Wives Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta
SHEREÉ WHITFIELD
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Teaser chapter
To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Shereé Whitfield
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-0987-5
ISBN-10: 1-4967-0987-X
eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0988-2
eISBN-10: 1-4967-0988-8
First Kensington Electronic Edition: February 2017
To my children, Tierra, Kairo, and Kaleigh. You’re the reason I continue to push, strive for the best, and stay strong.
To my mom, Thelma, who is an excellent example of what it means to be a strong woman.
To all of those who knowingly or unknowingly inspired this novel—the good, the bad, and the ugly . . . I thank you!
And to my family and friends who truly have been supportive, loyal, and just wonderful. Know that it’s not in vain. I see you and I love you!
Prologue
“Atlanta is the Hollywood of the south, baby, what did you expect?” Norman said as he sipped his peach margarita. “Your hubby is gone half the week for practice. Did you really think he’d spend his time sitting in the hotel room pining away for you? Child, bye!” Norman waved his hand and wrapped his lips around his straw, fluttering his eyelids while sucking in the fruity, frozen alcoholic beverage. “Ahhh!” he said, then looked over at his friend.
Sasha Wellington pursed her lips as she stared down at the large plate of loaded nachos she’d been smashing. She suddenly lost her appetite. She frowned and pushed the plate away from her.
“Ooooh, you did think that, didn’t you?” Norman let out a harrumph and then shook his head with dismay. “You acting more naïve than the ugly, fat girl in high school who thinks the captain of the football team really just wanted to take her out for ice cream. And you ain’t no more a virgin than this margarita I’m drinking with an extra shot of tequila. So quit playing with me.” Norman rolled his eyes, perturbed at how gullible his friend was turning out to be.
Sasha was even more pissed off at herself. Her husband hadn’t come home last night. They’d been married for half a minute and he was already out chasing ATL hoes, just like her ex-coworker, Casey’s husband. Sasha had stood by watching Casey accept all the crap her husband piled on her, all the while vowing to herself that she’d never be that woman. Sasha had been warned by Casey, though, about this kind of behavior; the typical behavior professional male athletes are known for. But Sasha hadn’t thought it would happen to her, and damn sure not this soon! She expected her husband to come home to his new wife.
“You can stop sitting over there looking like the victim,” Norman said. “You know I give it to you straight with no chaser. I have a saying that sometimes people don’t get what they deserve in life, but some of them sure do get what they ask for.”
“I thought you asked me out to make me feel better,” Sasha said. “I feel ten times worse than I did when I left my house.”
“Norman is not one to butter the roll, honey.” Norman spoke in the third person, which meant he was really about to go in. “I tear it apart and devour it bite by bite. If you wanted to get all buttered up and sweetened with a sugary coating, then you should have called ya mama up. Chick, you knew the deal when you got with Terrance. Now take the hand you were dealt and play it.” Norman downed the rest of his margarita. “Or get played by the hand.” He motioned to the bartender for another drink.
“Make it two,” Sasha called to the bartender. Norman frowned but Sasha shook her head. “It’s for you. Since I’m eating for two, you have to drink for two.” Sasha nodded down at her stomach.
Bringing up the fact that there was a baby growing inside Sasha’s womb changed the mood. There was silence as a melancholy feel took over both Sasha and Norman.
“What am I supposed to do about all of this?” Sasha felt the tears coming. She couldn’t believe that she’d been married for two days and she already wanted out. Maybe those other wives of pro athletes had something she didn’t. Or were more tolerant of marital infidelity. Sasha knew she was the best that Terrance would ever have, so how dare he step out on her, and on their wedding night no less?
Norman put his hand on top of Sasha’s. “You know what you’re supposed to do, girl. You do what every other last one of them wives does.”
“Look the other way and be miserable?” Sasha said with attitude. “Oh, no. Not this born to be a boss chick! I will not sit around and allow my husband to have side-chicks posting pics of themselves and my man on Instagram. Seriously? Where they do that at?”
“In the NBA, in the NFL, in the—” Norman started counting on his fingers until Sasha cut him off.
“It was a rhetorical question, Norman, geesh.” Sasha placed her elbows on the bar, crossed her arms, then looked down defeated.
She had no concrete proof that Terrance had spent the night with another woman, but she wasn’t stupid. No man stayed out all night unless he was cheating. If Sasha’s grandmother had told her once, she’d told her twice; the only things open all night long are 7-Eleven and legs! Sasha got sick to her stomach imagining some groupie’s legs wrapped around her husband.
“You can look the other way, but that doesn’t mean you have to be miserable while doing it,” Norman said as the bartender placed two margaritas down in front of him. “Atlanta’s golden boy, Terrance McKinley, has the money. As the new Mrs. Terrance McKinley, live the lifestyle you want, queen.”
Sasha’s eyes lit up at Norman’s words. “You’re right!” Sasha said, her lips spreading into a grin. “While Terrance is out doing Terrance, I can be out doing me . . . with his money!”
“Now you’re talking,” Norman said proudly, sipping on one of the two drinks.
“I could use Terrance’s money to help with opening my boutique, which is what I came to Atlanta to do in the first place.” Sasha’s mind went wild thinking about all the gorgeous and expensive fabrics she could buy now that she had practically unlimited funds thanks to the United Bank of Terrance Clark McKinley.
Norman raised his glass. “Yas, girl! Now dry those eyes and stop with the tears. Turn that frown upside down and laugh all the way to the bank.”
Norman was right. Norman was always right it seemed, which is wh
y Sasha called on him whenever she was at her bottom lowest. He might stomp her down further to the curb than she started out, but in the end, his words always lifted her back up. She picked up a napkin and dabbed under her eyes. “Let’s get out of here. I’m in the mood to go out and buy an entire new wardrobe . . . for each month of my pregnancy. Ha! How about that?” Sasha popped one last nacho into her mouth.
“But my drinks.” Norman looked from one delicious-looking margarita to the other. “This is like me leaving money on the table.”
“I’ll pay.” Sasha stood while going in her purse. She pulled out three twenty dollar bills and laid them on the counter. “There, now it’s like me leaving money on the table.”
Norman sucked his teeth and stood. He stared at the drinks one last time as if he was a little boy who got two new puppies and had to leave them home while he ran off to school. The next thing Sasha knew, Norman had pulled both drinks together, placing a straw in each corner of his mouth, and began to suck those drinks down quicker than she’d ever seen it done before.
“My God!” Sasha said once Norman came up for air.
Looking as if he was in pain, he threw his hand over his forehead. “Brain freeze,” he whined.
“You think?” Sasha said. “You sucked those drinks down as if your life depended on it. Where did you learn to do that?”
Norman removed his hand from his forehead and stared at Sasha with a raised eyebrow. “Trust me, darling, you don’t even want to know.”
Sasha thought for a minute as to what Norman may have been alluding to. “You know what? I think you’re right. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
Sasha flipped her hair, linked arms with Norman and then put her hand on her belly. She would have to be strong for her baby. Even though the baby bump was barely there, Sasha felt strength coming from her child. In that moment she made up her mind that in the midst of the lies and deceit, she would carve out a piece of heaven for her and her baby, even if it meant she had to go through hell first.
Chapter 1
Six months earlier . . .
“What in God’s green creation have I gotten myself into?”
Sasha stood in the living room of her new apartment located in what looked to be a fairly decent neighborhood in Atlanta, Georgia. It wasn’t the best. It wasn’t the worst. But then again, she had never been to Atlanta a day in her life before this afternoon, so how would she know? She’d have to feel the area out and then determine if it met not only her needs, but her standards, which were by all means anything but below average. Keeping it one hundred, they were actually higher than the normal person’s. And Sasha had no qualms nor made apologies about having above average criteria when it came to all things in life. What some people were willing to settle for, she wouldn’t think twice to. That didn’t mean she felt she was better than everybody else, but try telling that to some of the so-called friends she’d come across.
“Stuck-up bitch!”
“Always acting like some white girl.”
“Sasha thinks she’s better than everybody else.”
“She lives one block from the hood, not in one of Trump’s towers.”
“She thinks her shit don’t stank ’cause her nose too far up in the air to smell it.”
It was nothing unusual for Sasha to hear these comments made about her—not only from the mean girls back when she was in high school, but now she even heard them from grown women. Sasha shook it off as pure jealousy. She’d always had an attitude that exuded confidence. It wasn’t her fault hating-ass hoes mistook it for conceit.
Sasha was poised and well spoken. Every other word out of her mouth was not a cuss word or ghetto slang. She chose college over the club, and chose independence over becoming the baby momma of a dope boy like some people she.
So what if her playlist was smooth jazz instead of rap or R & B songs about screwing and getting butts eaten like groceries. People needed to get over themselves, or better yet, get over the fact that Sasha was living her life how she wanted: a life with no regrets. A life she didn’t need to take a vacation from. It would do folks good not to concern themselves at all with her business and start fostering their own game plan for their personal come-up and success the same way she had done. That way they wouldn’t be hatin’, but participatin’. That way everybody could be celebratin’.
The funny thing was, because Sasha carried herself with such class and grace, hood chicks thought that gave them a pass to try her. Little did they know, Sasha had a tank full of ratchetness that she kept on reserve. She could go toe to toe and tongue to tongue with the best of them, if taken there. Thank God, though, that she’d never had to embarrass herself or her mother by going there. But you best believe she’d pack her bags and take the trip if need be. But again, her momma hadn’t raised her like that, to be a messy instigator. But she hadn’t raised her to be no punk either.
An only child, Sasha had been spoiled by her mother, who raised her singlehandedly. Not Kardashian spoiled, but what she got, even if it was a little, seemed like a lot, considering she didn’t have any siblings to divvy it up with. So it was safe to say that Sasha wasn’t really into sharing, which was typical of an only child.
One good thing about not having any brothers or sisters was that Sasha didn’t have to worry about hand-me-down clothing from older siblings, or being forced to give away her favorite article to a younger sibling. As much as Sasha was into clothing and fashion—she had been playing dress-up in her mother’s closet ever since she could crawl to it—that would have been cruel and unnecessary punishment.
When most teenagers’ bedroom walls were covered with the latest star in film and music or the “it” teen idol, Sasha’s were always covered with poster boards of outfits she’d cut out from magazines, sometimes mixing a shirt one model might have had on and placing it over a skirt another model was donning. Her eye for coordinating outfits was impeccable and unique.
Sasha’s mother took note of her daughter’s interest in clothes, and when the latest fashions came out, she couldn’t always afford to get them for her child immediately, but she always managed to make a way eventually, as soon as they went on sale. By then other girls at school would have already shown theirs off, so Sasha would put a little extra spin on hers by either removing this or sewing on that . . . anything to make it unique. Pretty soon when the kids would see her sporting one of her creations, they’d say, “Wow, another Sasha Original, huh?” At least the ones who didn’t mind giving props where props were due.
Some girls who’d had a beef with her since elementary even humbled themselves, asking Sasha to hook up their wardrobe with her skills. This was definitely where Sasha’s interest in fashion was piqued. She breathed, drank, and ate fashion, even choosing fashion and design as her major in college. And now here she was in Hotlanta, hell bent on building the empire to reach her ultimate goal of becoming a fashion mogul.
Just six months ago, the day she’d graduated college in Cleveland, Ohio, Sasha had basically opened up a map of the United States, closed her eyes, and pointed. Wherever her finger landed once she opened her eyes was where she’d decided she’d go live. No ifs, ands, or buts. Not even her dear and very persuasive mother could talk her out of the move.
“Are you sure that’s where God wants you to go?” her mother had asked her.
Sasha and her mother attended Sasha’s grandmother’s church on occasion. They didn’t have a church they called home that they attended regularly, but that still didn’t keep Sasha’s mother from always bringing God into things whenever she could.
“At least it’s Atlanta,” Sasha had said when she’d opened her eyes to find her manicured nail resting smack dead on the city of Atlanta. “And not some place like Alaska or Utah.” It didn’t matter where Sasha’s finger landed, if it wasn’t in Cleveland, Ohio, her mother wasn’t going to be happy. She wanted her baby girl near her, no matter what God said.
Sasha looked around the apartment in awe. Not in awe of how gr
and or sophisticated it was, but how totally opposite it looked compared to the pictures she’d seen of it on the Internet. She’d watched enough court TV shows that she should have known better than to pay a deposit on a place she hadn’t physically inspected. Folks sued one another for this type of scam all of the time. But this wasn’t some vacation spot she could check out of if it wasn’t to her satisfaction. This was where she had to live for at least a year, according to the lease she’d signed less than five minutes ago.
Sasha was already using her life’s savings to move from Ohio to Atlanta. Spending extra money to take a trip just to come see the place with her own two eyes would have put a major dent into her finances. She needed to hold onto every last dime she had for as long as she could. She had big dreams in moving to Atlanta. Dreams cost time and money. She had neither to waste.
Most people had a five-year plan. Sasha had a one-year plan. Five-year plans were for people who planned on taking a break to sleep. For Sasha, sleep was overrated. She’d sleep at her vacation home in the Hamptons, which was part of her dream. No matter where on the map she decided would be her permanent residence, she’d planned on having a vacation home in the Hamptons. After seeing a reality show where the group of girlfriends vacationed in the Hamptons every summer, Sasha added that to the vision board she kept stored in her head. But for now, it looked like Atlanta was home year ’round.
“I can’t believe you’re going there without even having a job in line,” Sasha’s mother had said in an effort to talk her out of going to the city that was being branded the Black Hollywood.
“I’ve signed up with a temp service. They have my résumé. They assured me they’d have no problem placing me,” Sasha said. “I’ll start with something temporary until I can find something permanent in my field. I’ll be fine, Ma. Everything is going to work out, trust me. I wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t sure.”
Wives, Fiancées, and Side-Chicks of Hotlanta Page 1
