top of every class, in every school; just missed being president of the Harvard Law Review by a few votes; and was now well on his way to having Wellington added to the masthead of the law firm where he’d worked since graduating from Harvard seven years ago.

  When Carter began his soliloquy on his early days at the law firm, I let my mind wander. If he was just at his first day at his job, he had many more years to go and I needed to fill my mind with happy thoughts.

  But it was hard to—because across from me sat that man who’d become so typical of my New York dating experience.

  New York—the concrete jungle where dreams were made of.

  I’d come to the city with my fair share of dreams. My career was first, of course. One day I was going to be a world-renowned designer. But that didn’t mean that I wanted to conquer the fashion world alone. I wanted a man by my side, someone who I could relate to, someone who I could spend this marvelous life with.

  But meeting that special someone was much more difficult than getting into New York Fashion Week without any connections. Maybe I shouldn’t say “meeting,” because, truly, meeting, getting together, hooking up was quite easy in New York. There were plenty of guys to meet, to date, if you wanted to do that forever.

  My challenge was that I didn’t want to just date around; I wanted to meet someone who wasn’t a tool. But there were a bunch of tools running around New York. Take my first date, Darren: He was tall, dark, and built, which I expected since I met him at the gym. He was hard not to notice, especially when his skin glistened with perspiration after bench-pressing two hundred and twenty pounds. That, by itself, was a turn-on.

  The first week, I watched him, and then, in week two, we watched each other. After all that wordless flirting, he stepped to me and asked me out. I happily accepted.

  We went to a little pizza place down in the Village, which was cool with me because I wanted to get to know all parts of the city. The restaurant was quaint and romantic . . . and it was also the place where Darren had the best of times with his ex.

  “This is where we met,” he told me.

  I didn’t know what to say. I tried to change the subject, asked him how long he’d been working out.

  He replied, “Six years. It was Shaunte, my ex, who got me started.”

  By the time we left that restaurant, I knew everything about Shaunte, except for her Social Security number.

  After that, I changed my workout times.

  Then there was Kevin.

  Ah, Kevin, the model—underwear model, to be exact. So, you know he had it going on. We bonded one day in the Starbucks line, when he asked me where I worked and was so impressed that I was a designer. By the time we both had our drinks, he had asked me out and I was thrilled.

  “Let’s do this, like, tomorrow,” he said, as if he couldn’t wait to see me again. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  The next day we had our date—at Starbucks! I sucked it up because, you know, he was a starving artist, sort of, and I certainly understood that. But right when I started sipping my Chai Tea Latte, Kevin whipped out his portfolio. He flipped through the pages of him in various poses—with underwear, without underwear, clothed, half clothed.

  I watched, in shock and awe. I mean, we were right across the street from my job. I didn’t want anyone to walk in and think that I was looking at porno.

  Right when I was ready to ask him why he was showing me all of this, Kevin popped out, “So, can you hook a bruh up? I mean, I’m so much better than just showing off what I’ve got, you know what I’m sayin’?”

  I was as stiff as a board, not wanting to look to my left or my right. I just kept praying that no one would recognize me and see that I was looking at this big-ass black case filled with naked pictures. Okay, yeah, not all of them were naked, but there were enough full frontals for a full spread—pun intended—in Playgirl.

  “So,” Kevin said, pressing me, even though I still sat stunned. “Can you help me out? I mean, you do all those runway shows, right?”

  The only thing he could do for me was not come after me when I stood up and ran out that door.

  I was gun-shy after that. But then I met Evan Morris.

  Okay, so who wouldn’t be affected by the star running back for the New York Jets?

  I met Evan at an NFL fund-raiser for autism. Leigh Carrera, a well-connected party promoter whom Devin met a few months ago, had gotten our whole crew into this event. Evan was speaking when we walked into the room, and I was drawn in by the way he talked from his heart about his autistic niece. He quoted statistics, telling the crowd that one in every one thousand children is autistic. When he finished, I was one of the people on my feet, applauding his sincerity and commitment to such a worthy cause.

  As the crowd mingled, he’d walked right up to me. I was shocked by the fact that, first of all, my girls and I stood out in this crowd of fabulous people, and then that Evan was most interested in me. For the next two hours he gave me all his attention, and we just talked, about everything from school to our careers, to both being new to the city. Before the night was over, he had my number, and two days after that we had a date.

  All thoughts of every other guy I’d ever known in my whole life went totally out of my mind the moment Evan sent a driver, complete with the hat, to my front door. The driver, Marcus, helped me into a shiny Escalade and then took me for the twenty-five-minute ride outside of the city.

  Yes, I’d agreed to go to Evan’s home, but he’d convinced me that it was difficult for him to go out and enjoy a private dinner because of who he was. That made sense to me.

  “And, I really want to get to know you, Skye,” he’d explained.

  That made even more sense.

  On the ride to his home, it was hard not to snuggle into the soft leather and think
about what was ahead. Last night Evan had called, put me on the phone with his chef, who asked me what my favorite foods were; then Evan got back on the telephone and promised me a night to remember.

  I couldn’t wait.

  It had started out like the dream I’d expected it to be. Drinks in the massive living room, followed by dinner served at the twelve-seat dining room table, where Evan and I sat next to each other.

  The whole time the ambiance was perfect; old-school Luther played in the background, the company was amazing, the conversation was stimulating, and this man was nothing but a gentleman. I was really feelin’ Evan, and that was why when he leaned over and kissed me, it was all good, until he took my hand and lifted me from the sofa.

  I asked him, “Where are we going?”

  “To the bedroom,” he whispered, “for dessert.” Then he winked at me.

  “Uh, excuse me,” I said, pulling away from him, “but I’m not dessert.”

  Why did I say that? That perfect gentleman turned straight into the boogeyman. I swear, that man’s head started spinning, and he started talking about how I had to be crazy. Didn’t I know why he’d invited me to his home?

  Now, it wasn’t just because I was a pastor’s kid that I wasn’t going to jump into bed with this fool. My father and I didn’t agree on too many things, but what happened on the first date was one place where the reverend and I were in accord.

  That date ended up costing me a fortune, because there was no driver to take me home. And since it was too far to walk, I had to ask Evan to call me a cab. I was steaming through every mile of that seventy-five-dollar ride back into the city.

  Oh, yeah, I was hot! But unfortunately, I wasn’t hot enough to give up. Because next came Melvin. . . .

  There really wasn’t much to say about the guy I bumped into at the dry cleaners, because when we got into the movie theater for our first date and the lights went down, his hand went straight for my blouse. I tossed my box of popcorn over his head and ran out of there as if someone had just yelled, “Fire!”

  But even after all that, all those hell dates, I was here with Carter because I had faith in my lucky number.