by Amarie Avant
The next morning, she went through the Delacroix building, tapping on a tin lunchbox. On the top floor, Liam’s secretary nodded in defeat as Raven walked toward his office.
She opened the double doors. The sound of typing stopped as Liam looked up at her, huffed, and leaned back in the chair. Smile shaky and borderline plastic like Royael’s had been all week, she said, “Uh, I brought a mud pie.”
At the glint of anger in his eyes, she bit her lip. Oh, no! The last time she’d teased him about mud pies was on her eighteenth birthday, and he’d tossed her into the Atlantic Ocean. They’d been five when she made him the first “mud” pie. Annette refused to give him extra fudge cake since Elise had complained about his weight. Raven had used dirt, took out all the twigs, and guaranteed that it would be just like chocolate, his favorite.
“It’s not a … Well, it is a …” She opened the box and set it on the table.
He cleared his throat.
“Liam Lemaître …” Raven started, clearing the memory of a fatter version of him chowing down. She took a seat at the chairs across from him. “I apologize for the way I acted.”
“Based on the things I’ve done to you, Raven, you’re automatically forgiven.” His gaze went back to the computer, face carved of ice.
As she touched his large hands, the typing stopped. “I’m sorry.”
“I said it’s okay.”
Broad shoulders squared, his blasé attitude froze her insides—bones, heart, soul. “It’s not okay. I do stupid things when I’m drunk, and trust me, I was loaded.”
“Correction.” His angular jaw tensed. “You’re truthful when you’re drunk.”
“No, I didn’t mean it.” She felt like her legs were going to run as she went to a display shelf near the couches, looking at a picture of Royael on the merry-go-round. “I’d never imagine Royael’s smile could get any bigger than it had that day. At least, not until you came into our life.”
He didn’t say anything. Raven turned back to hazel eyes that seem to stare through her. She gave her best sad puppy face.
“Raven,” Liam stretched her name as if had ten syllables.
She walked around his desk and turned his chair back toward her.
“Look at me.” She held onto a mask of melancholy with a smidgen of hope. It used to work like a charm. The pad of her thumb rubbed against the side of her index finger as she spoke. “Liam, all I’m trying to say is, we have to get along for the sake of Royael. Nothing more, nothing less.” God save me from ‘nothing more’.
***
Why must you torture me?
He looked away from Raven’s blue eyes and the way her lips parted just slightly as she stood in front of him, apologizing. All he ever wanted was something more. Liam envied every man on this planet for being born in the age of Raven Shaw when she was meant for him!
His jaw tensed as he remembered the last couple of days, coming home during lunchtime to pack an overnight bag to stay at the Dallas Delacroix Hotel. He’d gotten home from Santa Monica on Monday. The estimated grand opening setback was a fluke. Instead of staying, he’d come by while she was out and sat at the top of the stairs, tormenting himself as he visualized her and heard those drunken words. Then he’d pack another bag. Before leaving, he found himself crossing the bridge to Raven’s side of the house—it now belonged to her. His house, and she had her own side of it. He’d sit on the couch in her room and smell papayas and mangos. He’d even picked up the spoon ring that laid on the dresser, wondering why she’d kept it.
Right then, he couldn’t hate himself more for leaving her pregnant. Not with her so willing to forgive.
“Raven, you’re a damn good mother. I’m learning to be a father. ‘Get along for the sake of our child?’ Got it.” Liam tried to swivel his chair around, but her Nike blocked his path. He wanted her to go away. He still hadn’t contacted Lucinda, but hoped that the maid’s reaction when his mother had given him the letter was key to prove that Raven wasn’t his sister. If Lucinda’s reaction had just been a female thing … then what would he do with his addiction?
“Liam, you’re not even listening.”
“Uh-huh.” He tried to stand but didn’t like being eye level with her. Her soft hand went to his chest. The push wasn’t strong, but he relented.
“I said that you’ve been a very good friend since we moved in.”
“I’m supposed to help. You have my child.”
“You could’ve just shoveled out some dough and sent us on our way.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you listening?”
“Yes.”
“What did I just say?”
He shrugged. “I bought some stuff?”
“I’m trying to tell you how you go the extra mile, and you’re not even listening!”
Now she looked mad, wearing her arousing puppy dog face which turned into an enticing pout. He looked just to the left of her. It was safer that way.
“Come home tonight. I’m cooking dinner.”
“No, thank you.”
“Liam, you’re so stubborn!” Raven shook her fist at her side. She stepped closer again, reclaiming her I’m-in-charge stance, holding onto the arm rests of his chair. “You are coming home tonight, and I am cooking dinner. I’ll make something else chocolate, if you don’t want the … mud pie—uh, pie with mud. Now shake my hand.”
For all the wrong Liam had done, he shouldn’t let her make it so easy to be pardoned, but she shoved her hand in front of his face. He gave it a quick shake. This reconciliation won’t be simple. Not forgiving her for that night meant that he was safe from his obsession. His obsession wouldn’t have to worry about being hurt by him anymore, and that was all that mattered.
“The past has been forgiven and forgotten. Nobody has a notch against them for a wrongdoing. We’re just two parents trying to raise our daughter, right?” She jutted out her chin.
I guess we’ve started over. A grin crept across his lips. He’d like that. He watched the sway of her hips as she neared the doors to leave and said, “See you later, Shorty.”
“Whatever, Giant.”
“One more thing?” Liam called out as she neared the door. “Who is Becky, and why is Royael obsessed with her big butt?”
Raven’s eyes shaded slightly, and then she busted up laughing. “Sheesh, I forgot how sheltered we were. With your upbringing in France and Granny’s distaste of pop music, our baby could use a bit of help. For some godawful reason, the pageant at the end of May is focused on all things 90s. Google ‘Sir Mixalot’.”
***
“Our baby is not singing that song!” was the first thing out of Liam’s mouth as the family of three sat around the weathered-wood table on the balcony just outside the kitchen.
Raven stifled a laugh, dishing out piping-hot eggplant lasagna for Royael. “There’s extra cheese,” she mentioned, to mask the fact that her daughter was eating all vegetarian food.
“Yay!” Royael shouted.
“I mean how will she dance to it,” Liam asked, as Raven placed a slice on a yellow square plate for him.
“Don’t worry your pretty blond head. Royael is just obsessed with the word ‘butt’ and ‘booty’.”
“Okay … That’s the part I’m actually not happy about. So what are we going to do about that?”
Royael hadn’t competed in a pageant since they’d moved in. He’d cheered her on at the Valentine pageant. Her eyebrow rose, and with a devilish smile, Raven decided to goad him.
“Hmmm, well if you’re offering your services, Royael isn’t much for twerking and—” she placed her hands over their kid’s ear “—ass bouncing. She’s actually practicing a ballet for the first bar of ‘Kiss from a Rose’ by Seal. The second bar is a tad more intimate, so Stephen—”
“Stephen?”
Royael chimed in, “Yay, Steve! Steve mixed my songs for me. Daddy, you have to watch me dance!”
“Yes, Stephen. Glad you can hear, Liam. He’s added the chorus of James Blunt’s ‘You’re Beau
tiful’ at the end since the entire segment needs to be two minutes. No, it’s not 90s but just for added affect while Royael completes her routine. Now, this is where you come in …”
***
The next morning, Raven’s fists pounded at the punching bag in the gym, her mind muddled with thoughts of Liam. The previous night, he’d played background singer while Royael completed her ballet piece. And Raven lost herself in love with him all over again. Not the young love from back in the day, not that, not renewed.
No, this was a new, hard, and a dangerously fast type of love. Her pupils were dilated as he did his best to learn the song and lip-sync it.
She planted her stance for a quick blow of jabs and could still hear Royael complaining about being tired of practicing. They’d switched over to karaoke, singing at the top of their lungs. Songs from Lauren Hill, Liam had made a fool of himself as Britney Spears, Royael had to do MC Hammer’s “Can’t Touch This”. When Raven had belted out Mariah Carey’s “Vision of Love”, it started a pillow fight of jealousy and laughter.
Going hard, she gave it her all. Sweat dribbled into her eyes, mingling with tears. Those dumbass pills hadn't worked. She wanted him more than oxygen. Racing thoughts swarmed her mind, anxiety up to the max. She stopped punching the bag, feeling instantly uncomfortable. Raven turned to the entrance to see a dark-skinned man, about ten years older than her, leaning against the door frame.
“Impressive.” He rubbed a hand over his bald head and the left side of his mouth curved into a smile. “If that punching bag were a person, I might have to frisk you and take you in.”
“Me, taken by a Peeping Tom?” Her eyebrows rose, and she squared her shoulders as he walked around the elliptical toward her. He wasn’t as tall or buff as Liam, but the stranger was lean. And there was something about him. She wouldn’t take her eyes off the guy for a second. Not even to blink.
“I’m Detective Tyriq Tate.” His alluring slanted eyes gazed at her workout bra and traveled from her abs to her spandex shorts. Those rich, dark-chocolate orbs seemed to be drinking her in, head to toe. “Plant your left leg about two inches further behind you and you’d pack a punch that I might be afraid of.”
“Thanks for the advice, Detective TT.” She had to still her tongue from grazing over her lips. She glanced over his collarbone in his V-neck shirt, her eyes traveling to stonewashed jeans that snuggled all the right places. She smiled back.
“Wow,” Tyriq began, “she can smile. I guess you’re not the ‘Chihuahua’ Liam pegged you for.”
“He said that, did he? Well, you might have to take me in after I wring his neck.”
His laughter doused the remaining anxiety coursing through her veins. When he licked his lips, it was all over. Try as she might, she couldn’t help laughing, too.
“My job here is done. I better get back to the game of poker. I’m sure Liam’s itching to add my meager salary to his fortune.”
Raven turned back to the punching bag.
Taking on the stance Tyriq advised, Raven punched the bag, feeling light on her toes, her stomach fluttering with butterflies. God, there was something about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the feeling was new.
Chapter 23
Just shy of a month at the new retirement home, Annette’s popularity had skyrocketed, and she had the same pep in her step as she had before the stroke. She sat in the living room of her apartment with Charlene and Raven.
She reached over and snatched the celery that Raven was dipping into ranch. “I got these veggies for the celebrity. Your skinny behind can eat all the baked sweets I made.”
Charlene stuck out her tongue and picked up another brownie.
“Um-hum, Granny,” Raven quipped, “you didn’t make these dozens of brownies and cookies for us. I know once we leave, those doors are opening for that man across the way, the only guy on the block without a toupee.”
Charlene tossed a red vine at her daughter. “Mama is trying to start a riot; new girl on the block gets Mr. Congeniality.”
Raven fell over on the couch laughing.
“Mama took over the retirement home with her cooking. That’s why she won’t let me buy her a new house and a maid to boot. Now, the real issue is, Raven are you finally moving out of Liam’s house before summertime is upon us? It’s too damn hot to move a pinky, let alone furniture.”
“Dang, you are really starting trouble!” Raven’s cheeks warmed. “I’ve only been there for thirty days. Besides, he travels back and forth to Santa Monica. The opening is on the first day of summer.”
“Well, that mansion in the woods is rather big, and he’s continuously gone.” Charlene smirked. “I suppose it’s … convenient.”
“Yes, it is.” Raven’s eyes clouded as if gearing toward an excuse. Then she wagged her finger like Annette would. “When he’s there, we spend our time with Royael. All activities revolve around a four-foot-ten little girl. Now can we watch the movie on TV, or should we continue to have it watch us?”
Charlene waved that comment away. “Nope.”
The three sat down, argued over the thousands of movie channels, and ended up watching a classic black-and-white film. And then they argued over Clark Gable versus Cary Grant. Annette went to the kitchen for more popcorn.
“On a more serious note, Mom, I have something important to tell you. Tyriq, a friend of Liam’s, is a detective. I think …” She stopped as Charlene’s face registered a chill of fear. “We need to find out who the truck driver is.”
Biting her bottom lip, Charlene asked, “Do you trust this detective? I live in the public eye. I can’t have people knowing that—”
“Mom, it’ll be all right. Tyriq is a nice guy. He’s Liam’s friend and comes around sometimes. I don’t want us to search for a seedy PI who knows your face, if that’s your concern.”
Chapter 24
Liam’s eyes popped open to a pitch-black night, ears perked to the sound of rummaging downstairs. He pulled on his pajama pants, stepped onto the fur rug, and tiptoed to the acrylic painting on the wall. Pressing the latch behind the gold frame, it opened. He tapped the code and the titanium door clacked. Pushing past stacks of crisp bills, he picked up a chrome Desert Eagle and clicked off the safety. Gun poised, bare feet padding along the floor, he slowly descended the stairs. The moon peeked into the living room, highlighting African artifacts. Raven didn’t even shade the walls! His house was a burglar’s heaven, and she’d left it on display.
To the sound of rustling, Liam did an about-face. His eyes scanned the walls as he passed the media room. A burglar could be hiding behind any one of the theater chairs. He peeked into the indoor pool room and continued. The rustling came from further away.
Cocking back the hammer, Liam paced toward the kitchen. “Don’t fucking move!”
A high-pitch scream shattered his ear drums.
“It’s me!” Raven stood rigid.
“Fuck!” He instantly lowered his gun. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, well, if you shoot me, then I guess I won’t have to take these pills anymore.”
“What’d you say?” Liam turned on the lights. His gaze softened as she frowned. He put the gun down at his side and took in the beautiful woman in a short pajama set and cowgirl boots. Hair pulled into pigtails—Royael’s signature style. She reminded him of an innocent girl he once knew in Bellwood, a tomboy and a sexy bombshell all wrapped into one adventurous yet enticing package. “It’s almost two AM. What are you doing?”
“I’m going night photographing and just wanted a bottle of water. Is that okay with you?” She brushed past him.
“It’s almost two, I just told you.” You can’t go wandering around outside at night.
“Good thing it’s called night photography.”
He watched her grab a blanket that he hadn’t noticed draped over the stairwell. There was also a camera case at the bottom step. Tunnel vision had him miss all of those signs. “Where are you going? It’s too late for you to gallivant a
round town in the middle of the night.”
“Gosh, Liam, if I wanted a damn daddy, your phone number is first on my list. I'll be just outside, dang. You can come and be my—what’s the name of that little, fat dog with all the wrinkles? Oh, yeah, bulldog.”
“Okay.” He couldn’t help but grin, knowing Tyriq had told her about the Chihuahua nickname. He placed the gun on the end table in the living room and went to the closet for his boots.
“Magnum.” Raven picked up the gun, removed the magazine, and set it on the table. “Desert Eagle .50AE—chrome because it must be shiny for you, huh? Oh, and a pearl handle. How cute, how … lame. Has a hard kick, though. The guy at the gun shop did you a good deed.”
He rolled his eyes as she disassembled the barrel. In a matter of seconds, she took out the piston grip and the rest of the items. “Put your gun away. You shouldn’t have it in the house with Royael, and I’m not putting it back together, either.”
***
Raven rubbed the nape of her neck, watching Liam jog downstairs after putting his gun away. He still didn’t have on a shirt. He sported a nicely-tanned eight pack, V-shaped waistline, and a soft patch of golden hair which disappeared where his tiered pants sagged low. Keep your eyes on his.
“If you’re coming, you’ve gotta do your share of work. Grab that tripod.”
“Yes, master.”
“This is serious. Humor will have you sent away at any time.” Though her tone was rigid, inwardly Raven stifled a laugh.
“Roger that, ma’am.” He held the kitchen glass door open.
Tense-lipped, she passed through to a calm spring night. After he closed it, they walked around the pool and stone fireplace. They stopped a couple of yards from the back of the house. Seeing through the vision of a pro, Raven treaded around the backyard until content with the viewpoint.
