Heat Wave

by Donna Hill

  “Hey, baby.”

  “Hey.”

  Trey stepped inside Choice’s shop and tried to give her a hug. But instead of melting into him as she normally did, she turned away and headed toward the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

  “We have to talk,” she said over her shoulder, and then remained silent until they were in her work space and she’d closed the door. She walked over to a long work table piled high with silks, cottons, and jersey knits, turned around, leaned against it, and crossed her arms. “Are you a felon?” Since receiving her father’s phone call hours earlier, and then searching his name online, she’d gone over various ways in her mind to approach this subject and had decided to do it straight out.

  Trey took a step toward Choice, but stopped when she tensed up. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “Never mind where I heard it. Is it true?”

  Trey sighed. “No, Choice, it isn’t true. I am not a felon. The only entanglements I’ve had with the law are a few speeding tickets and a few cases of being stopped for driving while black.”

  “Then how do you explain the articles about a man named Trey Scott, who sounds a lot like you, having been arrested for embezzling from his company and doing time in prison as a result?”

  This time, Trey didn’t stop when he walked toward Choice. “Can we sit down?” he asked, reaching for her hand. She nodded and walked with him to the break room. They sat opposite each other, Choice as still as a statue. Trey looked at her, saw the confusion in her eyes, and wanted to erase it.

  “About seven years ago, a man named Trey E. Scott embezzled several hundred thousand dollars from a bank. He is African-American, about my age and complexion, and worse still, lived for a time in Nebraska. Just my luck, right?” When Trey’s attempt to lighten the moment was met with Choice’s silent stare, he continued. “A year or so later, when I got stopped for speeding, they ran my name and got his information. The dude was already in jail, but the traffic officers didn’t know that. It obviously didn’t come back on whatever information they received when they put me into the computer. So I was hauled off to jail and stayed there almost forty-eight hours before my attorney was able to straighten out this case of mistaken identity. His name is Tre’ Eugene Scott. My name is Trey, with a Y. And my middle name is Edmond. I might be guilty of a few things, Choice, but committing a crime—white collar or otherwise—isn’t one of them. I’ve never done drugs, never cheated on a woman, and never took anything that I did not buy. I’ve worked hard to be one of the few, good men, Choice. And that’s why I’m looking for a real good woman to be by my side.”

  Choice put her chin in her hand as she gazed at Trey. He did seem like a good man. She believed it in her gut. But fortunately or unfortunately, she was Charles McKinley and Arnetta McKinley-Baron’s daughter. So she couldn’t risk any type of scandal sullying their good name. And no matter what she felt, her father and the Internet could be right. There was still the very real possibility that Trey was lying and was a felon after all. “I’m afraid you’ll have to convince my father of that,” she said softly, and proceeded to tell him about their conversation. “He doesn’t want me to see you, Trey.”

  “Baby, I’m a grown-ass man, and you’re a grown-ass woman. Nobody can tell us who to be with.”

  Choice’s eyes filled unexpectedly with tears. “It’ll mean your job, Trey. You just got hired and I know you’ve got big plans. We barely know each other, and while I admit that I’m as attracted to you as I think you are to me, that may be all this is—a physical attraction. It isn’t easy getting into my dad’s firm, and his reach is high and long for anybody who crosses him. Calling my dad overprotective is an understatement. Underneath that cool, calm façade is a pit bull. Go against what he feels best, and he could make both our lives a living hell.”

  Trey left Choice’s workroom shortly after. Just to cool off, he walked several blocks before hailing a taxi, and when he got home, he was still pissed. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Remington Black was somehow in the middle of this madness. And he knew something else: that he didn’t want to have to decide between keeping his lucrative job and the woman of his dreams. You were looking for a job when you got this one, he thought sarcastically. But he’d beat out hundreds of applicants for his cushy spot as director of business development. And Choice? Women like her didn’t come along every day. So Trey decided to toss his hat into the ring and play the game Remington had started. Not one for losing, Trey would be playing for keeps—winner take all.

  Chapter 12

  The week flew by, and Trey and Charles’s meeting with Solomon Meyers & Company, one of the primary hiring firms for the Ground Zero building projects, was a huge success. Another meeting was being scheduled for the following week, with a request for initial floor plans to follow one month later. Charles’s calm reserve was a perfect complement to Solomon’s more boisterous personality, and Jeffrey Black’s suave presence balanced the two. Trey’s presentation had been flawless. He’d done his homework, and the players at Solomon Meyers were noticeably impressed.

  Trey hung out with the boys on Friday night, played tennis with Josh on Saturday, and spent much of Sunday in the gym. Since their meeting, he’d called Choice a few times. The first time she’d answered, but they spoke only briefly. The next two times had gone to voice mail. Trey was angry and frustrated. If she was feeling him the way he was feeling her, why give up so easily? Why walk away from something that felt amazing? By the time Monday rolled around, Trey had had enough of the standoff. One way or the other, he was going to see Choice.

  In a totally uncharacteristic move, Trey began clearing his desk just after five PM. He figured Choice was working and hoped to catch her before she left. He’d just switched his phone to night service when Remington walked into his office.

  “Leaving so soon?”

  “Yep, have an appointment.”

  “Something to do with Ground Zero?”

  None of your damn business, is what Trey thought. “No, something else,” is what he said.

  “Well, I hear congratulations are in order. Dad says that getting the contract for the Phase II set of buildings is all but in the bag.”

  “I don’t like to count my chickens before they’re hatched, but we all feel pretty good.”

  “What you’re poised to achieve so soon into this job is nothing short of a miracle. Back in the day, a deal could only move that fast if a bunch of hands were greased.” Remington chuckled to soften his implication that bribes had occurred.

  “Good thing we’re not still back in the day,” Trey calmly replied, snapping shut his laptop bag and reaching for his briefcase. “In today’s climate, it’s not who you pay, but who you know.” Secretly, Trey also knew it was still sometimes who you paid, but thanks to his friendship with Josh and his deep political connections, he hadn’t had to go that route. “All right, Rem, don’t work too hard. I’m out of here.” He waited until Remington had followed him out of the office and then locked his door.

  “Oh, and Trey,” Remington said when they reached the end of the hall and he prepared to go in the opposite direction, “my name is Remington, and that is what I am called here at the office. Only one person calls me Rem, and she does it in the bedroom.”

  Trey’s hand clenched around the briefcase handle, but his face showed a smile. “No worries, Mr. Black. Remington it is.” With that, he turned and headed across the lobby.

  Remington stroked his goatee as he watched Trey walk to the elevator. What has Mr. Scott leaving the office so early? Remington worked until seven or eight most evenings, and he couldn’t remember leaving after Trey since the new guy had started working there. Suddenly, Remington had a thought. He walked purposely to his office and closed the door. Hitting the speed dial on his cell phone, he walked to the window and took in the famous New York skyline while awaiting an answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Ms. McKinley.”

  Choice smiled. “Mr. Black.”


  “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  “Remington . . .”

  “I know. You don’t think you’re ready to try us again. But how will you know that I’ve changed unless we get together? I understand that you have to have your own thing, which is why I’ll allow you to keep your clothing company, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your social obligations as my wife.”

  “You’ll allow?”

  “Honey, let’s not get caught up in semantics. Meet me at the Top of the Tower, six o’clock. Wear something sexy.”

  “Remington, this has been a busy day and I still have a lot of work to do.”

  “Even a busy working woman needs to eat, right?”

  Choice was hungry. She’d had a single helping of strawberry yogurt for breakfast and had barely stopped to chow down a salad for lunch. She looked at her watch. 5:15. Choice figured she could change into one of her samples, put on some makeup, and make it to midtown in an hour. She’d missed Trey immensely, and while she doubted the Remington lion could change his mane, he could feed her, at least, and take her mind off Trey for a little while. It’s for the best, she reminded herself for the umpteenth time. “Okay, I’ll see you in an hour.”

  Thirty minutes later, Choice stepped out of her building and almost ran into Trey. “Trey! What are you doing here?”

  Trey’s eyes feasted on Choice, looking simply sexy in a little black dress with strategic glimpses of skin through cuts in the dress’s midsection. Her legs were bare and she wore jeweled, flat sandals. He wanted to ravish her on the spot. “I was coming for my fitting, but it looks like I’ll be joining you for dinner instead.”

  “Fitting?”

  “Yes. I’m your male model, remember? Just because you’ve decided to put the skids on our relationship doesn’t mean we can’t still be friends.” When Choice didn’t respond, Trey continued. “Does it?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  “Well then, do you still want me to model or what?”

  “Trey, I don’t know if this is a good idea. We both know we’re playing with fire.”

  “Yeah, baby, and I’m ready to get burned.” Trey couldn’t take it anymore. He reached out for Choice and crushed her in his arms. Her hands went around his waist of their own volition and their mouths met and opened, and tongues began swirling of their own accord.

  What is it with this guy? Choice thought, as she flitted her tongue inside Trey’s mouth like an addict looking for crack. That was it. Trey was like a drug and she was a user. She knew she wouldn’t be satisfied until she’d had him. All of him. Completely. It was the only thing that explained why she was allowing a man to put his tongue down her throat in broad open daylight.

  Damn, baby, you feel so good. Trey’s hands roamed Choice’s body, sliding over the soft, silky material, longing to feel her naked flesh. She moaned, squirmed, and he imagined the wetness at the apex of her thighs. Hardening instantly, he broke the kiss. It was either that or snatch Choice’s keys, carry her to her work space, and make love amid yards of muslin, satin, and baldachin.

  Choice knew exactly why Trey had broken off the kiss. And as much as she agreed that it was the right thing to do, her body screamed with unreleased passion. “You should have called,” she blurted, forcing her mind to think and her legs to move. “I’ve, uh, I’ve got an appointment and I’m going to be late.”

  “Let’s meet afterward. Have a drink with me. I miss you, Choice.”

  “I’ll call you later,” she replied, walking away as she did so. But as she reached the curb and hailed a taxi, Choice knew she’d left part of her heart on Trey’s delectable lips.

  Chapter 13

  “You look lovely.” Remington stood as Choice neared the table and leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek before pulling out her chair.

  “Thank you.” Choice knew that Remington expected a return compliment and as always, he did look good. But try as she might to forget him, her heart was filled with Trey. She didn’t want to offer Remington any false promises but hoped that they could remain friends. “Have you ordered?” she asked.

  “I chose the wines, but decided to wait until you arrived to order the appetizers.”

  “Wines, plural? Remington, I told you. I’m working. I have an hour for dinner and then, really, I have to get back to the shop.”

  Remington reached over and grasped Choice’s hand. “Okay,” he said, kissing it softly. “But only if you’ll agree to a more well-rounded date with me this Friday night.”

  Instead of answering, Choice watched as the sommelier walked over with Remington’s wine choice. He poured the fruity sauvignon blanc into both their glasses, and then placed the wine into a silver ice bucket. “To friendship,” she said, hoisting her glass before her.

  “To love,” Remington replied. They clinked glasses. “So, my darling, what has you working your fingers to the bone at this time of night?”

  “Fashion Week,” Choice replied. “It’s the biggest time of year for designers, and this year, I get to do another full showing at Bryant Park.”

  “That reminds me. I’d like you to come over this weekend and have a look around the apartment. I’m thinking of totally redesigning the living and dining spaces and would like your input.”

  And just like that, what was important to Choice was forgotten, and Remington was off to the races with what mattered in his life. Choice learned about his latest golfing adventures, his latest architectural designs, becoming president of his fraternity, and his plans for them to spend Christmas in Hawaii. There was just a slight problem with this last idea; actually, two. One, he hadn’t asked Choice, and two, someone named Trey was standing in the way of her saying yes. Choice pretended to listen intently, but inside she was imagining this as her life for the next forty years. Then she imagined herself sitting at their dining room table, a skeleton, and Remington so busy talking about himself that he wouldn’t even notice. Choice began laughing, softly at first and then in full-out guffaws.

  “Choice,” Remington hissed. “People are watching.”

  Remington’s aghast expression sent Choice into another peal of laughter. She took a drink of water to try to calm herself, caught a visual of Remington talking to a skeleton, oblivious to the fact that she’d died, and starting laughing again. So hard that she did the unthinkable—she snorted. Which, of course, sent her laughing again.

  “Choice, stop that! What has gotten into you?”

  “I’m so sorry, Rem,” Choice said, wiping her eyes with the soft linen napkin. “Whew! I just thought of something funny and . . . I guess I’m a little sleep-deprived. I had a hard time controlling myself for a minute.”

  “I’ll say.”

  You would. Remington reminded Choice of her mother. Arnetta would have been equally mortified to have Choice dare laugh out loud, in public, and would have possibly fainted at the snort. Too bad you’re not into older women and she’s already remarried. Because you and my mother would be perfect together.

  Shortly after the laughing incident, the waiter arrived with their orders. After eating an absolutely succulent dinner and having two more glasses of wine and a fairly pleasant conversation, Choice thanked Remington for the dinner and insisted that she leave, alone, and take a cab back to her workplace. She was only partially surprised when the cab pulled up and she found Trey there . . . waiting for her.

  Chapter 14

  “Have you been waiting for me this whole time?” Choice asked as Trey paid the cab driver, as he’d insisted. They walked up to the main office door, and Choice unlocked it.

  “No. I took care of some business in the area, and then decided to stop by here and see if you were back. Looks like my timing was perfect.”

  “Hum, I don’t know. You’re feeling kinda like a stalker right about now.”

  “Would that be so bad?” Trey was directly behind Choice as they mounted the stairs, his hot breath wet on her neck.

  And right then, right at that moment, Choice knew how the night was
going to end.

  “I normally like to have my assistant here when I’m doing fittings,” she said, taking long strides to increase the space between her and Trey. “But I guess I could make an exception.”

  “It’s cool. I can come back tomorrow if you want me to.” His lips said this, but his eyes told her that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

  Choice’s breath quickened, her stomach tightened, her nana tingled. “That’s okay,” she said, her calm voice belying her roiling emotions within. “I guess I can handle this one by myself.”

  She walked across the room for her tape measure. Trey began undressing. “You do want me to take my clothes off, don’t you?”

  “Not everything,” she answered, somewhat breathlessly. “Just your shirt and your, um, pants.”

  And it began. Trey’s eyes never left Choice’s as he unbuttoned the first button, and then the next . . . and the next. His countenance was serious, purposeful. Choice knew that this time there was no stopping, and no turning back. Not that she wanted to; not that she could if she tried. His neck and arm muscles rippled as he pulled off his shirt. His chest bulged inside the stark white sleeveless undershirt that covered it.

  Choice didn’t move and barely breathed.

  Still watching her, Trey reached for his belt buckle and slowly undid it. Choice licked her lips, subtly, but Trey saw it anyway. The barest hint of a smile appeared before he unbuttoned the lone fastener at the top of his slacks, unzipped the zipper, and let the pants slide to the floor. Choice took one look at his massive package and almost slid to the floor herself. Day-um! Her feet seemed glued to the spot while her eyes remained fixed on Trey’s manhood. Her mouth watered and her lips became dry. He’s just a man, Choice told herself, willing herself to act professionally and to treat Trey as she would any other male model. But this isn’t just any male model. This is the man you want to screw you senseless!