by Naomi Chase
Shoving aside the traumatic memories, Tamia frowned at Honey. “What the hell was your boyfriend so upset about?”
Honey grimaced. “He was going through my things, and he found an engraved diamond bracelet that one of my clients gave me. He went off, demanding the dude’s name and asking me how long I’d been fucking him. When I refused to tell him, he started punching me.” She blinked rapidly, fighting back tears. “He’s hit me before, but tonight was the first time he’s ever threatened to kill me. When he went into the bedroom to get his gun, I was so scared I just grabbed my purse and got the hell outta there.”
Tamia nodded grimly. “You did the right thing.”
“I know.” Honey swallowed hard. “I’ve never seen Keyshawn so mad before. I really think he was gonna shoot my ass. I know he’s out there looking for me right now, tracing my tags and shit. That’s why I parked on the other side of town and caught a cab here. Thank God Lou told me where you live.”
Tamia had gone still. “Hold on. Back up.” She stared alertly at Honey. “What do you mean your boyfriend is tracing your tags? Is he a cop or something?”
Honey nodded reluctantly.
“Aw, hell, nah!” Tamia exclaimed, stepping back so quickly she nearly dropped the ice pack. “I’m sorry, baby girl, but you gotta leave. I just got out of prison, so I don’t want no trouble with the po po.”
“There won’t be any trouble,” Honey assured her.
“How do you know? If that nigga is as crazy as he sounds, there’s no telling what he might do. I don’t want him showing up here—”
“He won’t!” Honey insisted. “He doesn’t even know where I am. That’s why I didn’t go to any of my friends’ apartments. I knew those were the first places he’d look for me. And I didn’t go to Lou’s because I didn’t want him to see me like this. He already told me that the next time Keyshawn lays a hand on me, he’s gonna come up missing.”
Tamia frowned. Given Lou’s ties to the Mexican mafia, there was no doubt in her mind that he’d make good on his threat. But if he went after a cop and things went awry, all hell would break loose.
Tamia wanted no parts of that. But as she looked at Honey’s swollen eye and split lip, she couldn’t help feeling sorry for her. Wearing no makeup and pink Hello Kitty sweatpants, Honey looked even younger than Tamia remembered.
“I’ve got a spare bedroom, so you can crash here for the weekend,” she said gruffly. “But I can’t promise anything beyond that.”
“I understand,” Honey said meekly. “Thank you, Tamia.”
“Don’t mention it.” Tamia crossed to the fridge and grabbed two Black and Tans. She’d bought Brandon’s favorite brand of beer so he’d feel right at home every time he came over.
As she returned to Honey and handed her a frosty bottle, she asked, “Are you hungry? I was gonna order some Chinese for dinner.”
Honey grinned, then winced and gingerly touched her busted lip. “Chinese sounds good.”
After they reviewed the menu and Tamia placed their order, they headed into the living room with their beers.
“Look at that amazing view,” Honey marveled, walking over to the windows to stare at the glittering night skyline. “I feel like I can see the whole city from up here.”
Tamia smiled, sitting down on the sofa. “Are you from Houston, Honey?”
She shook her head. “New Orleans. My family got bussed here after Katrina.”
Tamia nodded. Her hometown had taken in the largest number of evacuees after the hurricane. “Are they still here? Your family?”
“Nah. They missed home too much, so they went back three years ago.”
Tamia quietly observed her. “You must miss them a lot.”
Honey nodded, a shadow of pain crossing her face.
“Why didn’t you go back with them?” Tamia asked gently.
“I couldn’t. I mean, I didn’t want to.” Honey sighed, gazing out the windows. “I needed to start over someplace new, take my life in a different direction. As much as I miss New Awlins, there’s nothing there for me. Know what I mean?”
“I do,” Tamia murmured, shaken by how much of herself she saw in Honey—a tough, street-savvy young woman whose need for survival would prove to be her greatest salvation, or her ultimate downfall.
Honey continued, “I’m trying to save as much money as possible so I can convince my family to come back to Houston. If they’re living in a big house with a swimming pool and driving nice cars, maybe they won’t miss home so much.” A rueful smile curved her lips. “That’s what I’m hoping, anyway.”
Tamia returned her smile. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Sipping her beer, Honey wandered over to the sofa and sat down. Her gaze was instantly drawn to the coffee table, where Brandon and Beau Chambers graced the cover of the latest issue of GQ magazine. Impeccably tailored in three-piece Armani suits, the two brothers stood back to back as they puffed on expensive cigars. Their dark eyes were narrowed almost menacingly, making the headline STEP INTO THEIR CHAMBERS seem like a dare. They oozed so much swagger, arrogance, and sex appeal that Tamia’s nipples hardened every time she glanced at their photo, which had been often.
“Wow,” Honey breathed, picking up the magazine and staring at the cover with openmouthed appreciation. “Excuse my language, but these brothas right here are some foine-ass mothafuckas! Got-damn!”
Tamia grinned. “You ain’t never lied.”
“Okay, um, please tell me you have another copy of this?”
“Nah, girl. I got the last copy on the stand. The bookstore manager told me they sold out their entire stock in less than two hours. And, of course, most of the buyers were women.”
“No doubt.” Honey ogled the cover another moment, then held the magazine to her chest and sighed dreamily. “I think I just slipped and fell in love.”
Tamia laughed. “With which one? And you’d better not say Brandon, ’cause I’ve already got dibs on him.”
“I know.” Honey grinned at her. “Don’t forget I was at your homecoming party. I saw the way you two were coochie-grindin’ on the dance floor. I just knew y’all was about to start a fire up in that club!”
Tamia chuckled, sipping her beer.
Sobering after another moment, Honey said quietly, “I hope you get him back, Tamia. I can’t speak for the general public, but me and all my girlfriends who followed the trial are rooting for you and Brandon to work things out.”
Tamia met Honey’s earnest gaze and smiled softly. “Thank you. I really appreciate that.”
Honey held up her beer. “To second chances.”
“I’ll definitely drink to that.”
They clinked bottles and sipped, grinning at each other like two coconspirators.
Holding up the GQ magazine, Honey said slyly, “So, um, can you hook a sista up with an introduction to Beau Chambers?”
Tamia laughed, shaking her head. “Girl, you need to handle your business with Keyshawn first. Speaking of which, how does he feel about you working as an escort? I can’t imagine any boyfriend being cool with that, let alone one who’s a cop.”
“You’re right,” Honey agreed with a pained grimace. “Key hates that I’m an escort. He bitches about it every damn day. But at the same time, he enjoys spending my money, and he sure as hell didn’t refuse the new truck I bought him for his birthday.”
Tamia smirked. “Surprise, surprise.”
“I know. He’s such a hypocrite, right?” Honey sucked her teeth, rolling her eyes in disgust. “I don’t even know why I’m still with him. All we do lately is argue about my job.”
“It doesn’t help that you’ve got clients giving you expensive gifts,” Tamia pointed out wryly.
“I know.” Honey sighed heavily, setting her bottle down on the table. “I’ve tried telling this particular client to stop buying me things, but he won’t listen. And it’s not just the gifts. He calls me all the time to tell me that he’s thinking of me and he can’t wait to see me again.
And before we get off the phone, he always begs me to talk dirty to him so he can jerk off.” She snickered. “It never takes very long.”
Tamia chuckled. “Damn, baby girl. You got that man pussy-whipped.”
“I know. It’s crazy.” Honey’s expression turned grim. “Sometimes I feel guilty because he has a wife and children who think the world of him, and I know they’d be devastated if they ever found out about us. I’ve even asked him to consider going to marriage counseling, but he just laughed and said that wasn’t an option for a man of his stature.” She spread her hands wide, palms upturned in a helpless gesture. “What could I say? I need the money, so I’m not about to turn away one of my best-paying customers.”
“I hear you,” Tamia agreed sympathetically. “But it sounds like your relationship with this client may be more trouble than it’s worth. Have you told Lou?”
Honey vigorously shook her head. “Lou doesn’t even know that this man uses the escort agency. Dude sets up our dates through a third party, he pays under a fake name, and he hires his own driver to pick me up and take me to our secret meeting spots.”
“Damn, girl,” Tamia exclaimed. “That’s some serious cloak-and-dagger shit right there! Who the hell is this client? The Pope?”
Honey got an odd look on her face. “Not quite.”
Tamia stared at her, eyes narrowed speculatively.
Honey nervously moistened her lips. “You know I’m not supposed to reveal the identity of my clients—”
“I know. And you probably shouldn’t start now.”
“I know. But for real, though? I’ve been dying to get this secret off my chest. I trust you, Tamia. If I tell you the client’s name, I know you won’t breathe a word to another soul, no matter how tempted you might be.” Her eyes tunneled into Tamia’s. “Right?”
Tamia hesitated. “Right.”
“I’m dead serious, Tamia. This information absolutely can’t go public. I didn’t tell my grandma that I’m an escort because she has a weak heart. She survived Hurricane Katrina, but this shit right here would kill her.”
Damn, Tamia thought. Now, why did she have to go there when I have a soft spot for grandmothers?
“So do you promise to keep my secret?”
Again Tamia hesitated, wondering if this was how Linda Tripp had felt before hearing Monica Lewinsky’s scandalous confession.
“Tamia?” Honey prompted.
She nodded. “I promise.”
“Okay.” Honey paused to take a deep breath, as if to shore up her courage.
Seconds passed.
Unable to take the suspense any longer, Tamia suddenly blurted, “Girl, please don’t tell me you’re fucking Bernard Chambers!”
Honey shook her head slowly. “Wrong father.”
Tamia eyed her incredulously as comprehension dawned. “Oh, my God.”
“Yup.” Honey smiled ironically. “My client is Bishop Yarbrough.”
Chapter 16
Brandon
“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR DAMN MIND?”
Brandon swiveled around in his chair to watch as Cynthia came charging into his office, her face suffused with fury, hands planted on her hips.
When she saw that he was on the phone, she abruptly pulled up short. But it was too late.
After murmuring an apology to the prospective client he’d been counseling, Brandon hung up the phone and calmly regarded Cynthia.
She had the grace to look sheepish. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were—”
“Close the door.”
“Brandon—”
“Close. The. Fucking. Door.”
She flinched, nostrils flaring as she moved to comply.
Facing him once again, she began defensively, “Look, I—”
He cut her off. “First of all, don’t you ever barge into my office like that again. Matter of fact, don’t even cross the threshold without knocking first.”
Her eyes widened with disbelief. “Brandon—”
“I’m talking.”
She snapped her mouth shut, face reddening with humiliation.
“Second of all,” Brandon continued, his voice never rising above a low growl, “don’t you ever come at me like you just did, shrieking at the top of your lungs like you just lost your fucking mind. I won’t stand for that shit here at the office, or at home, or any-fucking-where else. You feel me?”
Cynthia stared at him for a stunned moment, then suddenly burst into tears. “I can’t believe you’re sitting there scolding me over a harmless mistake!” she sobbed. “After what I just found out, you should be apologizing to me!”
Brandon scowled. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know damn well what I’m talking about!” Cynthia raged, charging over to his desk and slapping her palms down on the surface. “How dare you offer Tamia a job without consulting me first?”
Brandon arched a brow at her. “I wasn’t aware that I needed your permission to make hiring decisions,” he said coolly.
“Are you serious? Are you really going to sit there and tell me that you see absolutely nothing wrong with hiring your ex-girlfriend to be your assistant? Do you really expect me to be okay with seeing Tamia around this office every day, doing everything in her power to break us up? And don’t you dare open your mouth to tell me she won’t do that, because we both know better!”
Brandon silently regarded Cynthia. Her face was ravaged by tears, her nose was running, and her lower lip was flecked with spittle.
He grimaced, torn between revulsion and guilt for reducing her to the emotional wreck that now stood before him. Whatever happened to the strong, sexy, confident woman he’d turned to after Tamia betrayed him? Where had that Cynthia gone?
She sneered at him. “So you have nothing to say for yourself?”
Brandon reached across his desk, picked up a box of Kleenex, and wordlessly offered it to Cynthia.
She snatched two tissues out of the box, then whirled away from the desk to swipe at her face and blow her nose.
He silently observed her slender back, firm butt, and toned calves accentuated by a pair of designer pumps. She was too attractive, and had too much going for her, to cling so desperately to him or any other man.
“Look,” Brandon said, keeping his voice level, “I don’t want to argue with you.”
Cynthia rounded furiously on him. “Then why the hell did you do it? Why did you hire that bitch when you knew damn well how I’d feel about it? To add insult to injury, you didn’t even have the decency to tell me! I had to find out from Addison, of all people! And only because she and another associate were just laughing and gossiping in the restroom about how you totally owned Russ Sutcliffe during the partners’ meeting today. My God, Brandon, do you have any idea how humiliated I’m going to feel when your ghetto-ass ex-girlfriend starts sashaying around here like she’s the queen of the castle? Do you? Or do you even care?”
Brandon scowled. “First of all, chill with all that ‘ghetto’ bullshit. You may not like Tamia, but you know damn well she’s got more class than any of the pompous assholes who work at this law firm. I’ve checked your ass about that shit before. I’m not gonna tell you again.”
Cynthia eyed him incredulously. “I don’t believe this. After everything I just said to you, your only response is to chastise me for calling Tamia ghetto? Are you fucking serious? Why are you so offended by me speaking the truth? I mean, what else do you call a social-climbing fraud who lies about living in the hood and having jailbird relatives, who engages in public brawls—”
Brandon tightened his jaw. “Cynthia—”
“—and cavorts with low-life porn directors. What else do you call a cheap whore who’d go to any lengths to hide the fact that she used to fuck complete strangers for a liv—”
Brandon lunged from his chair so suddenly that Cynthia jumped back with a startled squeak, her eyes wide with alarm.
He glared at her. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up.”
She swallowed a
udibly, staring at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted horns and begun speaking in ancient tongues. “What the hell’s going on, Brandon? Why are you defending her? And why are you behaving like I’ve done something wrong here? You’re the one who has totally disrespected me and showed no regard for my feelings. Like I said before, you owe me an apology.”
Brandon just looked at her, jaw tightly clenched, blood pressure escalating.
Cynthia folded her arms expectantly across her chest. “I’m waiting.”
A stab of guilt pricked Brandon’s conscience, telling him that she was right. He should apologize to her, and not just for hiring Tamia. For kissing her, holding her, and wishing like hell that he didn’t have to stop there.
Unlocking his jaw, he said levelly, “I’m sorry that you’re so upset, and I’m sorry that you had to learn about my decision from someone else.”
“And?” Cynthia prompted.
He frowned. “And what?”
“And you’re sorry for offering Tamia a job, which you will rescind immediately.”
“No.” Brandon shook his head firmly. “That I won’t do.”
“What do you mean?” Cynthia protested shrilly. “She can’t work here, Brandon!”
“She can, and she will.”
Cynthia glared at him, her face contorted with outrage. “You know what? Contrary to what you may believe, Mr. GQ, you’re not the only game in town! And you’re not the only one in this relationship who has options. I can have any guy I want! Do you know how many celebrities and wealthy CEOs I’ve met through my father’s church? Do you know how many men have gone to my father and practically begged for my hand in marriage? And let’s not forget about Shane. Remember him? He still calls me on a regular basis. If I wanted to, I could have him back”—she snapped her fingers—“ just like that. So don’t get it twisted, sweetheart. I have plenty of options.”
