London grabbed the paper from her father’s desk and sat back to read the news with a tiny bit of satisfaction. There was actually justice in the world after all.
That was when the other shoe fell.
* * *
She saw it in the New York Post, because of course it would be there. An already rocky mayoral campaign involved in a high-profile divorce? A meddling hussy to point the public finger at? It was tabloid fodder at its best.
London
(Keeps)
Calling!
The sub-headline read: Wife’s final straw as mayoral candidate is hounded by young female attorney.
They even had a nice little flashy quote from the man himself: She wouldn’t leave me alone!
London’s eyes were far too blinded by the red she was seeing to fully absorb the article, but, this being the New York Post, the gist of it wasn’t hard to get: She was the last—and naturally the worst—in a line of brazen hussies going after Dion Davis, causing his wife to claim she’d had enough.
They hadn’t used her photo, thank god. The sympathy-inducing, sorrowful frown on Dion Davis’ face was almost as bad. She wanted to punch it.
Once again, scandal was rearing its ugly head in her life, it didn’t take long for the phone to ring. Her father. Her friends. Cleveland, her brother. Some unknown number that was probably a member of the press.
The only one she answered for was Michael, if only to stop him from doing something stupid. She remembered the night she’d told him about Dion.
“This has gone too far now, London,” he argued, before she could even say hello.
“And I’ll fix it,” she assured him, trying to keep the calmness she most certainly didn’t feel in her voice, if only to soothe him.
“We’ll fix it,” he corrected.
“Don’t go doing anything crazy,” she warned. “We need to fight this the right way.”
“London, I’m a lawyer. You’re a lawyer. We don’t get physical. At least not always,” he said, giving a soft laugh almost to himself.
London wasn’t sure what to make of that last bit, so she moved on, wanting to avoid any talk of getting physical.
“I just wanted to tell you that I’m fine.” It was a lie. She could hear him not believing her on the other end, but he was tactful enough to let her hold on to it. “Right now I just want to take a shower and think.”
She did need time to think. Absorb this new, vile development…then act. She didn’t even bother calling in to the office to tell them she wasn’t going to be in. She didn’t want to hear it in Harriet, the receptionist’s voice.
Even though she had already taken her shower last night as usual, she went to her bathroom and turned the knob, making sure it was hotter than she usually took it. The shower was the best place to think…especially when you felt this dirty.
By the time she had practically used up all the hot water, she felt only slightly better. Mostly because she had an idea of where to start with fixing this mess.
* * *
If Michael had wanted to punch Dion Davis in the face when he found out about his practically assaulting London in her own office, he was positively hell bent on murder seeing the news about her today.
But he was a fixer, not a fighter…well, not always at any rate. A degree of violence had worked before in defense of London, and it had been deliciously pleasurable. In this case, it would only backfire. Michael was under no illusions he could perform a little hard core physical persuasion on Dion Davis the way he had with London’s ex, Clayton Moore. It was one thing to rough up a Senior Legislative Assistant. A state representative was a whole other animal.
Fortunately Michael knew exactly how such animals operated. As the son of Richard Wright, who proudly called himself the Real Estate Emperor of New York, Michael had spent his entire life around such vermin. The good news was, he knew exactly how to hit them where it hurt most—and it wasn’t a punch to the gut.
Based on the information he had from London, he knew exactly where to start.
Chapter 11
What worked wonders for Ménage, turned out to be a disaster for Alex personally.
TMZ. Perez Hilton. Live Leak. Even WorldStarHipHop (go figure). Brianna and Trina’s little spat was the featured highlight on each site. And in this day and age of the smart phone, there were a lot of highlights.
It all started out painlessly enough, at least as far as Alex’s reputation was concerned. Two famous blondes cat-fighting on his watch certainly didn’t do any favors for his professionalism, but when the line outside Ménage was twice as long the next day, no one was complaining.
Alex decided to blow it off and chalk it all up to a lesson learned. Never mix old friends (especially old friends like he had) with business. Brianna was no doubt hearing it from her old man…and brushing it off as usual.
Then the cause of the fight hit the tabloids: Alex Wright.
Apparently “Alex had been hitting on Trina” who was stated to be Brianna’s “on again, off again” “long term boyfriend.”
Alex had to read that twice to see past the overwhelming set of balls of whoever had made those statements. Brianna and Alex had never been “on” even in the old days. Maybe making out a few times, and God knew what when they were high and/or drunk. Most definitely not “on.”
It didn’t help that he was the son of the notorious Richard Wright, currently on his fourth mistress-turned-wife, and still being featured in his own kinky headlines.
It didn’t help that there were still plenty of photos from his past to dredge up to make people wonder if he really had changed his bad-boy ways.
It didn’t help that Instagram, and thus Facebook and Twitter, were full of pictures of Alex, getting his face licked. Alex in a kiss sandwich between Brianna and Trina. Alex smiling in the back of a limo between the two of them.
A little discussion with his old party pal was most definitely in order. He knew full well the media had a way of twisting things. He also knew full well that those accusations hadn’t come out of thin air. He definitely needed a word with Brianna.
But he had his priorities. His first call was to Brooklyn.
* * *
Brooklyn was in the middle of a pow-wow with the girls on her 4th-floor walk up in Chinatown. All of them being Millenials, they were acutely aware of the latest with the Ménage Affair, as they referred to it. It was a title Brooklyn could have done without, the implications being quite obvious.
As usual, the five of them were circled around the living room that Brooklyn shared with Annie and Kay. Annie, who was white, had transitioned the one side of her hair that wasn’t shaved from a rainbow to a shocking pink. She absolutely adored Alex and tried to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“You know how the media likes to spin things,” she offered. “You also know how Alex feels about you.”
Kay, half white and half Asian, sat on the other side of her and as usual only chimed in when absolutely necessary. Apparently this was enough to qualify.
“The pictures weren’t that bad, Brooklyn,” she said. “It doesn’t even look like he’s enjoying himself.”
Brooklyn looked back and forth between her two roommates, feeling a bit better. She had no doubt about how Alex felt, but it wasn’t a pleasant experience having your man’s image splattered over every online rumor-mill suggesting he was in the middle of a love triangle with two other women.
“All I know is, if that were my man, you better believe I would be on the phone ahora, putting his ass firmly in place.” Then there was Martina, her Puerto Rican friend who lived across the hall, and could always be counted on to play devil’s advocate.
“Seriously, chica,” she continued. “You gonna have your man do you like that? In public?”
Justine, Martina’s roommate, who was black with dreads almost to her ass, chimed in to offer a buffer to her roommate’s remarks. “At the very least, you should give him a chance to explain himself,” she said, giving Martina som
e serious side-eye action. “Don’t throw it all away because of some stupid online photos. Besides, we’ve all seen the way he treats you, and the way you gush over him.”
They all laughed. Annie bumped a shoulder into her side forcing Brooklyn to break into a grudging smile.
That was when her phone rang. The ringtone, Dirty Laundry by Bitter: Sweet, let everyone in the room know exactly who was on the other line. They all stared at her in anxious anticipation.
Brooklyn quickly grabbed it and ran out toward her bedroom, all of her friends giving her encouraging looks.
“Alex,” she said, trying to remain neutral, despite the turmoil going on in her head and stomach. She shut the door as she entered her room. Her friends didn’t need to know everything.
“Listen,” he said. She could hear the desperation in his voice which gave her hope. “I’m sure you’ve seen the shit on Instagram and Twitter and…whatever. I just want to assure you, nothing happened. Nothing. I don’t even know where they got this shit from. Brianna was never an ‘on’ thing with me—ever. And I don’t even fucking know Trina, for fuck’s sake. It’s all just—”
Brooklyn smiled as she heard him ramble on, trying hard to assure her that any ounce of concern she might have was all for naught. That’s when she decided to throw him a bone.
“Alex,” she said, interrupting him. “I trust you.”
There was a pause on the other end, as Alex absorbed her words. “Really?” he asked, the uncertainty still in his voice.
“Really,” she assured him.
She heard a loud sigh on the other end, which made her smile again. “Thank god,” he said. “I’ve been trying to find a way to explain—”
“There’s nothing to explain,” she interrupted. “I completely trust you. So some D-list actress has the hots for you. I get that.” She laughed as she said it. It presented a more confident front than she actually felt.
Having her first real adult relationship thrown in her face like this, and so publicly, was something new. As the daughter of Frank Jefferson, a notorious media-hound, she was used to being in the orbit of the public eye. This was the first time she’d actually been personally affected by it. But dating the son of one of the most notorious men in New York was bound to create exactly this sort of complication.
She had been thoroughly disgusted seeing Trina’s tongue on the face of her man. What in the world inspired some skanks to act like that? Especially when her own supposed boyfriend was right there with them?
Alex helped her come around. “Brianna, she and I…well, there never was a she and I,” he said. “She’s just…and old friend. Actually I don’t even know that I’d call her a friend any more. Just someone from a past I put behind me. Now I know why.”
“Don’t even think about it, Alex,” she said. “I know who you belong to.”
She heard Alex breathe another sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “I’m flying back to New York,” he insisted. “I want to make sure things are really okay with us. The club is fine, I don’t need to be here for the full month.”
“No,” she sighed. “It’s a crazy time for me,” she said, actually running a hand through her tangle of curls with weariness, as she thought about it.
In fact, this entire Ménage Affair couldn’t have come at a worse time. Jared from the Manix Gallery was driving her crazy with his demands.
This piece didn’t quite fit with the rest of the collection.
That piece should have a different title.
These were all just suggestions of course. Brooklyn had a very good idea of where Jared could firmly plant these suggestions, but she kept her mouth shut and smiled, nodding in agreement.
“All the more reason for me to be out there,” Alex said. “I definitely need to get some answers out here but as soon as that’s done I’m on a plane.”
“Just stay. I’m in no condition to be girlfriend material.”
“Well, I’m in a condition to be boyfriend material, and that means helping you get through whatever is going on that you aren’t telling me right now. Are you sure you’re okay about this Trina and Brianna shit?”
She smiled into the phone, pleased that he could instinctively tell when she wasn’t feeling herself, and even more pleased that he wanted to be there for her.
“It’s not this ‘Trina and Brianna shit,’” she assured him. “It’s this job shit.”
“I could still talk to Michael about tha—”
“No!” she insisted. “This is my deal. I won’t have you running off to your brother.”
“All the same, I need to get out of this crazy town,” he sighed. “Besides, I miss you.”
That created a bright spot to her day. “I miss you too.”
“So, you still believe me that nothing happened.”
“Stop it, Alex,” she ordered. “Ride or die, m’kay?”
He laughed. “Ride or die, babe.”
Chapter 12
“Vivienne.”
The soon to be former Mrs. Davis spun around and looked at London with absolute fear. London wasn’t sure if it was the fact that she had decided to confront the woman on her own turf, a charity board meeting, or something else.
“What are you doing here?” she all but hissed, grabbing London’s arm and leading her out of the tea salon where London knew she met with one of the charities she worked on every Monday.
“You know why I’m here,” London said, trying to reclaim the woman’s attention as she was being led out.
Vivienne didn’t say a word, or make eye contact with anyone until they were in a quiet, empty hallway, far from prying eyes and ears.
“I have nothing to say to you,” Vivienne said to her, making an initial attempt to look her in the eye, before faltering and shifting them to the left.
“Nothing to say to me?” London exclaimed with disbelief. “How about: I know you haven’t been hounding my husband? How about: I know he was the one who hit on you? How about—?”
“Stop it dear,” Vivienne said with a sigh. “I know you must be upset.”
“Upset?!”
“If you don’t lower your voice, I’m walking away right this moment,” Vivienne said tersely.
London took a breath. This woman was her only card. No need to piss her off. “Just tell me why you aren’t telling the press the truth. Why are you protecting Dion? You’re still divorcing him aren’t you?”
“Of course,” Vivienne said, a fire starting to come to her eyes. “And that’s exactly why I can’t help you.”
London narrowed her eyes. “What has he done? What is he holding over you?”
Vivienne looked at her a moment, then gave an angry sigh. “Oh London, you have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? Divorce is complicated. It can get…nasty. Add a political campaign to the mix and it becomes sickening, the depths people will stoop to.
“Dion tried everything to get me to stay, mostly for his career,” Vivienne snorted in disgust. “I’m under no illusions that it’s because he still cares for me. Which became quite apparent when—” Her eyes shot up to London, and she stopped talking.
“What?” London pleaded. “Just tell me.”
Vivienne held firm, then gave a frustrated sigh. “I suppose I owe you at least that much. He’s threatened to take my boys if I don’t follow along with this…story he conjured up. All to make himself look sympathetic.” Vivienne had cast her eyes to the side with contempt.
The wind went out of London’s sails a little bit.
Vivienne saw the look of defeat. “When you have children, you’ll understand.”
That rekindled the fire under London. “When I have children, I’d want them seeing me do the right thing.”
“I am doing the right thing,” Vivienne countered, a resolute look on her face. “They come from a political family. They understand prioritizing what comes first. For me, that’s family. They understand sacrifice…even if it comes at a cost to others.”
London no lo
nger cared about not rocking the boat. She knew there was no hope here. “Like throwing someone else under the bus for the Summer Lunch Program scandal?”
Vivienne’s eyes shot up in guilty surprise. She quickly recovered. “That issue has been resolved,” she said straightening her shoulders and looking London square in the eye, before casting them to the side again.
London gave a small, rueful laugh. “Maybe it is a good thing you’re divorcing Dion. For a politician’s wife, you have a shitty poker face.”
“I think we’re done here,” Vivienne said.
“Obviously,” London said, turning around and walking away.
* * *
Michael stood up as the woman walked in. He could tell even from across the dark bar, created for such secretive rendezvous that she was nervous. Michael looked her over as she made her way over to him. She was in her early to mid 20s, attractive in a cute vs. beautiful sort of way. She was perfect.
“Thanks for meeting with me. I tried to make this as private as possible,” he assured her.
She tucked a strand of brown wavy hair behind her ear worriedly. “You said you had important information for me. Is this about London?”
“In a way,” he continued as the worried frown came over her face. “Listen Marissa, is it okay if I call you that? You can call me Michael.”
Marissa Stokes was one of Dion Davis’ staff assistants.
Based on what London had told him, his girlfriend had not been the first victim of Dion Davis’ unwanted attention. The most obvious place to start for others was his own staff. It was so obvious it was practically cliché.
“We both know that the stuff in the papers is bullshit,” he began.
She shifted her eyes away from him, confirming it.
“We both also know that London isn’t the first woman Dion’s made advances toward.”
She blinked her eyes back to him, then quickly looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear.
Mr. & Mrs. Wright: A BWWM Romance (Wright Brothers Series Book 2) Page 6
