This I Promise You

by Smith, Maureen

  Slowly opening his eyes, he stared at her as she rose from the floor with catlike grace and smoothed down her fitted dress, then leaned over him to brush her mouth over his. He shivered as her tongue slid soothingly over his bruised lip.

  “You should put some balm on that,” she whispered.

  “Balm?” he echoed blankly.

  “Lip balm.” Her eyes glimmered. “You have some in your bathroom. Top drawer.”

  He nodded dazedly. “Okay. Let me walk—”

  “No, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.” She kissed him again and winked. “See you at home, sweetheart.”

  He could only nod and stare as she turned on her high heel and strutted from the room, hips swinging beneath her dress, round ass jiggling enticingly. When she stopped and provocatively bent over to pick up her purse from the floor, he nearly had a heart attack.

  Straightening, she gave him a teasing smile over her shoulder, then turned and opened the door, startling Marcus who had just raised his hand to knock.

  “Oh, hey, Marcus,” she said cheerfully. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, Lexi.” His smile was warm. “On your way out?”

  “Yeah. I just dropped by to say hey.” She nodded to the slim, brown-skinned man standing behind Marcus. “Hello, Judson.”

  “Hello yourself, Mrs. Reddick.” Judson Walsh looked her over with undisguised appreciation. “You’re looking lovely as always.”

  “Thank you.” Lexi had never been a fan of Judson. He reminded her too much of her slimy ex-husband. “Well, I’ll leave you fellas to it.”

  When she glanced over her shoulder at Quentin, he gave her a lazy smile. “Knock ’em dead, sweetheart.”

  “I will.” She winked at him, then turned and strolled out the door.

  Marcus and Judson stared at Quentin slumped back in his chair, then looked at each other and burst into knowing laughter.

  Smothering a grin, Quentin sat up and straightened his tie, trying to affect a businesslike tone. “Gentlemen. What can I do for you?”

  “Maybe that’s what we should be asking you,” Judson teased. “You need a stiff drink? A cigar?”

  “Or maybe a defibrillator?” Marcus suggested.

  As the two men laughed again, Quentin grinned sheepishly and smoothed a hand over his hair.

  Judson wagged his head. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m jealous as hell right now. Neither of my exes ever dropped by my office in the middle of the day just to say hey.” He put air quotes around the words. “Yet your wife comes up here just about every damn week. Yours and Marcus’s. What’s your secret?”

  Quentin and Marcus grinned at each other.

  “Since you asked,” Quentin said with dry amusement, “you can start by not being such an asshole to the next poor woman you marry.”

  Judson scowled. “Who says I was an asshole to my ex-wives?”

  “Uh, your ex-wives,” Marcus retorted.

  Quentin laughed, straightening a sheaf of papers on his desk. “I’ve got a meeting in twenty minutes, but there’s something I need to talk to you about, Judson. But you fellas can go first.”

  Marcus and Judson exchanged glances.

  “Tell him what you just told me,” Marcus prompted.

  Quentin shifted his gaze to Judson. “What?”

  The attorney looked disgruntled. “I want to get rid of Chara Gibson.”

  “Is that right?” Quentin drawled, leaning back in his chair. “Why?”

  Judson frowned, stuffing his hands into his suit pants pockets. “She’s not working out. She comes late at least twice a week, and the quality of her work isn’t up to par. People are starting to complain, and I don’t blame them.”

  “Aren’t you the one who hired her?” Quentin challenged.

  “Well, yeah,” Judson said defensively. “But she obviously misrepresented herself during the interview.”

  “Or you were too busy staring at her tits to even care,” Quentin said sardonically.

  Marcus snickered as Judson rubbed the back of his head, a sheepish look on his face.

  Quentin decided to make him sweat it out a little. “So what’s the problem? She’s still under probation. If she’s not performing up to standards, that’s grounds for dismissal.”

  “I know,” Judson agreed with obvious discomfiture. “But the thing is, when I shared my concerns with her, she seemed to suggest that, um, she would retaliate if I fired her.”

  Quentin’s brow went up. “Retaliate?”

  “Yes,” Judson muttered darkly. “She threatened to tell everyone that I sexually harassed her.”

  “Did you?”

  “Of course not!” Judson blustered, affronted at the suggestion. “I mean, yeah, I think she’s a beautiful woman and all. But I’ve never sexually harassed her—or anyone else, for that matter!”

  Quentin glanced at Marcus, who merely shook his head in grim disgust.

  “So what you’re saying is that you’ve never behaved inappropriately toward her—”

  “Never,” Judson insisted vehemently.

  “—but she intends to claim that you did.”

  “Basically.”

  Quentin smirked. “Really picked yourself a winner there, didn’t you?”

  Judson scowled. “It was a mistake to hire her.”

  “You think?” Marcus drawled.

  Quentin chuckled, steepling his fingers in front of his face as he regarded Judson. “Well, today’s your lucky day, Walsh. I just gave Chara her walking papers.”

  Marcus and Judson stared at him in surprise. “You fired her?”

  “Sure did. She came to my office earlier and made some crazy ass comments that let me know she doesn’t belong anywhere near this firm.”

  Judson looked intrigued. “What did she say?”

  “It’s not important. The point is she’s out of here.”

  Judson exhaled a deep, relieved breath. “Thank God.”

  Quentin scowled. “You can thank me too. I’m the one who cleaned up your damn mess.” He jabbed a finger at Judson. “You need to stop hiring employees based on whether or not you’d wanna fuck them. Not only is it shady as hell and a terrible way to run a department, but you’re exposing our firm to potential claims of employment discrimination—the very thing we sue other companies for. Our senior partners enjoy the privilege of hiring their own support staff, but if you can’t handle that responsibility, it can be taken away at any time. Feel me?”

  Judson nodded, looking chastened.

  “Good. Do better.” As managing partner, Quentin was responsible for providing the strategic leadership and direction for the firm. The partners and executive director called him “The Hammer” because he was good at laying down the law, and he wasn’t very forgiving when the law was breached. At no time was his patience tested more than when he was dealing with types like Judson Walsh who, thankfully, were in the minority at Wolf & Reddick.

  “Mrs. Akonye says there was another candidate who was clearly more qualified than Chara, a sharp sister who really impressed her. But you wouldn’t give her a chance because she looked more like Angie Stone than Paula Patton.”

  “That’s not the reason,” Judson protested. But he didn’t sound convincing.

  Quentin gave him a long hard look, then leaned forward with his hands folded on the desk. “Look, bruh, I’m just gonna keep it one hundred with you. Personally, I don’t roll with shallow or color-struck dudes, and neither does Marcus. But we’d never presume to tell another man who he should or shouldn’t find attractive. Your personal preferences are your business. But when those preferences start interfering with our business, then we have a serious problem. As you well know, we have all types of women working here, of all shades and sizes. We’ve got everything from blondes, brunettes and redheads to beautiful redbones and mahogany queens. As long as those women can do their job, I don’t give a damn what they look like, and neither should you. So I suggest you get on the phone right now and see if that other candidate is still
available. And you’d better hope to God she is.”

  Judson gave him a terse nod, then turned and stalked out of the office.

  Shaking his head, Marcus grinned broadly at Quentin. “The Hammer strikes again.”

  Quentin winked. “That’s why I make the big bucks.”

  Marcus laughed. “I’m off to a meeting. Catch you later.”

  After he left, Quentin pressed the button on his phone to summon his secretary.

  “Yes, Mr. Reddick?” Frances answered right away.

  “I want to send some flowers to my wife.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll call the florist. Two dozen red?”

  “Nah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Send an arrangement of roses and anemones.”

  “Ah.” There was a smile in his secretary’s voice. “From the van Gogh painting you gave her several years ago. Her favorite.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Got it. And what should the card say?”

  Quentin swiveled toward the window. As a slow smile spread across his face, he said exactly what he was feeling: “How did I ever get so lucky?”

  21

  A wave of boisterous laughter swept over the studio audience attending the holiday taping of Howlin’ Good. The show’s special guests were members of the Wolf Pack and Morehouse Nine. The “Nine–Pack” episodes, as they were fondly called at the network, were an annual tradition and a huge fan favorite.

  Reese, Taylor and Samara sat together in the front row while Lexi, a consultant on the show, stood offstage with other members of the production crew.

  The mood on the set was so relaxed and jovial that Michael could have been at home cooking with his family and friends. Which was the whole point, of course.

  The fellas were spread out across the festively decorated stage. Some were seated at a table nursing glasses of beer while the others gathered around the large center island where Michael was showing viewers how to prepare delicious holiday brunch recipes. The usual suspects—Quentin, Jagger, Percy, Manning and Mason—were in rare form, cracking jokes that frequently derailed Michael’s cooking demonstration. He went back and forth with them, hamming it up as the audience howled with laughter and appreciation.

  No one watching the show could deny that the effortless camaraderie between the Morehouse Nine and Wolf Pack was pure ratings gold.

  Standing beside Lexi was Paige Somers, a former senior editor at Food & Wine magazine who now worked as a producer on Howlin’ Good.

  “One of these days,” the leggy brunette predicted, “we’re gonna get fined by the FCC.”

  Lexi chuckled. “That’s why we have our trusty seven-second delay. But I think the fellas have been pretty good today. Jagger’s only slipped up once or twice.”

  Paige grinned. “You’re right about that, but I wasn’t referring to them using profanity. What we’re going to get fined for is giving viewers an overdose of eye candy. There’s just too much hotness on that set right now. Whew!” she breathed, fanning herself with her clipboard.

  Lexi laughed, looking out over the studio audience. Sure enough, every woman—both young and old—was perched on the edge of her seat with her eyes glued to the stage. Female viewers at home were undoubtedly eating up every moment as well.

  Paige nudged Lexi’s shoulder, her blue eyes twinkling. “So you met the Morehouse Nine when you were in college, huh?”

  “Yup. At a party during our freshman year.”

  “Which one did you meet first? Was it Quentin?”

  “No, actually, it was Michael. Then he introduced me to Quentin.” She smiled, waves of nostalgia spreading through her as she watched Michael stirring a cranberry sauce on the burner while the fellas messed with him.

  Paige sighed. “Do you know how lucky you are?”

  “I—” Lexi broke off, completely missing the joke Quentin had just cracked.

  She grinned at the sight of Michael trying to keep a straight face. When he couldn’t contain his mirth, he lowered his head, broad shoulders shaking with silent gusts of laughter. His reaction set off the others, who began laughing raucously until tears streamed from their eyes. There was something downright irresistible about watching fifteen gorgeous black men enjoying a moment of unfettered camaraderie.

  Every time the hilarity seemed to subside, they would look at one another, choke and then double over with fresh howls of laughter.

  Their infectious mirth quickly spread to the audience, cameramen and production crew, who joined in the hysterics.

  It was a few minutes before the fellas could compose themselves to continue the show.

  Drew Corbett, the executive producer of Howlin’ Good, stood offstage grinning from ear to ear as he stroked the reindeer necktie his children had given him last year. He was in a festive holiday mood, but instead of sugarplums dancing in his head, he was envisioning record-breaking ratings and a robust surge in advertising revenue.

  Turning to Lexi and Paige, he declared, “God, I love this time of year.”

  The two women laughed. “We know.”

  Near the end of the show, Quentin glanced over and winked at Lexi. The warm, sexy gesture fluttered her stomach and sent tingles of pleasure through her.

  She ran her tongue over her lips, then blew him a kiss.

  Catching the flirtatious exchange, Paige said enviously, “God, you’re a lucky woman.”

  “I know,” Lexi murmured, her smile full of quiet gratitude. “The luckiest.”

  After the taping, everyone headed over to Wolf’s Soul for their traditional holiday lunch held in one of the restaurant’s private dining rooms.

  Quentin and Lexi had driven separately to the television studio since he’d gone there from work. When they met backstage after the show, he told her he had to drop off some paperwork to a client, so he would catch up with her at the restaurant.

  When the large party arrived at Wolf’s Soul, Lexi told the others to go ahead while she waited outside for Quentin to arrive. She had some exciting news she’d been bursting to tell him, and she couldn’t wait any longer.

  While she stood watching for his car, Reese texted to confirm their drink order. Lexi had just texted her back when a familiar male voice said, “Alexis?”

  She glanced up from her phone to see a man approaching from the crowded parking lot.

  Not just any man, she realized.

  Adam McNamara. The ex-husband from hell.

  Oh, no. Not today.

  As he reached her, she offered a cool smile. “Hello, Adam.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Damn, is that all I get? A polite ‘hello’? Can I get a hug?”

  She obliged him, intending to keep the embrace as brief as possible. When he clung to her a little too long, she pulled away and pointedly stepped back.

  He looked her over from head to toe, his eyes gleaming with frank male appreciation.

  She was wearing spike-heeled leather ankle boots with a formfitting black jersey dress, her cleavage swelling up from the low neckline. She knew she looked good even without being told by Adam, who couldn’t stop staring at her.

  “You look great, Alexis. Wow.”

  She smiled. “Thanks, Adam. So do you.”

  Adam had walnut brown skin and deep brown eyes. At five nine, he’d been just tall enough for Lexi to wear high heels without threatening his manhood. Looking at him now, she couldn’t help noting that he was starting to age. His short black hair was tinged with flecks of gray, and his hairline had begun to recede. The body he’d kept toned by regularly visiting the gym—where he’d picked up women—was starting to go soft around the middle. But even with those subtle changes, he was still an attractive man.

  At the moment, though, she was finding it hard to remember exactly what she’d ever seen in him.

  “So how have you been, Adam?” she asked, tucking her phone back into her snakeskin clutch.

  “Great. Really great. As you probably already know, I’ve been living overseas for the past three years. The com
pany sent me to Japan to head the sales and marketing division.” He puffed out his chest. “Just got another promotion, so I’m back to run the sales team over here.”

  “That’s great, Adam. Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It’s always good to be recognized for how much value I bring to the company.” He gave her another slow perusal, openly admiring the way the stretchy fabric of her dress hugged her hips and thighs.

  She deliberately cleared her throat to direct his attention back to her face.

  He had the grace to look sheepish. “Sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I just can’t get over how amazing you look, Alexis. Not saying you looked bad when we were married—”

  “I know what you meant.” She glanced around the crowded parking lot, searching for Quentin.

  Adam gestured toward her. “So what about you? What have you been up to?”

  “Oh, not much.” As she unconsciously reached up to push her bangs out of her eyes, Adam’s gaze zeroed in on her wedding ring.

  His eyes widened. “I didn’t know you were remarried.”

  “Really?” Lexi was genuinely surprised. “I thought you might have heard.”

  “I didn’t. Like I said, I’ve been out of the country for three years, and I was so busy with work that I didn’t keep up with anything back home. As long as I didn’t hear from my lawyer, I figured everything was status quo between you and me.” He looked irritated. “So how long have you been married?”

  She smiled. “Almost two years.”

  “Really?” Adam took her hand so he could get a better look at her platinum diamond ring. “That’s quite a rock,” he said with grudging approval as she withdrew her hand. “Guess you found yourself another man of means.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped her clutch against her thigh, instantly realizing her mistake when Adam’s eyes landed there and got stuck.

  She sighed, shifting from one high-heeled foot to the other.

  “So who’s the lucky guy this time? Is he…” Adam suddenly trailed off, staring over her shoulder.

  She turned her head, following the direction of his gaze. She inwardly groaned when she saw Quentin’s gleaming black Jaguar rolling up to the curb. The tinted passenger window slid down, and her husband lowered his sunglasses with one finger to peer at them over the rim.