Heat Wave

by Donna Hill

  “My father has a picture of me in his office.”

  “An office I’ve only stepped into once, and that was during my initial interview with Charles.” Trey placed a hand on Choice’s shoulder and guided them toward the outer wall of a business and away from the middle of the busy sidewalk.

  “And you don’t remember seeing my picture?”

  “That morning I had one thing on my mind, and one thing only: becoming the next director of business development at McKinley Black. Baby, you could have been in the room that day . . . and I wouldn’t have remembered. Let alone your picture.” His gaze was unwavering, his eyes shone with sincerity. “Now, are you ready to apologize?”

  A hint of a smile crossed Choice’s lips. She liked this guy. Where Remington’s confidence seemed somehow contrived, Trey wore swagger as his due. “I’ll think about it.”

  Trey smiled, and for the first time, Choice noticed a hint of a dimple in his right cheek. “You’ll do more than that. You’ll give me your phone number, and then you’ll have a drink with me. Tonight. Ten o’clock. Don’t give me that look, and don’t even think about turning me down. I’m not taking no for an answer.”

  “You heard my mother earlier. I’m dining with my parents tonight.”

  “And that fool, Remington. Yes, I heard. Which is why I said ten, instead of nine. You can have dinner with them. But dessert is with me.”

  “How do you know that he and I aren’t dating? Or that there isn’t someone else? Aren’t you afraid of treading on another man’s territory?”

  Trey reached for her left hand, looked pointedly at the bare third finger. “The territory I’m interested in, that I tasted last night and this morning, belongs to nobody but you.” His voice was firm and laced with meaning. “So if Remington has plans to claim you, or some other brothah has plans to keep you, then they’d better bring their A game.”

  At 10:27 PM, Choice entered the swanky confines of Flute Midtown. The bar Trey had chosen was one of her favorite spots, causing her to once again wonder just how much he knew about her. She looked around the room, not wanting to appear anxious and not wanting to show how excited she was to see Trey again. It had taken her forever to get away from her father’s home, and even longer to get away from Remington, who judiciously promised Charles and Arnetta to “see their daughter home safely.” She stepped farther into the crowded space and looked around. Trey was nowhere in sight. Her heart dropped. She thought to call him, then decided against it. He’s probably mad and thinks I stood him up. I’ll just get voice mail. She turned and walked back toward the door.

  A hand on her arm stopped her. “Where are you going?”

  “Trey!”

  “Surprised, huh. You know I should have left.”

  “I couldn’t get away.”

  “And you couldn’t call and say you’d be late?” He slid his hand down to her elbow and guided them to a booth. “Don’t even bother to answer, woman. Just keep racking up the infractions,” Trey drawled, his eyes twinkling with merriment as he sat across from her. “Because I’m going to enjoy delivering your punishment.”

  “Infractions, huh,” Choice murmured, enjoying this salacious banter. “Punishment. You sound like a dangerous man. I don’t do pain.”

  “You’ll like my kind.”

  And just like that, the atmosphere changed. The electricity of their magnetism could have lit up the room, could have fixed the power outage that spawned their alliance. Choice was thankful when the waiter chose that moment to stop by their table.

  During the time it took to place their orders, Choice found her calm. “So, Trey Scott . . . who exactly are you?”

  Trey leaned back in the booth. “That answer could take a while.”

  “I’ve got time.”

  “Okay. My name is Trey Scott, but you know that already. I was born and raised in Omaha—”

  “Nebraska?”

  “Yes, and . . . ?”

  Choice shrugged. “And nothing. I just would never have guessed that you grew up in the Midwest. I thought you were East Coast, born and bred.”

  “Ha! I feel like I should have been, but I didn’t come here until my sixteenth birthday. After my parents divorced, my mom stayed in Omaha while my dad moved here. I’d gotten to be quite a handful by the time I was fifteen, and when I was sixteen, my mother followed through on an oft-uttered threat and sent me to live with my father. It was one of the best things she could have done.”

  “That you were a problem child doesn’t surprise me.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me to find out you were one either.”

  “I’ve never caused my parents a moment’s worry.”

  Trey looked thoughtfully at Choice. “That could be the problem.”

  Choice was immediately defensive. “What problem?”

  “I’m just messing with you, girl. But yeah, I did act out when my pops left. Like many children, I went through the phase of thinking it was my fault, then the other of blaming my mom for Dad leaving. Sports were my saving grace, kept me out of bigger problems like drugs and crime . . . but I just grew too big for Virginia Scott to handle. Especially after she remarried. I’d been the man of the house for six years. I guess you could say that our home wasn’t big enough for two bosses.”

  For a moment, Choice saw past the gorgeous, chiseled hunk of a man and peeped at the frightened, vulnerable yet defiant child that Trey must have been during this time. She imagined that it was here that he honed his confident façade, the ability to never let anyone see him sweat. Except, perhaps, in tight, suspended elevators amid all kinds of heat . . .

  After the waiter had delivered their drinks, a Remy neat for him, a chocolate martini for her, Choice learned more about Trey. That a tennis scholarship had landed him in the hallowed halls of Harvard University, and his 4.0 GPA had kept him there, where he earned a business degree in three short years. That, as the oldest of three children, he felt obligated to be a major success, and that his natural sales ability, along with a chance conversation with a college friend’s father, had set him on his current path. He gave a brief rundown of the three jobs he’d held in ten years, and how he’d been recruited by McKinley Black.

  “So that’s the short version,” Trey concluded. “Basically, what you see is what you get.”

  “Not so fast,” Choice retorted, feeling more and more relaxed with each martini sip. “You’ve told me about your career. What about your personal life?” Again, his intense green eyes bore into hers with such voracity that Choice wanted to squirm. But she forced herself to remain still and meet his gaze.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Are there any currents, exes, baby mamas, kids?”

  “No, yes, no, and no.”

  After waiting a beat, Choice pressed further. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

  “Isn’t that all you need to hear?” Trey swirled the drink he’d barely touched. “What about you, Ms. Choice McKinley. Why didn’t you tell me who you were last night?”

  “And when do you propose I was supposed to do that?”

  “When I asked what brought you out on a holiday. You said you were doing a favor for a friend, when what you could have said is that your father was co-owner of the largest, most successful African-American architectural firm ever, and that you were there to visit his office.”

  “And if I had, do you think that what happened would have happened?”

  Trey hesitated for just a moment. “Honestly, I don’t know. But I think we both have to admit that the attraction between us would be rather hard to ignore, whenever and however we would have met.”

  There it was, out in the open. The first acknowledgment that he was indeed attracted, and that what happened in the elevator hadn’t been a random act of horniness.

  “All my life I’ve had to work to establish my identity,” Choice continued after a pause. “To be someone other than the daughter of Charles and Arnetta McKinley, or the heir to the MB fortune, or the deb
utante or honor student or any of those other titles that described but didn’t define.” Choice shrugged. “I guess truth be told, I’m still working on it.”

  “Is your not working at your father’s firm part of this desire for individualism?”

  “Partly. But more than that, it’s because of my passion. My dad loves to design buildings while I love to design clothes.”

  “Cool! So you’re a fashion designer? Do you work for one of the major houses or one of the high-end chains? I can take one look at you and tell that your stuff is high-end.”

  “Please,” Choice chided, though she warmed at the compliment. “Some of my looks are high fashion, but I also design for the working woman, the eclectic artist, and the sistah who is everyday. I try to cover the gambit. And no, I don’t work for someone else’s house. I work for my own.”

  “What does that mean? You sell your stuff online, or through eBay, or what?”

  Choice took a long look at Trey and yet again did something that was totally unlike her. What is it with this man? He forces me totally outside of my comfort zone and makes me glad to be there. “I’m the visionary and designer behind Chai Fashion.”

  “You’re Chai? The weave-wearing sistah with the loud clothes and big shades?”

  “Ha! That is not the description I’d offer as PR, and those are wigs, not weaves.”

  “My bad, I meant no disrespect. It’s just that . . . my sister loves your stuff. So does my mom. I saw you as a guest judge on Project Runway.”

  Choice was amazed. “You watch that show?”

  “Only because my mom forced me into it!” When Choice cracked up laughing, Trey came clean. “Okay, maybe I like it a little bit on my own.”

  They spent the next two hours talking, laughing, and getting to know each other. At the end of the night two things were clear. One, the sizzle between them was no passing fancy, and two, both wanted to replace the fireworks they’d missed last night . . . with their own.

  Chapter 8

  Remington tapped the computer keys, scrolling through a document he still couldn’t believe he was reading. But here it was, in black and white. How could human resources have missed this? Remington knew for a fact that all potential employees were scrupulously screened, background checks and credit checks were conducted, and extensive reference checks were made. At least that is what was normally done. Somehow, he deduced, this suave-talking Trey Scott had slipped through the cracks. His model good looks and Harvard degree had somehow overshadowed and/or hidden a more telling if not impressive title—felon.

  Turning toward the window, Remington looked out on the deceptively gorgeous day; the bright blue sky and silky clouds masking the brutal heat waves that pulsated from the roads and sidewalks of the city’s concrete jungle. Inside his large corner office, Remington’s outer calm also masked the unease boiling inside him—an unease he’d felt since meeting Trey, and which had escalated when he saw the way he and Choice looked at each other.

  A knock on his office door cut through Remington’s meandering thoughts. “Yes?”

  Trey opened Remington’s door. “You wanted to meet with me?”

  “Yes, come on in.” Remington quickly closed the window he was viewing.

  It was seven o’clock in the evening, but neither man was surprised that the other was still on their grind. Working long hours was expected at McKinley Black, sixty-hour weeks were the average, and even eighty hours not outside the norm. Trey reached Remington’s desk and sat down in one of the dark brown leather chairs facing it. He placed his right ankle over his left knee, sat back, and waited. You called me, his body language conveyed. But when Remington remained silent, Trey looked at his watch and finally asked, “What’s on your mind?”

  Remington noted the small victory. He wanted this young player to know that he was dealing with a master of corporate politics and a force to be reckoned with at McKinley Black. Trey might be a director, but Remington was a VP. This newbie had better recognize! Especially since Remington was fully aware that if Trey pulled off getting the account at Ground Zero, his star would not only be on the rise, it would be a meteor zooming straight to the top.

  “I talked with Charles. He told me about the potential project at Ground Zero. He’s excited about the possibility, yet is understandably reserved as to the likelihood of our securing such a large contract given the list of players already vying for the limited jobs around that site. Still, we haven’t talked in depth since you were hired. I thought now would be a good time for me to get in this loop, make sure that MB is positioned correctly, and get a timeline for this project’s advancement.” Actually, Remington wanted to find out as much about the players in said project as possible and position himself to meet all of them so that when they fired Trey for lying on his application, Remington could ride in on his white horse and save the day.

  Trey nodded but remained silent.

  “So . . . how did you get a meeting with the big boys? I’ve talked to several of my contacts who’d believed all of the contracts regarding that location had been sewn up years ago.”

  Trey shrugged. “A bit of networking here, researching there. A good friend of mine is on the city council, another works in Bloomberg’s office. I’m young, only ten years into my professional career. But I’ve used the time wisely, made friends and contacts strategically. Those contacts will pay huge dividends in the next few months.”

  Remington leaned back, acting nonchalant. “Exactly who do you know on the council? I know a couple guys myself.”

  Trey leaned back as well, his body an equal mask of relaxation. “I know several of them actually, along with some heavy hitters in city construction. And I appreciate your interest. But I’m a bit superstitious when it comes to getting ahead of myself and revealing information prematurely. In a few months, everything will be laid out on the table, after Charles and Jeffrey have joined me to seal the deal.”

  Remington stroked his goatee, admitting a very slight and begrudging respect for the man sitting in front of him. Remington thought Trey an old soul . . . older than his years. He decided to change tactics. Trey wasn’t going to be intimidated or fooled. So Remington turned the corner and tried the camaraderie route. After speaking briefly about a few more potential clients, he changed the subject. “Nice party for the chief yesterday.”

  “Yes, it was. Are there many social functions at the firm?”

  “Not really. The holiday bash around Christmastime is the biggest event, one where we invite our clients, families . . . and speaking of family, I’m sure you were impressed with Charles’s daughter, Choice.”

  Oh, so now we’re getting to the real reason for the visit. “I didn’t talk with her much.”

  “Brothah don’t need to talk much around a woman like her.”

  “She is quite attractive.”

  “She’s also quite off-limits.”

  Trey’s brow rose. “Oh?”

  Remington sat forward. “Look, what I’m about to say is off the record, man to man. But the reason there was an opening for a business development director is because the last one made a move on Charles’s daughter.”

  Trey’s piercing eyes gazed at Remington. “Is Charles protecting her? Or are you?”

  Remington smiled, reared back in his chair, and clasped his hands behind his head. “There’s an interesting history where Choice and I are concerned. As you heard from Arnetta, we grew up together and our families are very close. Charles has been after me for years to marry his daughter; forge a dynasty of sorts.”

  “And you’ve resisted because . . . ?”

  Remington laughed. “Who says I’m resisting? Choice and I will be together, of that I have no doubt. I’m just giving her a chance to spread her wings a little bit before she settles down and starts having my babies.”

  “Well, I wish you the best, man,” Trey said, rising. “It’s been a long day, so if that’s it, I’ll be on my way.”

  Remington rose as well. “Keep me posted on the
Ground Zero accounts. When we get the job, I’ll be working closely with Charles and my dad, so I want to be prepared.”

  Trey said good-bye and headed out the door. There was somewhere he needed to be. Because while Choice may be having Remington’s babies in the future, she was having dinner with him tonight.

  Chapter 9

  After she’d unlocked the metal door to let him in, Trey placed a kiss on Choice’s temple. “I’m glad to see you.”

  “Me too,” she answered, walking down a short hall to a flight of steps and beginning to climb them. Trey followed. “Although I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “What?”

  “Letting you come into my hallowed space, especially now, at such a critical juncture.”

  “Critical?”

  “Yes. We’re preparing for the biggest show of the year, Fashion Week at Bryant Park.”

  They reached the third floor and walked to the double doors at the end of the hall. Choice opened the door to the brightly lit room, and Trey thought he’d stepped into another world. Colors burst forth from everywhere: the walls, ceilings, floors, and from the rows and rows of fabrics in every texture imaginable. Mannequins around the room were in various stages of dress, tables held partially cut pieces, and a corner desk was laden with books and magazines. The room’s far wall resembled a craft store, with buttons, ribbons, thread, zippers, and various other knickknacks and accessories carefully organized in see-through bins. A sultry neo-soul tune played lightly in the background.

  “Wow,” Trey finally said, after a moment of taking it all in. “You’ve really got it going on here.”

  “This is where the magic happens,” Choice said, her eyes shining as she looked around the room. Sometimes she still found it hard to believe that her dream of being a fashion designer had come true.

  Choice led them down a hallway, where Trey noted a storage room on one side and a bathroom on the other. The back room had been made into a break room of sorts, with a mini-fridge, microwave, and bar table for two. He set down the sack of Thai food he carried and began lifting out containers. “I hope you’re hungry.”