Coup: A BWWM Romance (The French Connection Book 2)

by Brooklyn Knight

My chest tightened.

  He continued. “I’d appreciate it... she’d appreciate it if you cut her a little slack. She’s an employee, not a slave to be taken advantage of.”

  Michael’s eyes lit up. “Interesting choice of words,” he muttered, but Dylan had heard him.

  “What did you just say?” he demanded through clenched teeth.

  “I said it’s obvious you’re still the controlling asshole you were back in university,” Michael shot back. “It always amazes me the way some people never, ever change.” He shook his head. “So be it,” he agreed dramatically. “Interestingly enough, Miss Renaud...” he peered around Dylan into the car. His eyes arrested mine. “It is still Miss, isn’t it?”

  Rhetorical question.

  I could almost feel the fire of Dylan’s anger scorching me in the car.

  He continued. “Miss Renaud and I had this conversation just before we came down here. I was describing my management style to her and explaining that my goal was to push her into unchartered territory, give her experiences that would richly impact her professional development as a qualified black female.” He shrugged one shoulder and pursed his lips. “But, if that’s the way you both feel, I’ll be sure to scale my efforts back. Significantly.” He looked at me again. “I apologize, Miss Renaud. I didn’t realize you were... uncomfortable working for me.”

  I swallowed, staring at Dylan’s back. My heart felt as if it would explode out of my chest. I had told Dylan I would handle the situation myself, yet he had come and done the very thing I hadn’t wanted him to do: interfere. I squeezed my eyes shut and touched my temple.

  “Dylan it’s late and I really would like to get home,” I whispered in French.

  He hesitated but turned to look at me through the window. His eyes were hard, and his jaw was tense. I matched his stare to a tee until his eyelashes fluttered and he turned back to Michael.

  Without saying anything, he made his way to the driver’s seat and started the car. The soft purr of the Maybach was the complete opposite of the roaring rage stirring in the pit of my stomach. He slammed the door closed, and I startled.

  Michael tapped the side of the car and peeped through the window, past me, at Dylan. “Hey, it was really good to see you again,” he said. He then gazed at me. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll reconsider the projects I’ve assigned you, but of course, we’ll talk when you get into the office.”

  Michael stood back as Dylan stepped on the gas and peeled away from the sidewalk.

  Ten

  Laila

  ‘A Million Choices’

  Fifteen minutes expired before I found words. Until that time, we’d driven, encased by a charged silence. Dylan’s face was set. His jaw was pushed forward, and his eyes were no more than fiery slits. One arm was outstretched, the muscles in his forearms flexing as he manipulated the car’s steering wheel, and with the other, he drummed his long fingers on the armrest console.

  “I asked you to let me handle it,” I mumbled.

  His jaw flexed, but he didn’t respond immediately.

  My eyes shifted to his profile.

  “I had no choice but to confront the issue, belle fille,” he finally answered. “I didn’t appreciate anything that happened out there. I’m very disappointed.”

  My neck snapped backwards. “You had a million choices,” I informed him, “and if anybody should be disappointed, it’s me.” My tone inched higher. “Your behavior was deplorable. It was embarrassing.”

  Dylan glanced at me quickly. “My behavior?”

  I grabbed my temple. “How many times have we had this conversation?” I said. “I thought I was clear – literally from my first day as an intern working for you – that I did not want or need your divine intervention in any of my affairs. Now you’ve come here and totally ruined all my progress. Because of you, I’m potentially ten steps backwards.”

  “Are you serious?” he seethed, glancing between me and the road.

  “Very. You promised me, Dylan.”

  “You’re right, I did, and I apologize for jumping the gun and mentioning your discomfort. But I also promised to take care of you. I’m looking out for you, Laila. I’ve been playing this game professionally for ten years longer than you. Give me some credit! And on top of that, I know that joker. He’s a snake and I don’t trust him any farther that I can throw him.”

  “But do you trust me?” I spat.

  “Of course I trust you. Lai – ”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think you do. You don’t trust me, just like you didn’t with the French project nine months ago.”

  His head swung around. “You’re not serious...” he charged me.

  My throat constricted, and tears stung my eyes.

  Dylan stretched his neck and shook his head. His features softened, and he exhaled. “Sweetheart – ”

  I held up a shaky hand. “Let’s not...” I steadied my jaw. “Let’s just not right now.”

  He pulled up at a red light and pressed his back against the seat. He ran his hands over his face and through his blond hair. “Sweetheart...” he whispered looking at me. The edges of his eyes quivered.

  I turned on the radio.

  Dylan rolled his eyes as the light turned green.

  We arrived home and Dylan opened the front door. I entered ahead of him and marched up the steps.

  He trailed behind.

  I threw my purse and briefcase on the bed and pulled out my nightgown. He watched, with a pinched expression, as I undressed and tugged it over my head, almost choking myself in the process. I stomped over to the linen closet and started gathering bedding.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” I announced. The sheets fell from the top shelf over my head, fueling my irritation and embarrassment. I yanked it off and raked my fingers through my tangled hair.

  “Laila...”

  I ignored him.

  “The couch? Not even one of the many spare bedrooms... the couch?”

  I walked to the en-suite bathroom and started wrapping my tresses around my head, securing them with bobby pins and a silk cap. The way I yanked the ends of the wrap, I’d instantly gotten a headache. Or maybe the headache was because of Dylan.

  “You’re blowing this out of proportion,” he called from inside the bedroom, but still, I didn’t respond. Suddenly, his image appeared in the bathroom mirror.

  I started scrubbing my teeth.

  “Sweetheart, can we please talk about this? You know I can’t sleep without you next to me. Please don’t punish me. I don’t deserve this, do I?”

  “I need space, Dylan,” I said, staring at my reflection. “A lot happened tonight, and I want to process it. Alone.” I finished what I was doing and stomped back into the bedroom. I grabbed the bed fittings, but he took them from my hands.

  “Then I’ll go,” he declared, shaking his head. A few strands of hair fell into his face. “This is our bed. You’re not supposed to sleep anywhere else, but if we have to be a part, I’ll be the one to leave.”

  My chin trembled.

  Dylan kicked off his sneakers and stepped out of his joggers. The boxers I’d referenced earlier showcased his muscular legs as well as his ample manhood.

  I looked away from him. If I dared to observe him any longer, my anger would wane prematurely, and I’d be riding him like a cowgirl in a western flick.

  He folded the sheets under his arm, then exhaled and headed for the exit.

  When he finally disappeared, my shoulders crumbled, and I pressed my hands over my mouth, trying to stifle the tears. A barrage of verbiage flurried in my mind, and I tried, with all my might, to compartmentalize it, but it was too much. Soon, exhaustion took over. I crawled into the lonely bed and cried myself to sleep.

  Eleven

  Michael

  ‘Karma’

  Emily Walton sat across from me, looking just the way I’d remembered. Her long, blond hair cascaded well past her shoulders, an
d her blue eyes twinkled as she stared at me from across the table. She was tanned and toned, and if I’d been into white women, I’d most definitely put her on my to-do list. But I’d been there and done that, and presently, there was only one woman on my mind.

  “Michael,” she said. Her voice was soft, like expensive sheets. “This is quite the surprise. A pleasant one, if I do say so myself.”

  “I agree,” I said with a smile. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you. Over ten years, in fact. How have you been keeping? From the looks of it, you’ve been doing well.”

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m doing okay,” she confirmed, “though I can tell, not as well as you.” Her eyes fell to my watch and cufflinks.

  “I’ve been working hard,” I confirmed.

  “You were always a hardworking man, Mike,” she recalled. “I remember back in university: while everyone was out partying, you were in the library studying.” She chuckled. “Of course, there was that one time when you came to the frat party and we hooked up...”

  I smiled. “Yes,” I recalled. “That was a long time ago.” I shrugged. “I’m still the nerd you remember. Still doing research, still trying to take over the world.”

  And Dylan Hamilton’s empire.

  I leaned forward. “The last thing I remember about you, you and my good buddy Dylan Hamilton were the hottest ticket on campus.”

  “Your good buddy?” Sarcasm was threaded through her tone. “Hardly. The minute he found out we’d slept together, any comradery the two of you might have had was out the window.”

  I rubbed my nape. “That was messy, wasn’t it?”

  “Understatement,” she frowned. “I had to beg him to give me another chance and was shocked when he actually did. Of course, it took months of convincing.”

  She paused, and I waited for her to say something more. I had a hand full of cards, but I’d been to Vegas enough times to know you didn’t make a play too early in the game.

  “Dylan and I are no longer seeing each other,” she informed me regretfully. “I guess karma really is a bitch.” Her mouth bunched, and her eyes hardened. “Some random woman walks into his office and suddenly, he’s head over heels. I figured I’d give him some space, but it’s been almost a year and I haven’t heard from him. It doesn’t make sense chasing him. I did it once before and I had to pull every trick out of the book to get him to even give me the time of day. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that it’s over and I’ve lost him.” Resentment cast a gloomy cloud over her face, and it was the exact response I wanted from her.

  I bit back a satisfied smirk.

  “Karma is a bitch,” I said, “but luckily for us, she comes around more than once. And she’s pretty goddamn reliable.”

  Emily tilted her head to the side.

  “Em, you know I don’t like your overconfident ex-boyfriend. You said it yourself; we’ve had a tumultuous association since we were kids, trying to make a name for ourselves. Do you know how many times I’ve lost business to Hamilton Associates? You have no idea the money I’ve lost to that arrogant asshole.”

  Emily straightened her shoulders. “It’s business, Michael, and Dylan is good at what he does. Don’t tell me that after all these years, you’ve become bitter?”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “Bitter or not, I’d love to see Dylan eat dirt. Just once. Both professionally and otherwise.”

  Emily crossed her leg and pulled back slightly.

  “The bitch who has Dylan’s head in the clouds is my new hire.”

  Now she sat forward.

  “Only she’s not a bitch,” I clarified. My eyes softened. “She’s a beautiful black woman, and I want her for myself.”

  Emily’s mouth slackened, but a wry smile played on her lips. “You’re still the same guy,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You did the same thing in university.”

  “Let’s be clear,” I advised, holding up a hand. “What happened between us was mutual. You wanted me just as much as I wanted you at the time.”

  Emily rolled her eyes and tucked another strand of hair behind her ear.

  “This is a little different.” I paused. “Dylan Hamilton doesn’t deserve Laila Renaud. He has his pick of women, and I’m of the opinion he should leave this one to me.” I was staring ahead, relishing in delightful visions of Laila, before I focused back on Emily.

  Her eyes brimmed with intrigue as a slow smile built on her face. “So what do you propose?” she inquired. “I told you, I’ve already used every trick I own. I’m practically a court jester.”

  “Why don’t you give him a call?” I suggested. I leaned back in my seat. “Leave the other details to me.”

  Twelve

  Dylan

  ‘Eye Candy’

  My feet slammed against the sidewalk pavement as I ran the length of the downtown Miami Riverwalk. The sun was just about cresting over the tall buildings ahead of me, but already the humidity was peaking, and I was drenched with sweat. I pumped my arms as the end of the Riverwalk came into view, and the sound of my heavy breath reverberated in my ears, taking its place amongst the other noise in my head.

  I hadn’t slept a wink last night. I’d tossed and turned on the uncomfortable couch, listening as the antique grandfather clock that was in the living room struck one, two, and then three. At four-thirty, I’d thrown my legs over the edge of the couch and held my throbbing head in my hands.

  I can’t sleep, so I might as well run this off...

  I ascended to the second floor and headed for our bedroom. I paused, and then pushed the door open. Ma belle fille was curled up in fetal position on her side of the bed, but she was clutching my pillow in her arms. It was only when I got closer that I noticed the pillowcase was damp with tears.

  My heart twisted. I drew an anguished breath and eased myself onto the edge of the bed. I gazed at her, running my thumb across her supple cheek, and followed it with a longing, lingering kiss.

  She shifted and moaned my name in her sleep.

  My eyes flickered, and I lifted myself from the bed, changed my clothes, and headed out of the door.

  I finished the sprint and allowed my pace to slow on its own, then I grabbed my waist. I lifted my head towards the lightening sky, trying to catch my breath.

  Two minutes later, Stefan pulled up next to me, with his arms flailing, panting like a retired racehorse.

  “Why you gotta pull that Captain America bullshit every time we do this?” he wheezed. He hunched over, trying to catch his breath. “You know I ain’t that quick and never have been. The least you could do is tone your pace down; give a brother a chance to catch up. Maybe even give me a head start.”

  “You haven’t been out here with me in a while and I forgot how slow you were,” I said.

  “It hasn’t been a while,” he argued.

  “It’s been three weeks.”

  He shook his head. “A while is no less than two months.”

  I chuckled and grabbed my water bottle from the bench, where I’d left it before we started. “Okay,” I agreed. I had no energy to argue, especially not with Stefan.

  Stefan groaned. “You were pounding the pavement like it owed you money,” he noted as his breathing steadied.

  “I’ve got a lot on my mind,” I admitted. “I had an argument with Laila last night. It was over Michael Sawyer.”

  Stefan’s arms dropped to his side and his mouth fell open. “You’re kidding me, right?”

  I took a sloppy swig from my water bottle. Water dribbled down the side of my mouth and into my beard.

  “What do you mean you had an argument over Michael Sawyer? Laila works for him, doesn’t she?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. And I was okay with it at first. She really wanted to go there, and I support her,” I paused. “I’m trying my best to support her, but I didn’t like yesterday’s interaction. It bothered me. It was him, me, and her. He and I don’t get along on a good day, and with her in the mix it turned into a complete m
ess. He’s doing what he does best: trying to sabotage me,” I grunted. “He knows that Laila and I are together and he’s trying to pit her against me. Of course, Laila is none the wiser. She thinks I’m overreacting, when the fact of the matter is, I know this guy’s moves play by play. Do you remember in university when I was nominated for the budding entrepreneur award?”

  “I’ll never forget it,” Stefan said with a grimace. “He planted some fake news about you plagiarizing a final paper.”

  I drew in an aggravated breath.

  Stefan provided an additional scenario. “And what about the time he upstaged you at the International Banquet? You wore an Armani suit and so did he.”

  “He’s such a prick,” I muttered through my teeth.

  Stefan’s tone lowered. “And then when he slept with Emily...”

  A muscle in my temple jumped. “Which is why I don’t want him near Laila.”

  “What are you gonna do?”

  I chewed the inside of my lip thinking about his question. “At this point, there’s not much I can do but wait and see how it plays out.” I paused. “And then there’s something happening at work. Yesterday, I had a meeting with Carter who alerted me that my Board of Directors is displeased with my performance. They think I’m distracted. I called you about it, but you didn’t answer, and I decided not to leave a message.”

  Stefan cursed.

  “Carter suggested I take a sabbatical, but something is up.” I squinted into the blossoming light.

  “Dylan, man, what the hell is going on?” He lowered his voice. “Don’t tell me you think Carter is on some shady shit. He’s your right-hand man. He’s the guy who’s been with you almost from day one.”

  “Things change,” I commented staring into his face. “People who you believed to be in your corner turn on you and that’s when you don’t know who you can trust. But I don’t believe Carter is the one I should be worried about.”

  Stefan shook his head and I raked my hand through my damp hair.