“I believe an exception would be Trump Towers.”
Alana lifted her glass again. “Touché.” She gestured to the profusion of dark red beads hanging over the white T-shirt Faye had tucked into a pair of jeans. “Are those diamond spacers?”
Faye touched the ruby torsade. “Yes.”
“Bart Houghton?”
“Yes.”
“You like him, don’t you?”
“He’s nice, Lana.”
“I’m not asking if he’s nice, Faye. Do you like him?”
What did her friend expect her to say? Yes, she liked Bart. Liked him a lot more than she believed she would come to like him.
“Yes,” she said, deciding to be truthful.
Propping an elbow on the table, Alana rested her chin on her hand. “Good for you.”
Faye stared across the table, complete surprise on her face. “What are you talking about? The last time we discussed Bart Houghton you warned me about getting in over my head.”
“That’s because I was jealous.”
“How can you be jealous? The man is a client!” She’d whispered the last word.
Alana rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you can be so smart, then there’re times when you’re dumb as dirt.” She ignored Faye’s audible gasp. “If he’s paying for you to spend the summer with him it has nothing to do with you being his social companion. You’re his girlfriend and soon-to-become lover.”
“We are not sleeping together.”
“Not yet.”
Faye’s nostrils flared with seething rage. “You’re trying to bait me, aren’t you? You want me to say—”
“I want you happy,” Alana spat out, interrupting her. “You deserve someone who’ll treat you better than Norman did. You get on my ass about Calvin, but as funky as he is at times he’s never fucked another woman in my bed. Oh, you think I didn’t know about that?” she asked when Faye’s mouth opened. “One night when you’d had too much to drink you told me about the time you came home early from work and found Norman in your bed with one of his patients.
“I don’t know anything about your Big Willie, but something tells me that he wouldn’t disrespect you like that, because he has enough money to have a different woman every night if that’s what he wants.” Leaning over the table, she peered closely at her friend. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t believe I told you that.”
“Well, you did, and it will go no further than this table. Stop playing, Faye. Bart’s come down with an incurable case of jungle fever. Give the man some black pus-sy.” The word came out like pooh-say.
“Stop it, Lana!”
“You’ll have him beating his chest, howling and swinging from a chandelier like Tarzan,” Lana continued as if Faye hadn’t spoken. “You know what they say about ‘once you go black you’ll never go back.’”
Both women laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. Whoever said laughter was the cure for everything was a genius. They sobered enough to finish lunch before setting out on a walking tour of the historic neighborhood, heading east until they reached the South Street Seaport.
Alana stared up at the cables spanning the Brooklyn Bridge. “I’m so busy worrying about HIV and other STDs that I hadn’t thought that maybe I could be pregnant.”
That’s why I wanted you to go to the hospital where you could’ve gotten something that would prevent you from becoming pregnant. Faye thought it when she couldn’t say it. Besides, her friend had gone through enough without her verbally beating up on her. And she didn’t know what the counselor had told Alana, so she didn’t want to undo what he’d done.
“And if you are, Lana? What do you plan to do?”
An expression of serenity softened her eyes and mouth. “If I’m negative, then I’ll have it.”
“What about Calvin?”
Alana glared at Faye. “Don’t mention that sonofabitch’s name!”
“He still hasn’t called you?”
“Has he called you, Faye?”
“No.”
“There. You have your answer. I don’t need him or his bullshit. If I am pregnant, then I’ll work as a companion until I start showing. The money I’ll earn working for Enid, along with what I’ve saved, will tide me over for a couple of years. Then I’ll hire a nanny to take care of little Faye or little Taj.”
Faye couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. If pregnant, then Alana wanted to have a child that was the result of rape. What would she tell her son or daughter if they asked about their father?
“Are you serious, Lana?”
“I’m as serious as a heart attack. I’ve never had anything that belonged totally to me. My brothers used to break the heads off my favorite dolls, my mother devoted her life to a man who didn’t love her enough to make her his wife, and the first man in my life transferred the love he should’ve had for his daughter to another woman young enough to be his daughter.
“So, don’t stand there acting so sanctimonious because for the first time in a long time I’m in control, in control of my body, and in control of life. I don’t need Calvin to make me feel like a woman, and I don’t need Dr. Novak telling me that I must think things through before I make a decision.” Alana pressed her hands to her middle. “Growing up, I always wanted the house, the husband and the baby. Well, I’m grown, can’t get any more grown, just older. And if I am pregnant, then I’m keeping it. I’m not asking you to support my decision, Faye. I just want you to be happy for me.”
There was a long brittle silence until Faye extended her arms. “Come give me a hug, Lana. I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you no matter what you decide.” The two women hugged each other, garnering glances from the throngs weaving their way over the cobblestone streets. “I want you to promise to make me godmother to your baby, and if it’s a girl Faye can be her middle name.”
The tightness in Alana’s chest eased, replaced by joy and satisfaction. “I promise.”
“I have a three o’clock appointment at Madame Fontaine for a facial and shiatsu massage. Do you want to come with me?”
“And do what? Watch you?”
“No, Lana. You can come as my guest.”
Alana’s smile was dazzling. “Let’s go, girlfriend.”
CHAPTER 61
“Bartholomew, John Reynolds is on line three.”
Bart picked up the receiver. “Thank you, Mrs. Urquhart.” He depressed another button. “Mr. Reynolds—may I call you John?”
“Yes, of course. Mr. Houghton—”
“Bart,” he interrupted softly. “Please, call me Bart.”
“Okay, Bart. How can I help you?”
“I’d like to set up a meeting with you to discuss a marketing program for a special construction project in Harlem.”
“When would you want us to get together?”
Leaning back in his chair and propping his heels on the edge of the desk, Bart stared at a black-and-white photograph of the Brooklyn Bridge. “Sometime next week. However, before we decide on a date and time I want you to be aware that I want a pitch that will target the African-American segment of our city’s population.”
“We have an award-winning ad exec on our staff who can put a campaign package together that’s certain to meet your requirements and approval.”
“I like the sound of that. Perhaps he can sit in on the meeting.”
“The person I’m referring to is female. Unfortunately, she’s going to be on vacation until the end of the month. But, not to hold you up, I can bring someone else in who’s just as good.”
“What’s her name?”
“Which one, Bart?”
“Your award winner.”
“Faye Ogden.”
“Faye Ogden,” Bart repeated, as if hearing her name for the first time. “I’d rather wait for Ms. Ogden. We cannot afford to entrust the marketing of a half-billion-dollar business venture to a summer replacement. Better yet, I thank you for your time—”
“Don’t hang up
, Mr. Houghton,” John said quickly.
“Bart,” Bart said softly, correcting him.
“Yes, Bart. Perhaps I can contact Ms. Ogden and have her get in touch with you.”
“I thought she was on vacation.”
“She is. I don’t know whether she’s still in town, but I’ll leave a message on her voice—”
“There’s no need to contact her until she returns.” It was Bart’s turn to interrupt. “Our projected date of completion is late spring, so we want to begin advertising the specs of available units this fall.”
“I can assure you that Ms. Ogden will come up with something that will meet with your approval.”
Bart was certain John Reynolds was grinning from ear to ear. “Even though I will not be involved in the ongoing process, the final decision will rest with me and the other members of our executive staff.”
He ended the call and lowered his feet. He’d set a plan in motion he was certain would secure Faye’s uncertain future at BP&O. Standing, he walked over to the closet to retrieve his jacket. His day had begun with a breakfast meeting that continued through lunch and into the afternoon. He’d had enough and he wanted to go home to see the woman who unknowingly made him reassess all he’d sacrificed to prove his worth to those who no longer mattered.
Faye exited the elevator, stopping short, and gasping in surprise. She hadn’t expected Bart to be waiting for her. He smelled of soap and clean laundry. A white T-shirt and jeans were molded to the contours of his slender body. His defined pectorals and biceps were blatant indicators that he worked out regularly. His feet were bare and his damp hair stood up on his head in silvery spikes.
“You frightened me.”
Bart reached for the shopping bag she’d cradled to her chest. “The doorman told me you were on your way up,” he said by way of explaining his sudden appearance. He kissed her cheek before peering into the plastic bag. “What on earth did you buy?”
“I picked up some fruits and veggies. I noticed there weren’t any in the refrigerator.”
“That’s because we’ll be leaving for Southampton tomorrow morning.”
“Why didn’t you say something, Bart?”
“I would’ve told you if you’d stayed over last night.” Shifting the bag to one arm, he wound the other around her waist as he led her in the direction of the kitchen. “I’ll give you a list of what I have planned for us tomorrow.” Bart gave Faye a sidelong glance. “What did you do to your face? Your skin looks nice.”
“I have you and the esthetician at Madame Fontaine to thank for that. I took my friend with me as a guest.”
“How is she?”
“I’m certain she’s a lot better after a facial and a hot-stone massage.”
His fingers tightened on her waist. “She’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
“I’m blessed to have Alana as a friend because she doesn’t tell me what I want to hear but what I need to hear. In other words, she always keeps it real.”
Bart felt his stomach muscles contract. It was apparent Faye equated friendship with truth, and unfortunately he hadn’t been completely truthful with her. He knew he was falling in love with her. Although he hadn’t verbalized what lay in his heart he’d tried demonstrating the depths of his feelings. He’d moved her into his home, made himself available to her at all times and had tried to put in place things that would make her life more comfortable and stress free.
But there was someone from his past he hadn’t been able to give up or let go; and until he let her go, he would never be able to move forward to share his future with Faye Ogden.
Bart placed the bag on a countertop next to a double stainless-steel sink. He took out clear plastic bags of seasonal fruits: cherries, white grapes, peaches, pears, blueberries and kiwi. There were vacuum-sealed bags of fresh spinach and herbs. He held up the packaged vegetables.
“What do you want to do with these?”
Faye took charge. “Put them in the fridge’s vegetable drawer. I’ll put the fruit away after I wash it.” Reaching for a large aluminum bowl hanging from a hook over the cooking island, she emptied the fruit into the bowl then washed it with cold water from a retractable nozzle.
She froze when Bart came up behind her and pulled her to rest against his chest, giggling like a little girl when he nuzzled her neck. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to see if you smell as good as you look.”
“Do I?” she asked, laughing.
“It’s a tie.” His lips moved down the column of her neck in an agonizing slowness that caused a shudder to ripple through her body. “What’s the matter, baby?” Bart crooned as the ripples continued.
Faye’s hands curled into tight fists. “Nothing, Bart.” Smiling, she closed her eyes.
“Liar,” he whispered close to her ear.
“I’m not lying,” she whispered back. She was aware and Bart was aware than she hadn’t told him the truth. His closeness, the hardness of his body, and his mouth moving over her sensitized flesh ignited a heat that threatened to devour her whole.
Turning in his loose embrace, Faye stared up at Bart. His eyes shimmered like sparks of flint. Although she’d insisted they were just friends, she knew it would be just a matter of time before they’d become lovers. Even Alana had predicted it. If he’s paying for you to spend the summer with him it has nothing to do with you being his social companion. You’re his girlfriend and soon-to-become lover.
She blinked once. “You’re right, Bart. I was lying.” Her voice was soft, even. She took a step, her legs sandwiched between his spread-eagle ones. “Now it’s time for the truth. What do you want?”
Bart was rooted to the spot as he held his breath. Faye was asking what he wanted, what he’d wanted from the first time he saw her at Enid Richards’s Soho loft, and like a bumbling adolescent about to embark on his first sexual encounter he couldn’t tell the woman in his arms what he wanted.
He’d given Faye everything he thought she’d want while waiting patiently for her to come to him of her own free will. He’d slept with Felicia twice since he’d come to know Faye, and both times he’d felt as if he was cheating on her.
Felicia was a call girl he paid to have sex with him and Faye was a social companion, someone he paid to keep him occupied during his free time, yet he felt like an unfaithful husband—something he’d never been. How had morality crept into the picture when he wasn’t legally bound to any woman?
However, he knew the answer to his troubled thoughts before they’d formed in his mind. He was in love with Faye Ogden.
The realization that he’d fallen in love with a woman for the second time in his life left him reeling. He still loved Deidre Dunn, but he was also in love with Faye Anne Ogden.
He blinked as if coming out of a trance. “I want you.”
Faye swayed as if buffeted by a strong wind. “How do you want me?”
“I want you in my life—”
“But I’m in your life, Bart,” she said, stopping his explanation. “I’ll be living with you this summer.”
Reaching up, he placed a forefinger over her mouth. “You didn’t let me finish,” he chastised, smiling. “You’re right. You’ll be living with me this summer, but I also want you to sleep with me.”
“You want to make love to me?”
“I want to make love with you, but only after you feel comfortable sleeping with me.”
A knot rose in her throat at the same time the rapid beating of her heart slammed against her ribs. This time she heard the soft, drawling voice of Enid Richards in her head: I must caution you about sleeping with your clients. It always spells trouble. What she wanted to ask Enid was, would it spell trouble for the clients or for your exotic jewels?
It was she and not Enid who’d found herself ensnared in a world where she found it more and more difficult to distinguish between fantasy and reality; and Bart Houghton had become her fantasy—a man she never would’ve met or considered dating if it had not be
en for a business card that had piqued her interest.
But Bart Houghton had also become her reality when he’d made it possible for her to earn enough money to give an attorney his retainer to take on her brother’s appeal. And sleeping with Bart would be no different from her encounters with the other men in her past, with the exception that what they’d share was business. She would enjoy the intimacy, and when it ended she knew she would not have any regrets.
Rising on tiptoe, she brushed her mouth over his. “Let’s go to bed.”
CHAPTER 62
Faye barely had time to catch her breath when Bart swept her up in his arms and carried her out of the kitchen. Tightening her arms around his neck, she buried her face against the column of his neck, enjoying the lingering scent of soap on his skin.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve shared a bed with a man,” she confessed.
Bart smiled as he mounted the staircase to the second floor. He hadn’t known why she’d waited to share her bed or body with a man, but her admission filled him with a rush of smugness that perhaps she’d been waiting for the right man; and he hoped beyond hope that he was right for her.
“We’ll take it slow, baby. And any time you prefer sleeping alone then you must let me know.”
Faye, apprehensive about what she was about to embark upon, what she’d agreed to, closed her eyes and mumbled a fervent prayer that she was doing the right thing. And once she opened her legs to Bart things would not and could not remain the same between them. She was realistic and had matured enough to acknowledge that fact.
She counted the steps that took him from the staircase, down a hallway separating her rooms from his, and ended at thirty-two when he placed her on his bed, his body following hers downward. Reaching over, he took off her shoes.
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