The Takedown

by Nia Forrester

  The Takedown

  An Afterwards Novel

  Nia Forrester

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  Copyright © 2017 Stiletto Press, LLC

  Philadelphia, PA

  All rights reserved.

  For my love, AHC.

  ~1~

  “Is that guy waving at you?”

  Makayla looked up, and rolled her eyes. She had asked him a million times not to do this. But Jamal wanted what he wanted, when he wanted it. And when he wanted to see her, he sent a car to wait outside her lecture hall and catch her as she left classes for the day.

  “Yeah. I think so. I’ll see you tomorrow. Looks like I have to run.”

  “Damn, girl, you come from money or something?”

  Makayla laughed, but avoided the question, waving at her friend, Drina as she trotted toward the large black vehicle idling at the curb. Upon her approach, the man waiting opened the rear door and she climbed in, sinking back onto the push leather seat, and exhaling a long, deep breath.

  “How’re you doing, Jackson?” she asked when he got in.

  “I’m good. How ‘bout yourself?”

  “All good. Thanks for the ride. He get in okay?”

  “Yes ma’am. Picked him up from the airport a couple hours ago and took him straight to the office.”

  “Is that where we’re going?” Makayla asked.

  “Yes ma’am.” Jackson confirmed. “First thing he said as soon as he got in the car was, ‘I need you to go get my girl.’”

  Makayla blushed. “One of these days, maybe he’ll just learn to pick up the phone and call me to ask first.”

  “He tried this time. You didn’t answer.”

  “Oh …” Makayla reached into her satchel and pulled out her phone.

  Oops. Dead. She’d forgotten to put it on the charger the evening before but thought for sure the battery would at least last until midday.

  “I wish I’d known I was going over to Scaife today, I would’ve at least …”

  Looking down at her jeans and Chuck Taylors, and the lime-green t-shirt with the image of a Disney minion on the front, Makayla rolled her eyes, and sank back into the seat.

  Awesome. Yet another occasion when everyone in the office would look at her and wonder what their handsome and dynamic new President & CEO saw in her, his grungy little fiancée.

  “Jackson, you wouldn’t happen to have a charger for an iPhone 6 would you?”

  If she could get a little juice, she might be able to persuade Jamal to meet her outside and they’d go to lunch without her having to be subjected to the stares and whispers behind hands as she walked in looking the way she did.

  “No, ma’am. Sorry, I don’t.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘ma’am’. What’re you anyway? Like three weeks older than me or something?”

  Makayla saw Jackson’s smile in the rearview mirror.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Something like that, probably.”

  “Then you know I’m too young to be called ma’am.”

  “Okay, miss,” Jackson said.

  “Jackson’s got jokes,” she said, smiling back at his reflection.

  He grinned at her but said nothing.

  She didn’t know whether he ever would call her by her name, because it didn’t matter how informal Jamal’s manner was, the security team never crossed the line into familiarity either with him, or Makayla. And that was what Jackson was—security, masked as a driver. She only knew that because she’d overheard Jamal and Chris Scaife talking about it. Chris, who had stepped down from his position as head of his entertainment conglomerate to make way for Jamal had advised him to always have some security on hand when he was out, which Jamal thought was ludicrous.

  ‘It’s not just about you anymore, man,’ Chris told him. ‘As CEO, you’re an organizational asset.’

  ‘Yeah, but I ain’t tryin’ to roll up everywhere ten niggas deep,’ Jamal had responded.

  And Chris had laughed. ‘You ever see me do that? Nah. Nobody’s sayin’ ten. But you need at least two.’

  In the end, Jamal had gotten only one—Jackson, who was supposed to be his “body man”, but who wound up mostly driving him and Makayla places. And if they were at a crowded venue, he led the way, a few paces ahead of them, unobtrusive, but always present.

  Looking at Jackson, always dressed in a suit and tie, lean and lanky rather than built and buff, it was difficult to imagine that he could take care of an incident that Jamal himself—who was built and buff—couldn’t handle on his own. But that was part of a security detail’s charge—to blend seamlessly into the background, but always be ready and able if there was action.

  Twenty minutes later, Jackson pulled up in front of SE’s building, and Makayla took another long, deep breath before getting out of the car.

  As was his habit, Jackson waited until she was inside despite the honks of impatient drivers behind him. Scooping her locs up and pulling them over her shoulder, Makayla twisted and released them, nodding at the security guard at the front desk, who waved her through without comment.

  SE employees all had security badges that they were required to scan before passing through a turnstile. Visitors had to sign in, were given a temporary badge and an escort generally retrieved them from the lobby.

  A select few, like Makayla, were permitted to walk in through a small, closely-monitored access area and head directly for the elevators. One among them rode directly to the twentieth floor, where Jamal’s office was, when a code was entered. Now, Makayla entered the digits and waited, head down, pretending to be reading something on the darkened screen of her phone, hoping no one would approach her.

  Luckily, no one did and she was soon on her way up to the top of the building, leaning against the wall of the empty elevator, aware of the tension in her shoulders. Entering, or even just being in SE’s flagship building in midtown Manhattan had always been somewhat intimidating, even when she worked there. One would have thought that living with the man who ran the whole darn thing would have changed that. It hadn’t.

  On the twentieth floor, the receptionist, Leslie, looked up expectantly when she exited the elevator, and smiled.

  “Hey, Ms. Hughes. How are you?”

  “I’m good.” Makayla smiled back at her. “Is he back there?” She indicated the hallway that led to Jamal’s expansive corner office.

  “Not at the moment, but he should be back shortly. Went down to Legal, I think.”

  “I’ll just go wait for him then?”

  “Of course,” Leslie said, her brow furrowing slightly, as though she couldn’t figure out why Makayla was asking, rather than telling her.

  Jamal, unlike his predecessor, stayed on the move during the workday. While Chris Scaife preferred to stay on his perch in his office, Jamal visited the departments often, and unprompted. And while Chris showing up unannounced on a floor other than his own had been cause for panic, Jamal was a familiar face, whose leadership style was much more collegial.

  From what he told Makayla, it had taken everyone a while to get comfortable with his impromptu visits; and it took him a much longer time to accept that they would never be completely comfortable with it. He wasn’t Jamal Turner Everybody’s Best Friend
anymore. Now, he was Jamal Turner Everybody’s Boss.

  The office, once decorated to the specifications of Chris’ wife Robyn, was another thing that was very different. Jamal had removed all the carpeting and replaced it with dark wood. Furniture was sparse, with only his executive desk, a chair and a sitting area comprised of a low, enormous square table surrounded by four chairs; and a shelving unit and credenza.

  The most striking thing about the space was the absence of color—everything was white and chrome—and the paucity of paper. Jamal did almost everything electronically or digitally, so the only paper in sight was a pile of file folders, undoubtedly containing documents for him to sign, sitting in front of his monitor.

  And now, standing at that monitor was a young woman in a crisp charcoal-grey pencil skirt and a white organza blouse. She looked up as Makayla entered.

  “Miss Hughes,” she said, giving a slight nod.

  “Hi Gayle. I was hoping to catch …”

  “He should be back in a moment.” Gayle offered her a cool smile, polite rather than heartfelt. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

  “No …” Actually, she did want some water, but felt weird about asking the woman to fetch it. “I’m good. Thanks”

  “Well, make yourself comfortable. And buzz if you need me.”

  Gayle swept out of the room, her tread noiseless. She almost seemed to glide when she walked, and had the bland, neutral demeanor that people in support professions cultivated if they wanted to be successful. Gayle was a new hire at SE, recruited specifically for this position of confidence and proximity to one of the most powerful men in the entertainment business. She was ridiculously overqualified, from what Makayla remembered Jamal saying—with a business degree from The Wharton School, and an undergraduate degree from NYU.

  But a position such as this was strategic, putting her near the biggest players in a business that was very difficult to break into, even for those with degrees from prestigious colleges and universities. Gayle was typical of all Jamal’s new hires—they were all impersonal, consummate professionals who indulged but did not pattern themselves after Jamal’s informal style. He told Makayla he needed a lot a yin to his yang.

  ‘Gotta have some adults in the room,’ he explained. ‘To level me out when I need it.’

  When Gayle was gone, Makayla heaved yet another sigh and went to look out the window at the New York City vista below. Until Jamal occupied this office, she had only been in it once before, and under less than pleasant circumstances that, even now, she preferred not to think about.

  That reminded her, she needed to charge her phone in case Devin was trying to reach her. He had a gig that evening that he was supposed to be sending her details about, and if Jamal had nothing planned for them, Makayla wanted to go.

  Heading over to the desk, she pulled open one of the drawers, and then another. No charger. Then she spotted the charging pad. What the heck was it doing on the floor? Getting down on her hands and knees, she pulled her iPhone out from her back pocket.

  “What you doin’ down there, baby?”

  The unexpected sound of Jamal’s voice caused Makayla to jump, and the crown of her head slammed against the underside of the glass desk.

  “Oh shit!”

  In an instant, Jamal was next to her, squatting at her side and rubbing the top of her head while Makayla squinted against the pain, blinking back the tears that rose to her eyes. Then Jamal was laughing and pulling her against his chest, both of them still crouched in the space between his chair and the desk.

  “What were you doing?” he asked between laughs. His dark eyes were amused, and behind that, tender.

  “It’s not funny,” she whined. “That really, really hurt.”

  “I know,” he said giving her a look of faux-sympathy, as though she was a three-year old who had skinned her knee in a playground fall. “C’mere.” He put a hand at the back of her neck and kissed her forehead, her nose then, finally, lingeringly, her lips.

  Makayla pulled back a little and looked at him. He was definitely a sight for sore eyes, having obviously recently gotten his hair cut, so it was low and impeccably faded around the edges, as was his facial hair. He grinned at her scrutiny.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he returned. Then he leaned in and kissed her again, this time a real kiss. Makayla closed her eyes, and emitted a soft, involuntary sigh of pleasure.

  The sound of someone clearing their throat interrupted their reunion, and Jamal helped her to her feet.

  Standing at the doorway were Robyn Scaife, looking amused; and Bryant Staynor. Bryant had been Jamal’s first big “acquisition” once he took over as CEO, and had been hired to head up—and shake up—the development department. Artist and Product Development was arguably the most important function of the company, and the department was the one Jamal himself had led for almost ten years, ushering in a period of phenomenal success for SE and its artists.

  “Hi, Makayla,” Robyn said.

  “Hey.” Makayla went around the table to offer Robyn a brief hug, her face still hot from having slammed her head on the table like a klutz, and then practically sucking Jamal’s face off in front of an audience.

  She had socialized with Robyn and her family many times now, and should have been more comfortable with her than she was. But the fact remained, she was Chris Scaife’s wife, and on top of that, somewhat older and much more sophisticated than Makayla could even hope to be on her best day.

  “That was quite a bang you made there.” Bryant Staynor grimaced and offered his hand in greeting. “Good to see you again, Makayla.”

  “Good to see you, too,” she said, not quite able to meet their eyes. “I just came by to …”

  “To save me,” Jamal said, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms about her waist and kissing the side of her neck. “From being worked to death. So, Robyn and Bryant, why don’t we pick this up later?”

  “As long as it’s before tonight,” Robyn said. “We really need to respond to that …”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get it. The world will end if I don’t get back to you by close-of-business.”

  With Jamal pressed against her like that, Makayla wasn’t entirely certain, but she thought she could feel something wedged between her butt-cheeks. She tried not to smile. The weeklong absence seemed to have worn on him as much as it had her.

  “Technically by eight p.m. Eastern,” Bryant said. “Her counsel is on the West Coast, so we have a little time.”

  “But don’t feel like you have to take that time,” Robyn piped in. “I’d love to leave the office and get home to my kids. It is Friday after all.”

  “Yeah, like your husband didn’t used to ride us until the cows came home, Friday, or not,” Jamal said, speaking partly into the skin of Makayla’s neck. “Might be time for a little payback.”

  “Uh huh,” Robyn said over her shoulder as she left. “But there’s a new Boss Man in town, so …”

  Jamal laughed at her use of the nickname he reserved for Chris, not only when he was CEO, but even since he’d left.

  “I’ll be around till six or so,” Bryant said as he left. “If you need me for anything …”

  “Thanks, man. Shut that door on your way out?” Jamal said.

  Once they were alone, he spun Makayla round in his arms so she was facing him and looked her over, biting into his full lower lip.

  “You a’ight?” he asked, putting a hand atop her head and rubbing the sore spot.

  “Better,” she said, tilting her head back to look up at him.

  Jamal let his hand linger a few moments than ran it down the side of her head, grasping a few locs as he did and tugging them gently when he got near the ends, urging her to come closer. She did, until her chest was pressed against his. Tipping her chin back even further, he leaned in.

  “I missed this face,” he said, pressing his lips to hers.

  All the tension she felt entering the building, riding up on th
e elevator and even entering his office evaporated.

  “I wanted us to have lunch together …” he said, between kisses.

  “But?” Makayla said, hearing the reservation in his tone.

  “But Robyn and Bryant are right. There’s something I need to handle right away. And if I handle it now, I might get home early, and then …”

  “So, handle it.” Makayla took a step back, though Jamal’s hands were still cupping her face.

  He didn’t release her, but instead looked directly into her eyes, searching them. His were as dark as night, fringed by silky, jet-black eyelashes that, when he squinted as he was doing now, obscured Makayla’s view of his pupils.

  “You mad at me?” he asked, as if the very idea of it was unthinkable.

  “No.” Makayla held his wrists. “But you send Jackson to come scoop me up off the sidewalk and bring me here, you don’t even ask what I might have had planned, you just snatch me out of my day to come … play with you. And then when I get here, you switch things up because something more important to you came up.”

  “Hey.” With one arm, Jamal pulled her close once again. “Not more important. More urgent, more pressing, but never more important.”

  Makayla sighed and looked off over his shoulder and out the window at the Manhattan skyline. When Jackson showed up out of the blue, no matter what Jamal told him, she should have just had the driver take her home, sparing herself the disappointment, and sparing them both this familiar argument.

  “Hey,” he said again, this time his voice softer. “Need me to mellow you out?”

  Looking at him again, Makayla tried not to smile. “Shut up. No, I don’t need you to … mellow me out.”

  “You sure?” He kissed the side of her neck, his hand sliding between them and, with some difficulty, down the front of her jeans. “You seem tense.”

  Smiling, Makayla allowed his hand travel farther south, even softening and widening her stance to give him better access. When he touched her, she exhaled.