by A. C. Arthur
ACCESS DENIED.
The letters flashed brightly for about the billionth time. He sat back in the chair, refusing to mutter another expletive in this office. He rested his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers beneath his chin he tried to clear his mind, to focus on the job at hand. Impossible.
The office smelled like her. The James Brown bobblehead perched on top of her monitor reminded him of her feisty nature. Looking around her desk, he didn’t see any photos, not even of her family. He thought that was odd, considering how close she, her mother and her grandmother appeared to be. She had appointments scribbled on her desk calendar and he flipped through a few pages, trying to get a peek inside her life. She was going to the hairdresser one day after work, going to court another and going out shopping with Tacoma another day. What was it with those two? he wondered.
He wondered what the court date was about. Was she in some type of trouble? Picking up a pen, he jotted down the date, time and address she’d written on her calendar, then stuck the piece of paper in his pocket. His snooping was brought to a halt when Reka and Tacoma waltzed into her office with bags of Chinese food.
“You’re still here?” she asked.
He couldn’t tell if she was still mad at him or not. The fact that Tacoma smiled and moved quickly to the desk, talking in his chipper tone, made Khalil a little more comfortable. If Reka were mad at him, Tacoma would be a good buffer.
“Haven’t had any luck, huh?” Tacoma set down the bags and began taking out boxes. “Well, you need to take a break. We’ve got plenty for lunch, just take your pick. I’ll go to the lounge and get you a soda. Is Diet Coke okay?” Tacoma asked with a smile.
Khalil’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t had anything since his cup of coffee this morning, and that food was smelling good. “Make that a regular Coke; my body can’t digest anything diet.” He returned Tacoma’s smile.
“I’ll be back in a jiffy,” Tacoma chirped.
Reka rolled her eyes at him as he made his way out the door, then resigned herself to the inevitable. “We’ve got shrimp fried rice, beef and broccoli, egg foo yung and egg rolls. Help yourself.” She pulled out napkins and plastic forks, placing them on the desk. “And don’t spill anything, or you’re cleaning my desk.”
Khalil chuckled. “I’ll be extra careful.” She was avoiding eye contact with him, and he realized it was because she didn’t know how to take him any more than he knew how to take her. He reached out, took her hand just as she was about to pass him a napkin. “I’m sorry about this morning.”
“What?” His touch alone scattered her thoughts, even though the sight of him in her office had done enough of that already.
“I was a little harsh with you this morning, and I apologize.” She hadn’t pulled her hand away; that was a good sign. Those dazzling eyes pinned him, and he wondered what she was thinking.
“Don’t worry about it. We all get that way sometimes in this office.” He’d apologized; that was something new to her. A man apologizing, and for something as simple as talking to her harshly. She was amazed. Although his coolness had agitated her this morning, she wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of mentioning it. Now she didn’t need to, he’d taken care of it.
“It won’t happen again,” he promised.
They were silent, each watching the other, until Tacoma re-entered the room.
“So Khalil, what do you think about evening weddings?” Tacoma put the sodas down and dropped into the chair across from Reka’s desk. “I think they’re romantic, but Terry thinks we should have something earlier, like a brunch or something.” He rolled his eyes skyward before reaching for one of the little white boxes and flipping open the lid.
Khalil was still staring at Reka and had to focus to answer Tacoma’s question. He opened his mouth, then closed it quickly. Wait a minute, was Tacoma asking him about wedding plans?
Khalil’s scrunched-up face made Reka giggle. “This wedding has consumed Tacoma’s life. You’ll have to excuse him.”
Taking the box of food and napkin she offered him, he sat back in the chair and gave the question a little more thought. He and Sonya had been planning to have an early afternoon wedding. “I like the evening idea.”
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. I’m thinking candlelight and an elegant dinner,” Tacoma continued animatedly.
Reka kept quiet while she scooped noodles into her mouth.
Noticing that she’d given him the spicy beef and broccoli, Khalil nodded in her direction, then took a bite. “That should be nice. Where are you thinking of having the wedding?” He prayed Tacoma didn’t say in a church.
“Ms. Thang here is supposed to be venue shopping for me.”
Khalil looked to Reka. “Really? What are your thoughts on the perfect wedding, Reka?” Again, any and everything about her intrigued him. He simply couldn’t gain enough knowledge where she was concerned.
Reka rolled her eyes at Tacoma, then looked casually at Khalil. “Personally, I don’t know why there has to be all that pomp and circumstance. If you’re really all that hyped about being together, then a simple ceremony at someone’s house should be just fine.”
“Is that what you’d have for your wedding?” With his plastic fork he dug into the box, not looking up at her.
She leaned her head to the side in thought. “Seeing as I’m not ever getting married, it really doesn’t matter.” She knew that would make him look up, and before he could speak she continued, “But if I did, yes. I’d have a small ceremony with only my closest friends. Maybe in a nice restaurant or on a balcony somewhere. But it wouldn’t be anything fabulous, just me and my man committing to each other.”
Nothing fabulous, he thought. She was right, the fabulous part would be building enough trust for her to even accept a marriage proposal. This gave him even more to think about.
Lunch was over soon enough, and by four o’clock Khalil still hadn’t found a connection between the email and the sender. Sitting back in the chair, he let his head loll and closed his eyes. He had to think of possible connections. The person sending these emails was good, very good. He was covering his tracks like a professional. And even a professional could work from inside the network.
The niggling fear that had been circulating in the back of his mind demanded his full attention now. What if Reka had something to do with the messages? It was weird that when Jack finally decided to contact someone personally it was her. Why wasn’t it Cienna? Or someone higher up in the firm?
And he’d been at the club. Reka said she and Tacoma used to frequent the clubs on a regular basis. What if Jack was someone she’d met there? What if the general emails had all been a charade to get to her? What if she knew the person sending them and was using this entire scam as some way to get back at the company?
So many questions soared through his mind, none of which he really wanted to acknowledge. She couldn’t be involved. Not when he was beginning to feel things for her he’d never felt for anyone else before. This was a sticky situation for him, one he wasn’t sure he was prepared to deal with.
“Okay, your time’s up. I can’t work out there with Tyrese another minute. That girl has serious issues, and one of these days she’s going to catch me in a bad mood and then it’s on.”
Reka came bustling into the office, dropping files on her desk and ranting about their mutual co-worker. Khalil had met Tyrese, and while her long hair and mulatto skin turned some men on, her blatant conceit and selfishness turned him off.
“Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m all done in here.” He got out of the chair and moved around the desk so she could take a seat.
With her hands to her temples Reka took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you with all that. She just gets on my last nerve.”
“Don’t worry about it, I understand.”
“So did you have any luck?”
“No, actually I didn’t. But I’m thinking that if Jack saw you at the
club and emailed you here, there’s a possibility that he may contact you at home. You know, on your home email.”
“You think he’ll go that far?” Reka crossed her arms, trying to ward off the chill that had run up her back.
“It’s possible. I mean, it couldn’t hurt to put up an extra firewall. That way if he tries to hack in, I’ll have a better chance of tracing him.”
She thought about what he was saying. She did work a lot from home and she often emailed stuff to the office, so there was definitely a possibility. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Khalil moved to the door.
“Um.”
Her voice stopped him. He turned to face her, saw her struggling with her words. “Yes?”
This wasn’t personal. It wasn’t because she’d liked being with him on Saturday and had actually been disappointed when he hadn’t called her on Sunday. It was business. “If you don’t have other plans, you could come home with me this afternoon and work on my computer.” Folding her arms behind her back, she prayed that sounded professional. He tilted his head, a hint of a smile playing at his lips, and she felt her heart skid to a halt in her chest. Damn, he was sexy.
“I don’t have any other plans.” He licked his lips because he knew she was staring at them. “And if I did, I’d readily break them at the prospect of going home with you, Reka.”
With that, he was gone and Reka sank back into her chair. She was sinking fast, and no matter how many attempts she made at keeping herself afloat, Khalil and his soft-spoken charisma increased their hold on her.
8
Khalil answered the phone with major irritation since he’d been on his way out the door to meet Reka at the elevator. “Khalil Franklin.”
“Hello, darling. You sure have been hard to catch up with lately.”
Khalil frowned as Sonya’s voice vibrated through the receiver. “I’m not real sure why you’re trying to catch up with me in the first place.”
Ignoring his curt tone, Sonya continued, “I was thinking we could go to that steak place you like so much tonight. I’ve had a horrendous day and am in dire need of a drink and a massage.”
He looked at the receiver with an astonished expression. “I’m sorry to hear about your day, but there’s really nothing I can do about that. As for the steak and the massage, I suggest you find someone else to cater to those needs as my tenure in that department is over.”
She was silent for a moment. “Khalil, this separation has gone on long enough. We are perfect for each other, and you know that. Neither your parents nor mine are happy about this little stunt you’ve pulled.”
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Khalil tried not to raise his voice. That was not in his character. “Neither your parents nor mine have to live my life. I broke the engagement because I don’t love you and marriage would be foolish.” Taking a deep, exasperated breath, he finished, “Sonya, I have to go. Please don’t call me at work anymore. In fact, there’s really nothing else we need to talk about.” Hanging up on her hadn’t felt half as rude as he thought it would. In fact, it felt rather good. He closed and locked his office door and walked down the hall towards the lobby.
* * *
“I’m home, Grammy,” Reka yelled as she walked through the door. She dropped her keys on the table and hung her coat on the rack.
From the spot on the sofa that she was quickly getting used to, Grammy yelled, “I took that ground beef out of the freezer. I feel like spaghetti tonight.”
Reka turned at the sound of the door closing behind her. “That sounds good, Grammy.”
“I thought she was going back to Sunny Days?” Khalil whispered.
Reka rolled her eyes. “So did I.”
“Is that Mr. Handsome?” Grammy called.
“Hi, Mrs. Grant.” Khalil gave his coat to Reka and made his way inside, kissing Grammy on the cheek.
“You can call me, Grammy. We’ll be family soon enough.”
Reka ignored her grandmother’s foolish remark and grabbed the remote, quickly changing the channel.
“Hey, I was watching that,” Grammy complained.
“You don’t know anything about Jerry Springer.”
“I know them down low brothas were looking kind of good.” She winked at Khalil, who tried to hide his grin.
“Whatever. Watch the news or something. Khalil, the computer’s over there. If you look in the top right hand drawer you’ll see the passwords. I’m going to go change and start dinner.”
“I can cook my own dinner. Why don’t you two go out?” Grammy suggested.
Khalil moved towards the computer. “Not tonight, Grammy. I’ve got work to do.”
Ignoring the sound of Khalil calling her grandmother by that name, and the sight of him comfortably moving through her apartment, Reka hurried to her bedroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Stripping out of her dress and boots, she chastised herself. So what if Grammy had taken a liking to him and he seemed pretty comfortable with her? So what if she happened to like the way it felt for him to come home with her and go to the computer to work while she prepared dinner? She was not the settling down type; that fact had been made painfully clear to her over the years.
Still, she couldn’t deny her reaction to him. If there was one thing that was always definite with her, it was her attraction to a man. If he made her nipples tingle and her thighs clasp together tightly to soothe the aching inside, then she wanted him, and there was no doubt about that. Khalil had done all that and then some. That kiss the other night had her nipples so taut she thought they’d cut through her dress and her coat. When she’d gotten into the house, in the privacy of her own bedroom, she’d peeled her panties away only to find them moist and clinging.
Being in the same room with him caused great breathing difficulty that she’d unsuccessfully tried to ignore. And when he talked to her, just casually held a conversation, she felt as if she were the only woman in the world, the only woman he was interested in speaking to. It was foolish, she knew, and she rolled her eyes at her reflection as she passed the mirror to grab some sweat pants from her closet. Whatever this chemistry was between them, it would pass, hopefully before she made a fool of herself and pounced on the poor man.
Until then, all she had to do was keep a clear head. He was a business associate and a friend, if that’s what you wanted to call someone you’d agreed to help relax. He was not a prospective boyfriend, nor a candidate for the hot sex she was in dire need of. Pulling a t-shirt over her head, she fluffed her hair, then made her way back out towards the kitchen. Fixing dinner would keep her mind off the man invading her personal space.
Grammy had switched that television right back to Jerry Springer and was kicking up her feet in fits of laughter as two drag queens swung at one pitiful looking woman while the crowd roared hysterically. Reka kept right on moving. Grammy was a lost cause. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Khalil hunched over her computer, already deep in concentration. He’d shed his suit jacket and his dress shirt stretched over that broad back. Momentarily her fingers clenched as she imagined them scraping along that rock hard surface. Then she took a deep breath and made her way into the kitchen.
She needed a drink. A strong one.
Forty-five minutes later she was removing a loaf of Italian bread from the oven and switching off the spaghetti. She opened the cabinet to get plates and found herself picking up three without hesitation. She actually hummed as she got out three glasses and three sets of silverware. Making her way out of the small kitchen into the corner she called a dining room, she set the table.
Grammy was watching something else on the television now—Reka swore that was all the woman knew how to do anymore—while Khalil was still at the desk punching furiously on her keyboard.
“Dinner’s ready,” she said in a voice that sounded way too homey.
Grammy jumped right up. “Good. My stomach’s been growling so loud I thought it was talking to me with all the time I’ve been w
aiting.”
Reka wanted to tell her that if she were back at Sunny Days she would have had two complete meals and a multitude of snacks by now, but she didn’t.
Going back into the kitchen, she retrieved the pot of spaghetti and brought it into the dining room, setting it on top of a dishtowel to keep from scorching her table. “Khalil, you’re welcome to join us.” She made a point to say that as she was making another trip into the kitchen. She didn’t want it to seem that she was trying to keep him here longer, although he didn’t look as if he were trying to go home anytime soon.
Returning to the dining room with a basket of hot bread in one hand and a container of parmesan cheese in the other, she noticed that Khalil hadn’t budged.
“That boy works too hard,” Grammy said as she reached for the basket of bread.
“Wait until we’ve said grace,” Reka scolded while walking towards the desk and Khalil.
His fingers raced over the keyboard, and his eyes were glued to the screen. “Khalil?” she called to him.
He didn’t answer.
Touching a hand to his back, she held back a sigh of bliss. His back was warm and rigid, just as she’d imagined, warm and rigid. “Khalil?”
He jumped, turned and looked at her with wide eyes. “Hmm?”
“I fixed some dinner. Take a break and join us.”
His forehead was knotted into neat little rows that she felt a sudden urge to rub away. His eyes searched her face, but she got the distinct impression that he really wasn’t seeing her. Reaching down, she took his hand and guided him out of the chair. “Come on, it’s time you came up for air anyway.” She pulled him along behind her, wondering if this was what he was like when he went home to his own apartment. Most computer guys probably were, so why should he be any different? Still, in her mind she thought it was a shame.
Khalil followed her without a hint of resistance. His gaze fell to the gentle sway of her hips, noticeable even through the bulky fabric of her sweat pants. He’d been at that computer trying to work himself into a coma to keep from thinking of how close she was or how right this entire scenario felt. He was working, she was cooking and Grammy, well, Grammy was doing her thing. He was comfortable here. That surprised him since his upbringing was so dramatically different from this quaint setting. His mother did not cook. And all of the Franklins were rarely free at the same time to sit down to a meal together.
