Betrayal

by Naomi Chase

  He shook his head in stunned denial. “That’s . . . that’s impossible.”

  “Why? Have you had a vasectomy? Are you shooting blanks?”

  He swallowed visibly. “No.”

  Tamia smirked. “Then it’s not impossible, is it?”

  Dre held her gaze another moment, then sat forward and passed a trembling hand over his head. He looked so devastated that Tamia couldn’t help feeling sorry for him.

  Until he opened his mouth again.

  “How do you know the baby’s mine? Fiona was always flirting with her clients at the barber shop, so I know I’m not the only dude she was messing around with.”

  Tamia regarded him for a long moment, then slowly uncrossed her legs and rose from the chair. Planting her hands on top of the desk, she leaned toward Dre and sneered, “Aren’t you the same self-righteous motherfucker who once told me that actions have consequences? Well, guess what? Screwing my sister was an action that has a consequence. That’s your child she’s carrying, so be a man and handle your fucking business.”

  Dre gulped hard, staring up at Tamia. “She can’t have that baby.”

  “That’s up to her. But you need to talk to her, Dre. I’m serious. If I find out that you haven’t contacted her by the end of the week, I’m coming after your black ass, and I won’t be so polite next time.”

  With that, Tamia spun on her heel and marched out the door.

  She was halfway down the hall when a deep voice called out, “Tamia?”

  She stopped and turned, smiling when she saw Brandon’s brother standing outside his office. “Hey,” she said weakly.

  “Wassup, girl.” Beau sauntered toward her, wide shoulders swaying beneath his pressed white shirt, long legs covered in Armani. He looked so much like Brandon that Tamia’s breath caught in her throat.

  Beau smiled warmly as he reached her, diamond stud twinkling in his ear. “What’re you doing here?”

  “I needed to see Dre about something,” Tamia answered vaguely.

  “So you were just gonna leave without saying hello?”

  “I didn’t want to disturb you. I know you’re busy with clients and . . .” Tamia trailed off lamely. She couldn’t tell him the truth, that seeing him was a painful reminder of everything she’d had—and lost—with Brandon.

  She was relieved when Beau tactfully changed the subject. “Hey, listen, I wanted to ask you something. Last month when you came to the wellness center, there was a woman with you. Or at least that’s what Dre told me when I described her to him. He said she came with you.”

  Tamia smiled. “You must be talking about Honey.”

  “Is that her name?” Beau grinned. “Yeah, she looked like a Honey. Sweet as hell. So she’s a friend of yours?”

  Tamia nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I wanna meet her. Think you can arrange that?”

  Before Tamia could respond, the receptionist called down the hallway, “Beau, I’ve been trying to reach you. Champ Suggs is on the phone. He said it’s important.”

  “Tell him I’ll be with him in two minutes.”

  As the receptionist bustled away to relay the message, Tamia raised a brow at Beau. “Champ Suggs? Pro Bowl wide receiver for the Giants?”

  “Yeah. He’s thinking about firing his agent and jumping on board with me.”

  “Wow. Look at you, Beau. You’re about to sign the next number-one draft pick, and now you might land Champ Suggs as well? Go on with your bad self.”

  “Thanks, Tamia,” Beau said with a pleased chuckle. “It’s been a good year.”

  “And it’s only been your first.” Tamia grinned. “You’d better not keep Champ waiting.”

  “I know. Listen, before I let you go, we’re having a scholarship fundraiser gala next Friday. Why don’t you and Honey come?”

  Tamia’s grin faded.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said quietly. “Your brother will be there, and I don’t want anyone to think—”

  “You’d be coming as my guest, not his.”

  “I know, but . . .” Tamia shook her head. “Honestly, Beau, I don’t think I’m ready to see him again.”

  Beau’s expression softened with sympathy. “I understand. I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable.”

  She sighed. “I know.”

  “Tell you what. I’ll mail you two tickets in case you change your mind about coming. Which I hope you will, because I’d love to see you there.” He winked. “Honey, too.”

  Tamia chuckled dryly. “I’ll think about it and let you know.”

  As she turned and started away, Beau said softly, “Tamia.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gentle gaze.

  “He doesn’t love her.”

  Tamia’s throat tightened.

  “Maybe not,” she murmured, “but he chose her. So I have to accept that and move on.”

  Beau’s eyes searched her face. “Can you?”

  She smiled sadly. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  Chapter 8

  Tamia

  Tamia had just stepped through her front door when her smartphone rang. She dug it out of her handbag and checked the display screen, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

  “Hello?” she answered warily.

  “Tamia, this is Cynthia.”

  Tamia stiffened. “How did you get my number?”

  “From Brandon’s cell phone. Are you free right now? I wanted to discuss something with you.”

  Tamia frowned. “I don’t think—”

  “It won’t take long. Are you at home?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Great. I’m on my way.” Cynthia hung up before Tamia could protest.

  Fifteen minutes later she stood on Tamia’s doorstep, looking sleek and stylish in a belted Jacquard dress with black tights and suede ankle boots. Tamia’s eyes were unerringly drawn to the four-carat diamond twinkling on her left hand. The sight of the ring—and what it represented—drove a dagger through her heart.

  Catching Tamia’s wistful gaze, Cynthia flashed a cool, triumphant smile.

  “Mind if I come in?”

  Tamia minded very much, but since the heffa was already here, she might as well hear what she had to say.

  She led Cynthia into the living room, where they sat on opposite ends of the pristine white sofa. Tamia watched as Cynthia looked around the lavishly furnished apartment, her gaze encompassing gleaming hardwood floors, expensive artwork, and picture windows that boasted spectacular views of downtown.

  “Nice place,” Cynthia remarked, her voice laced with grudging admiration. “What an upgrade for you. From prison to One Park Place.”

  Tamia sighed. “Yes, well, I was blessed with a generous benefactor.”

  Cynthia’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Benefactor?”

  “Umm-hmm.” Tamia smiled slowly.

  Cynthia swept another glance around, her mouth tightening with anger at the realization that Brandon had provided the fancy digs for Tamia.

  “So is that what you want to be, Tamia?” she jeered contemptuously. “The kept mistress?”

  Tamia smirked. “Beats being the rebound chick.”

  Cynthia flinched, her face flushing with humiliation. But she recovered quickly. “I’d rather be the rebound chick than the whore who wasn’t good enough to marry.”

  Tamia snorted. “Bitch, please. The only reason Brandon is marrying you is because you claim to be pregnant.”

  “Claim? I’m not ‘claiming’ anything—I am pregnant!”

  “So you say.”

  Cynthia laughed caustically. “You know what, Tamia? You’re just jealous because you and Brandon were together for nine months and he didn’t get you pregnant.” She smirked. “And here I thought ghetto bitches like you perfected the art of the baby trap.”

  Tamia narrowed her eyes. “I was on the pill. Were you?”

  “I was.” Cynthia smiled smugly. “But obviously God intended for me to have Brand
on’s baby.”

  Tamia clenched her jaw. It was all she could do not to reach over and slap the shit out of the heffa.

  Striving for composure, she said in a low, measured voice, “Why are you here, Cynthia? What do you want?”

  “I want you to stay the fuck away from my fiancé,” Cynthia spat. “Don’t call him. Don’t text him. Don’t invent phony excuses to see him. Just stay the hell away from him.”

  Tamia remained outwardly calm, though inwardly she was falling apart.

  “As long as Brandon keeps his distance,” she said quietly, “I’ll do the same.”

  “Good. Because I really don’t need the stress and aggravation of fighting with you when I have so many other things on my plate—planning the wedding, preparing for the baby, going house hunting with Brandon.”

  Tamia congratulated herself for not breaking down right then and there.

  Cynthia sighed. “Well, I’d better run,” she announced, rising from the sofa. “Brandon’s mother and I are getting facials and massages at her favorite day spa.”

  Tamia swallowed tightly. “How nice.”

  “Isn’t it?” Cynthia let out another sigh, heading toward the front door. “Mrs. Chambers has been so good to me. So loving and supportive. We’ve really bonded over—”

  She was interrupted by a sudden burst of music from Tamia’s smartphone.

  Usher crooned, “There’s always that one person that will always have your heart . . .”

  Cynthia froze in her tracks.

  Slowly she turned to stare at Tamia, then at the lit-up phone on the foyer table.

  She knew as well as Tamia did what the ringtone meant.

  Brandon was calling.

  Tamia walked over and calmly picked up the phone. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” Brandon murmured, his deep voice flooding her ear. “How are you?”

  She met Cynthia’s lethal glare. “I’ve been better.”

  “Me, too.” Brandon paused for a long moment. “I got the information you asked for.”

  “Really? That was fast. What’d you find out?”

  “Lester McCray lives nowhere near downtown.”

  Tamia frowned. “He doesn’t?”

  “No. Did he tell you that?”

  Tamia was silent, chilled by the knowledge that Lester McCray had lied to her. Why?

  “What’s going on, Tamia?” Brandon growled.

  “Nothing. Listen, thank you for getting the information.”

  “Tamia—”

  “I can’t talk right now, Brandon. I’m walking Cynthia to the door.”

  Silence.

  “She’s over there?” Brandon’s voice was chillingly soft.

  “Yes, she is.” Tamia looked at Cynthia, who suddenly appeared nervous. “I’ll give her your warm regards.”

  Brandon swore viciously and hung up.

  Setting the phone down, Tamia smirked at Cynthia. “I think you got some ’splaining to do.”

  Cynthia’s eyes hardened with fury. “You are such a bitch.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Tamia drawled.

  Cynthia glared at her another moment, then spun on her heel and marched toward the door.

  Tamia followed her, pulling up short when Cynthia suddenly whirled around and sneered, “By the way, you know another word for rebound chick?” She held up her left hand with the diamond ring. “Wife.”

  With that, she turned and flounced out of the apartment.

  Tamia slammed the door and leaned against it, squeezing her eyes shut.

  Though she’d gotten some satisfaction from the timing of Brandon’s call, Cynthia’s parting shot had brought her crashing back to earth, forcing her to face the hard, cold reality that Brandon and Cynthia were getting married. Having a baby. Buying a house together. Becoming one.

  And where did that leave Tamia?

  Alone and heartbroken, with nothing but shattered dreams and bottomless regret to keep her warm every night.

  Swiping hot tears from her eyes, Tamia lifted her head from the door and looked at her handbag on the foyer table.

  Before she could stop herself, she marched over and dug through her purse until she located Dominic’s business card. Snatching up her phone, she dialed his number with trembling fingers.

  He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

  “Dominic, this is Tamia.”

  “Tamia,” he drawled, sounding pleased. “I’ve been hoping to hear from you. Have you made a decision about my offer?”

  “Yes.” She resolutely set her jaw. “I accept.”

  Chapter 9

  Brandon

  Brandon paced in front of his office windows with his phone pressed to his ear, temper escalating with each ring that went unanswered.

  Finally Cynthia picked up. “Brandon—”

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  She paused. “What do you mean?”

  “You know damn well what I mean,” he snarled. “What were you doing at Tamia’s apartment?”

  “Oh, you mean the apartment you rented and furnished for her behind my back?” Cynthia jeered. “The apartment you’re planning to use as your love nest?”

  Brandon clenched his jaw so hard the tendons in his neck bulged. “What were you doing there?”

  “What do you think?” Cynthia hissed. “I went there to have a woman-to-woman talk with Tamia.”

  “Stay away from her.”

  “I have every right—”

  “STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!” Brandon roared.

  Cynthia fell silent.

  Chest heaving, nostrils flaring, Brandon growled menacingly, “You wanna talk? Talk to me. You wanna fight? Fight me. You go anywhere near her again and we’re gonna have a serious fucking problem. Do you understand me?”

  Cynthia hesitated. “Yes.”

  “You’d better.”

  “What about you?” she challenged petulantly.

  “What about me?”

  “Are you going to stay away from her? Because it sure as hell doesn’t look that way to me. I went through your cell phone, Brandon. While you couldn’t be bothered to call me while I was over at my parents’ house bawling my eyes out, you called her twice on Saturday and once yesterday. And I wasn’t even at her place five minutes today and you were calling her again!”

  Brandon stopped pacing.

  “First of all,” he said, keeping his voice level, “it’s not like I was calling to hook up with her. I needed to give her some information. Second, if you can’t refrain from snooping through my personal things, then maybe you need to stay at your house until the wedding.”

  “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Cynthia jeered. “You want me out of the way so you can bring home that filthy whore whenever you want. But guess what? I’m not going anywhere, so if you’re planning to sneak around with her, it sure as hell won’t be happening in the bed we share every night!”

  Brandon closed his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temple. “I’m not planning to sneak around with Tamia. She deserves better than that.” He paused. “So do you.”

  “So do I,” Cynthia repeated bitterly. “I’m always an afterthought with you.”

  Brandon exhaled harshly. “What do you want from me, Cynthia? I ended my relationship with Tamia. I agreed to marry you—”

  “Don’t do me any fucking favors!”

  He tightened his jaw, glaring out the windows. “When are you coming in?”

  “I’m not.”

  Brandon frowned. “I think you should.”

  “I already took this week off for our honeymoon. Just because you flaked out—”

  He cut her off. “You’re up for partnership, Cynthia. Our colleagues already think you’ve been slacking for the past several months. Don’t give them any more reason to believe you don’t deserve to make partner.”

  Cynthia was silent, mulling over his words.

  He hoped he’d gotten through to her.

  But then she said defiantly, “I
have plans with your mother. She doesn’t have any court cases today, so she invited me to spend the afternoon with her. Frankly, after the weekend I’ve had, I need all the moral support I can get.”

  Brandon shook his head. “You’re making a mistake.”

  “I’ll be there tomorrow,” Cynthia said curtly. “And I find it interesting that you couldn’t be bothered to attend church yesterday, but you had no problem getting up for work this morning.”

  Brandon scowled. “Are you finished?”

  “What? Why are you—”

  “I have to go.” He disconnected and tossed the phone onto his desk, then scrubbed his hands over his face and fired off a string of harsh expletives.

  His chest burned at the thought of Cynthia showing up at Tamia’s apartment and flashing her engagement ring in Tamia’s face, maliciously taunting her. He knew Tamia was tough and could take care of herself. But right now she was vulnerable and hurting, and the last thing she needed was Cynthia rubbing salt into her wounds.

  “Fuck!” Brandon swore, banging his fist against the windows.

  He was tempted to call Tamia back to apologize for Cynthia’s visit, but he knew that would only make matters worse. The best thing for him to do was leave her alone, just as she’d asked him to.

  The sooner he let her go, the sooner they could both get on with their lives.

  Or some semblance of a life . . .

  Brandon struggled to concentrate on work for the rest of the day. At five o’clock he gave up, grabbed his briefcase, and rolled out.

  As he strode across the underground parking garage, he dreaded the thought of going home and dealing with Cynthia. So he pulled out his smartphone and called Dre to see if he wanted to meet for drinks.

  The moment he heard his best friend’s voice, he knew something was wrong.

  “Wassup,” Brandon said, climbing into his Maybach and closing the door. “Everything all right?”

  “Man.” Dre pushed out a deep, weary breath. “It’s been a long day.”

  “You sound like you need a drink. I just left the office. You up for Stogie’s?”

  “Can’t tonight. I promised Ma we’d have dinner together. Now that I’m crashing at her place, she’s been nagging me to spend more time with her. She says that I’ve been treating her house more like a hotel than a home.”