by Zuri Day
Each took a quick, audible sip, letting the liquid rest on their tongues before swallowing. Dexter nodded his approval at the continued improvement of his self-proclaimed masterpiece. “Very little R.S.”
Diamond nodded her agreement about residual sugar. “With just the right amount of acidity. And the low tannin level is why I prefer this to merlot.”
Dexter heard voices in the foyer and looked at his watch. “Hey, sis. I need to warn you—”
“Wine tasting is over,” Genevieve interrupted, sweeping into the room with all the majesty and none of the weariness of someone who’d just whipped up a four-course meal.
Diamond hoisted her glass “It’s PNDO, Mom!” she exclaimed.
“Great. Bring a couple bottles to the table. Dinner is served.” She started for the door but turned to see Diamond and Dexter rooted to the spot. “Well?”
Diamond glanced at Dexter. “In a minute, Mom,” he said.
“All right, son,” Genevieve replied and left the room.
“What do you have to tell me?” Diamond whispered, anxiously glancing toward the hall where yet more footsteps approached. It’s just us tonight: the statement sounded innocuous enough when her mother had said it, but now…
“Daddy knows about—”
“Diamond, Dexter,” Donald interrupted, as he stepped through the entrance. As great as this space was, Donald’s presence filled the room; and this had little to do with his sizable height and bulk. No, this room was filled with the authority and power afforded only to those who were not only successful and wealthy but also still in possession of common sense. “We need you now. Family meeting.”
It was obvious that he wasn’t leaving without them. Diamond knocked back the wine in the glass she was holding and, cutting a look at the brother she already blamed for whatever, followed her father to the room that, she had a sneaking feeling, would resemble the Inquisition before long.
Chapter 24
The table was set exquisitely with Waterford crystal and bone china that had been in the family for two generations. Small talk was made as Genevieve ladled up bowls of creamy mushroom soup. Donald and Donovan dug into their servings with gusto, while Genevieve took small, ladylike sips. Dexter continued to make a meal out of the warm bread fresh from the oven, slathered with butter and homemade jam, while Diamond felt small drops of soup collide with the knot in her stomach.
Finally, she’d had enough of the tension. She placed her napkin on her lap and spoke to the room at large. “Out with it already, jeez! What is going on?”
Genevieve looked at Donald.
Donovan looked at Genevieve.
Diamond glanced at Dexter, who’d suddenly become transfixed by something at the bottom of his wineglass.
Donald eyed the jewel of the family, his only daughter, whom he’d protect with his life. He finished his bite and put down his napkin. “I received some disturbing news today, honey. About Jackson Wright.”
Diamond turned to Dexter. If looks could kill, she’d be up on murder charges right about now.
“We know you’re seeing him, and no, Dexter did not tell us.”
“Who did?” Belatedly, Diamond realized that this hastily blurted question may not have been the proper rebuttal. How many times had this Law & Order fan heard the buzz word: deny, deny, deny!
“He heard it through the grapevine, literally,” Donovan said, with an unceremonious scraping of his silver spoon against the now empty soup bowl.
“After Roberto saw y’all in the grapevine,” Genevieve clarified.
Where had the head grower been hiding? And aside from the fact that she’d enjoyed his kisses…hadn’t she told Jackson to behave? This was all his fault! “What is with the interrogation?” she asked saucily, figuring that the best offense might be a good defense. “I was over twenty-one, last time I checked.”
“And the last time I checked, your workday started around nine and ended around six,” Donald easily countered. “When I suggested you give Jackson a tour, necking in the fields isn’t what I had in mind.”
“Now, Donald,” Genevieve intervened, memories of parts of the land she and Donald had christened rising up as fresh as the bread that sat on the table. “Let’s keep the focus on what’s important here.”
Diamond crossed her arms. “And what’s that?”
The way Donald took his time and placed a healthy rib on his plate, you’d think what was important was his dinner. The conversation lulled as everyone but Diamond helped themselves to braised ribs and warm potato salad. After taking a bite, he continued, “I had Jackson checked out.”
“Dad, you background everyone who does business with us. And?”
“And when I hired his construction company for our renovation, our check was limited primarily to his business background. After I discovered your interest in him, I determined that a little more digging was in order.”
“And I’m determining that you need to mind your own business.” Donald shot Diamond a stern look. “Sorry, Dad. I don’t mean to be disrespectful. I’m just…frustrated that you felt the need for a full-out investigation.”
Diamond was angry but not overly surprised. Theirs was a close-knit family, who knew the goings-on in each other’s lives. As the only daughter, Diamond’s personal life seemed especially prone to the microscopic interest of both her parents and brothers, and seeing her walk down the aisle was one of Genevieve’s utmost desires—one that had intensified after Diamond turned twenty-nine.
“Daughter—” Donald waited until Diamond looked at him “—in the words of Richard Nixon, let me make one thing perfectly clear.” Donald methodically wiped barbeque sauce off his fingers. “I don’t care if you live to be a hundred and marry five times…you are first and foremost a Drake, whose safety and welfare will always be my business.” Diamond stared at her father, waiting for him to continue. “Now, normally I wouldn’t have found this out so quickly, but it just so happens that a guy in the L.A. Sheriff’s office was a classmate of mine.”
“Lucky you.”
Knowing she was upset, Donald gave his daughter a pass. “That luck as you call it continued, because when I mentioned his name it turns out that his sister knows Jackson Wright’s mother.”
“You sure you don’t want to take your chances in Vegas?” Diamond mumbled. “’Cause you’re on a roll.”
“That’s enough, Diamond.” Genevieve’s voice was soft yet firm—that iron-fist-in-velvet-glove trick that she’d perfected.
“Jackson Wright was born Jackson Burnett. He grew up in the streets of L.A., and while no criminal record was found, word has it that he dabbled in gang activity. His mother, Sharon Burnett, became strung out on drugs, eventually driving under the influence and committing vehicular manslaughter. The victims were a mother and her two children. She received twenty-five to life and is currently incarcerated at a prison in central California.”
No one ate. Movement was slight. Donald continued.
“When Jackson was thirteen, he went to live with his uncle, John Wright, Sharon’s half brother. John adopted him, took him under his wing and produced the man we see today. I believe he’s a good man, Diamond, but I also believe you have a right to know what he once was.”
Diamond looked at her father. “The past is the past, Dad. If you think he’s a good man, then why tell me all of this?”
“Has Jackson told you?” The look on Diamond’s face told everyone that he had not.
“You need to know the type of man you’re dealing with, Diamond,” Genevieve said softly, her eyes full of compassion. “Someone who has been abandoned, betrayed and lived through some very tough situations. There may be emotional scars there that make commitment difficult. Honey, we’ve seen the hurt that Benjamin caused and want you to be very clear as you move
forward before you become more involved. That’s all.”
“Don’t sweat it, big sis,” Dexter said, to lighten the mood. When it came to serious, heavy scenes…he’d rather not, thank you very much. “You know my frat conference is coming up soon. Some big ballers will be there for sure. I’ll keep an eye out.”
“Myles keeps asking about you,” Donovan offered, referring to one of his golfing buddies.
“Myles has children my age,” Diamond shot back.
Donovan laughed. “Not quite. He’s forty-eight and in great shape. Besides, his two twenty-something children live with their mother in Phoenix.”
Diamond placed her napkin on the table. “I’m not interested.” She stood. “Please excuse me.”
Diamond reached her living quarters in the east wing and paced the length of it. Thoughts from the dinner conversation crowded her mind like the Times Square crowd on New Year’s Eve. What her father had shared was bad enough but worse was how this information was potentially connected to what Jackson had told her this afternoon: that someone was trying to kill him.
Faster and faster the thoughts came. Jackson. Adopted. Commitment issues. Born Jackson Burnett. Mom in prison. Gang activity. Abandoned. Betrayed. Emotional scars. Adopted. Not Jackson Wright, Jackson Burnett. Betrayed. Abandoned. Prison. Difficult. Commitment. Difficult. Commitment. Difficult. Somebody’s trying to kill me! Diamond’s hands went to her ears.
Beep. Beep. The call tone was a welcomed intrusion on her thoughts. She snatched up the phone, looked at the caller ID and her heart dropped. Having no idea how the conversation would play out, she answered, “Hello, Jackson.”
“Hey, baby.” His voice was low, sexy and oozing with desire.
“Hello, Jackson.” Diamond closed her eyes, all too aware that she sounded like the proverbial broken record and that her voice held all the warmth of an ice cube.
“You said that already.” Pause. “What’s wrong?”
Diamond gripped her iPhone and again paced the room. “Just left a family meeting. There’s a lot going on.”
“Care to share?”
Do you care to share? A beat and then, “I’d rather talk about you. How did the meeting with the investigator go?”
“It went all right. He had a few leads. They’re working on it.”
“What about you? Have you thought more about who could be behind the notes, break-in and gunshots?”
“Not really. That’s what I’m paying Frank to do.”
“Frank?”
“Yeah, the private eye.”
“Have you ever considered, I mean, I don’t know much about your background—” only, like, everything “—but do you think it could be someone from your past, your childhood?” Silence. Not good. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground, but she needed to know that Jackson trusted her and that he would confide in her. She wanted him to tell her what she now knew. “Jackson? Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
There was an even longer hesitation and then this: “What difference does it make? You’re still going to have my back, right, no matter who it is?”
“Of course.”
“All right, then.”
“Tell me about your childhood, Jackson.”
“Why?” Diamond knew he was angry, could imagine him standing, pacing. “What does my childhood have to do with you?”
“You have to do with me, baby. Where you come from is a part of that. It helps me know you better, the way you knew me better once I told you about Papa Dee and Nicodemus.”
“Yeah, well, my history ain’t nothing like that.”
“I’d still like to know it.”
“No. You wouldn’t. Look, I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Well, I do!” Okay, playing the demanding princess card is probably not the best tactic. Diamond softened her voice. “Baby, do you think it matters to me where you come from or how you grew up?”
“Looks like it. You’re questioning me like you’re Johnny Cochran. I’m halfway expecting you to bring out a glove.”
“I just want to know, that’s all. Maybe this is a conversation best had in person. Can I come over?”
There was a pause long enough you could drive a train through it and then, “Hell, no.”
Click.
“I know this man did not just hang up on me.” Diamond stared at the phone as if it had the answer. She couldn’t snatch up her purse fast enough, and even though she knew that it was irrational—that hot nights and sticky thighs had not only blurred the professional boundary but obliterated it and, with it, her employer clout—she reverted back to the familiar: being the boss. And a man who reported to her, okay…kinda, sorta…had overstepped his bounds. Before the night was over, she determined, he would know that that was sooo not okay.
Chapter 25
Jackson sat in the darkness—brooding. The only thing rarer than the vintage cognac he nursed from a tumbler was the fact that the drink was in his hand. He was an occasional one-glass wino, a “have a beer with the fellas” kind of man—one more keen to have a six-pack on his body than one in the fridge. Sure, he’d smoked a little weed in his day, much like others in the neighborhood where he grew up, but for the most part, Jackson liked to have his wits about him. But he’d been searching for those wits ever since getting off the phone with Diamond. Tell me about your childhood, Jackson. This curiosity with his roots had seemingly come out of nowhere. Her request, the break-in and Frank’s questioning about friends from his past had forced his mind back to a time he’d felt best left forgotten: his other life, his mother. He thought of their last meeting, and tears welled up in his eyes. No! Jackson had spent too much time lamenting things he couldn’t change. Determined to stay focused on the future and not the past, he tossed back the drink, snatched up his keys and bounded from the house. The names of several women crossed his mind: any one of which could help him push back those things he’d rather not think about. Bypassing the Maserati, he jumped into his least expensive but most treasured vehicle: the Jeep his aunt and uncle had bought him. He whizzed down the drive, opened the gate…and came headlight to headlight with Diamond Drake.
It was lights, camera, action all right, but this drama was all too real. Jackson jumped out of his Jeep and strode to the driver’s side of Diamond’s BMW. “What are you doing here?”
It was not quite the welcome she expected, but since she’d had time to do some thinking on the drive over, it was one that she understood. “I need to talk to you.”
“What about? My childhood?”
“About a lot of things.”
“Well, you should have called first. As you can see, I’m on my way out.”
“This shouldn’t take long, Jackson. I’ve come all this way.”
“Then you’ll know how to get back to where you came from, won’t you? Move your car.” Jackson turned and headed back to his vehicle.
Diamond jumped out of hers. “I’m not going anywhere!”
Jackson stopped and spun around.
“You heard me,” Diamond hissed, arms crossed, legs spread, balancing herself on three-inch spikes as if doing so on cobblestone was an everyday occurrence. “I’m not leaving until we talk.”
The look on Jackson’s face as he approached her caused Diamond’s breath to catch in her throat. While his expression was unreadable, his eyes flashed with intense anger, and his body was taut with restraint. Diamond wanted to gobble him up and run for cover at the same time.
He walked up to her, almost nipple to nipple, so close that their breaths mingled. “What did you say?”
In light of his skulking presence it was difficult, but the little girl who’d held her own with two rambunctious brothers held her ground here. She channeled Nico
demus and Papa Dee.
Several tense seconds passed between them.
“All right, princess.” Jackson slowly backed away from her. “Enter at your own risk.”
Diamond watched Jackson get into his car. He backed up and waited. So did she. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so confident. Enter at your own risk? What does that mean? Her mother’s words sounded in her left ear: You need to know the type of man you’re dealing with… Genevieve was right. She really didn’t know Jackson—clarification: she knew Jackson Wright, not Jackson Burnett. Her father’s words filtered through her right ear: I believe that Jackson is a good man. Decision made, Diamond walked to her car and soon followed Jackson into his estate. Through her rearview mirror, she watched the gates close behind her. Her heart pounded. But she was inside and the gates were closed. There was no turning back.
Once parked, Jackson took a couple steps, then turned and looked at her. “Well?” When she said nothing, he shook his head and walked inside. She followed him. He walked into a well-appointed living room: warm earth tones with splashes of red, the understated elegance of a designer’s touch. He walked over to a chair and sat. There were no offers for her to do so, no invitations to water, wine or a turn in the turret.
What the hell am I doing here?
Outside the gates, she’d been too filled with the items on her own agenda to pay much attention to his appearance. But now she took in the black button-down shirt that was tucked into equally black slacks. His copper-toned skin looked creamy smooth against the fabric, and she could tell that the understated platinum jewelry he wore had not been purchased at a discount store. She looked into his eyes, and along with anger and impatience, she saw something else—sadness. In her mind, she could imagine the little boy with a druggie mother, no father and seemingly no way out of a bad situation. Her feelings were as jumbled as uncooked ramen noodles, but in this moment, she decided to speak simply, directly and from the heart.
