“Great. I’m sure whatever he offers you will be fair. You should just take it and move on.”
“Not on your life. I have an attorney who’s going to the meeting with me.”
Jessica shook her head. “Can I ask you something?”
“Depends on what it is.”
“Is Fletcher really Harmony’s father?”
“I don’t believe you asked me that. Of course he is.”
“So you were with him after he started dating Mia.”
“Depends on what you mean by with him.”
“Bliss, c’mon.”
“The full story will be told in due time.” There was a twinkle in her eye. “For now, mum’s the word.”
Jessica fell quiet again. “How come you never talk about Jonas’ father?”
“Because I just don’t.” Bliss’ tone was overly curt. “So don’t go there.” Bliss fanned her hair across her shoulders. “How do I look?”
“Breathtaking as usual.”
“Thank you very much.”
“Bliss, please tell me you’re not about to target another wealthy guy for child support.”
“If you weren’t my best friend, I’d resent that question.” Bliss turned sideways to admire her frame in the mirror. “But this fabulous body can’t handle another pregnancy. Besides, after the child support I get from Fletcher McClain, I won’t ever need another dime.”
CHAPTER 13
“So this is where you could’ve been living, huh?” Jefferson leans forward to peer through the windshield of his car.
We’ve just entered the grounds of Fletcher McClain’s Beverly Hills home. Jefferson pulls to a stop, hops out and hands the keys to the valet. He’s too enthralled with Fletcher’s majestic digs to notice that I need help getting out of the car in my tight skirt and four-inch heels. Another valet opens my door and I stumble out without his assistance.
“This place would make ten of ours,” he marvels. “Nobody needs this much house.”
I pull out my lighted compact and check my lipstick. “Believe it or not, this is just one of his three homes.”
“That’s just wasteful.”
I’m hesitant about delivering my next words, but plunge ahead anyway. “Hey, sweetie, Fletcher’s fiancée doesn’t know we dated in college. So let’s not mention it, okay?”
Jefferson waits a beat before responding. “That was years ago. Why would she trip?”
“I don’t know. Fletcher says she’s kinda jealous. So he asked me not to bring it up.”
Jefferson does a slow nod, as if he’s still giving it some thought. “Okay, whatever.”
A striking, fiftyish black woman dressed in a maid’s garb, greets us at the door and leads us down a wide hallway. The minute we step inside, I can feel the heavy bass from the music reverberating through the floor and walls.
“Dude must like having good-looking sistas around,” Jefferson whispers into my ear. “Can’t blame him for that.”
The woman points toward the backyard. “Everyone’s out on the terrace.”
“The terrace,” Jefferson mimics in a la de da voice when she walks away. “Poor folks have a patio, but rich folks have a terrace.”
“If you’re going to make fun of everything, we should leave now.”
“Okay.”
He knows darn well I don’t want to leave. “C’mon, boy.”
Through the windows of the sparsely decorated living room, we see multiple groups of partygoers stationed at various spots around a circular terrace. Beyond the terrace is an Olympic-size pool and a backyard almost as big as a baseball field. I expected the party to be shoulder-to-shoulder people. The crowd, however, is small and intimate. Twenty, maybe thirty people tops.
Jefferson whistles. “Just think, you could’ve been the one living up in this crib instead of your twin sister.”
“Cut it out, Jefferson.”
We’d just stepped outside when Jefferson nudged me with his elbow. “Is that Snoop over there on that lounge chair?”
I turn to take a look. “I think it is.”
“Hmmm. So your boy is all up in the celebrity mix.”
“He runs a record company. I would expect as much. You sound impressed.”
Jefferson shoves both hands deep into his pockets. “Celebrities don’t impress me. They put their pants on one leg at a time just like I do.”
From the way he’s staring at the people crowded around Snoop, my husband is more than impressed.
“So why’d you dump the guy?”
I’ve been wondering when Jefferson was going to get around to asking me about Fletcher. “It just didn’t work out.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It made me uncomfortable when people stared at us whenever we went anywhere. Like we were doing something wrong. One black guy even had the audacity to ask me why I was dating a white boy. Like dating Fletcher was somehow betraying him.”
“So if it hadn’t been for that, you would’ve stayed with him?”
“I doubt it. Our families weren’t exactly thrilled. The one time I met his mother, she was polite, but about as warm as a tray of ice cubes. My dad definitely wasn’t happy about my dating a white guy, and he said as much. But why are we even discussing this? We were barely twenty years old. The odds of us making it were slim to none. I married the man God intended for me to marry. And that would be you.”
I give him a sloppy kiss on the lips.
“You ever regret missing out on all this dough?”
I hate it when my husband shows signs of insecurity. But I provide him the reassurances I know he needs.
“Of course not.” I hurl my arm around his waist. “I have everything I need and then some.”
“Well, I’ll tell you this much. If I had passed up on a babe who could’ve had me living large like this, I’d be mad as hell.”
I playfully sock him in the arm seconds before Mia floats toward us.
She’s dressed in pink leggings and a flowing chiffon caftan. She smells like an ocean breeze. I immediately feel overdressed.
“First, things first, Vernetta. I owe you an apology. I was a little over the top in your office the other day. You’ll have to forgive me. This whole thing with Bliss has me totally stressed out. I’m just glad you’re going to help us get through it.”
She embraces me in a way that almost feels genuine.
Special had done a little digging into Mia’s background, more for our curiosity than anything else. She was raised in Detroit, but by middle school had been plucked from her economically depressed neighborhood by the A Better Chance program and shipped off to a boarding school on the East Coast. She’d attended college at Cornell, but hadn’t landed at a top tier law school or law firm.
Mia releases me and turns to Jefferson, who stares at her like she’s a ghost. For the life of me, I will never understand how anyone could see a resemblance between the two of us.
“And who is this hunk?”
“My husband, Jefferson.”
He extends his hand, but Mia ignores it and gives him a big hug instead.
“I normally wouldn’t say this in front of my wife,” Jefferson says, feigning shyness, “but you are absolutely stunning.”
“Well, thank you.”
Since everybody thinks she looks like me, I guess it’s a good thing that my husband finds her attractive.
Mia half turns and points. “Fletcher’s over there talking to Jamie Foxx, probably trying to negotiate some deal. That man works nonstop.”
Now, I’m impressed. Snoop is one thing, but Jamie Foxx is another.
Just as Mia walks away, Jefferson drops his nonchalant demeanor. “There’s Nicki Minaj,” he says pointing. “You think Fletcher can get me a picture with her? The boys at work would trip hard.”
“I
thought you weren’t impressed by celebrities.”
“That girl’s celebrity status is not what I’m impressed with. Her ass belongs in a museum.”
“You better be glad you have a very secure wife.”
He pecks me on the cheek. “I am.”
We make our way over to Fletcher. He takes a break from his conversation to introduce us to Jamie. I try not to swoon when he shakes my hand. Jefferson’s eyes, meanwhile, are tracking Nicki’s every move.
Fletcher is wearing jeans and a white shirt, with the tail out. Jefferson shoots me an evil eye because he’d wanted to wear jeans, but I insisted on slacks. The actor moves on, leaving us alone with Fletcher.
“I heard a lot of good things about you, bro,” Fletcher says.
Jefferson’s brows briefly furrow. “Same here.”
“I’m really relieved that Vernetta is handling this matter for me.”
Jefferson places his arm around my waist and pulls me close. “My wife is indeed the best attorney money can buy.”
“True dat,” Fletcher says.
I feel Jefferson tense just before he gives me a look that does not require interpretation. Why is this white dude trying to act like a brother?
I wish I knew. Fletcher has never talked this way around me.
“Let me give you guys a tour of the house.”
We follow Fletcher through both levels of his home, which is mind-blowingly fabulous. Huge windows everywhere, brightly colored furniture and unique lighting fixtures fit for a science-fiction movie. I lose count of how many rooms there are, each one worthy of a decorator’s showcase.
Jefferson keeps rolling his eyes, and the second Fletcher is out of earshot, he mumbles, “Your boy is whack. Real ballers don’t have to brag about what they’ve got.”
Someone pulls Fletcher away and we spend the next hour socializing with the other guests, while Jefferson occasionally steals glances at Nicki Minaj’s backside.
“I’m going to find a bathroom,” I tell Jefferson. “When I come back, Nicki Minaj better not be hitting on you.”
“If she wants me, it would be rude to deny her.”
I don’t need to use the restroom. What I want are a couple minutes alone with Fletcher. As luck would have it, we come face-to-face in the hallway. I step in close and lower my voice.
“Have you told Mia about those turkey baster cases yet?”
“Nope. I decided not to.”
“Are you serious? Why not?”
“Because there’s no need to. The paternity test is going to prove that the kid isn’t mine.”
“But just in case you’re wrong, it might be smart to prepare Mia for the possibility that Bliss set you up.”
Fletcher waves me off. “You sound like you’re convinced the test is going to show I’m the father. Do you know something I don’t?”
“I just don’t think Bliss would’ve filed a paternity petition against you if she knew you weren’t the father. She must’ve set you up.”
“I’m not ready to go there yet. Besides—”
When Fletcher stops mid-sentence, I glance over my shoulder.
Jefferson is staring at us, which causes me to reflexively take a backward step, out of Fletcher’s personal space. Jefferson heads past us into the bathroom without uttering a word.
“Hubby didn’t look too happy just now,” Fletcher jokes. “I hope he doesn’t get the wrong idea. Does he know about us?”
I ignore him. “I think you should talk to Mia sooner rather than later.”
“Telling her about those cases would mean I think there’s a possibility that kid is mine. I’m not dealing with the drama that’s going to produce unless I absolutely have to.”
“Okay, you’re on your own.” My words feel ominously heavy as they leave my lips. “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”
CHAPTER 14
“You should’ve told me.”
Special sat across from Darius at a small table outside the Starbucks in the Ladera Center. Her words were delivered without anger, but she couldn’t shake the sadness from her voice.
“If I had, you never would’ve given me a shot.”
She hesitated. “You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do.”
It had only been a couple of days since Darius stunned her at dinner. At the end of the date, Special had asked him to give her some time to take it all in. Earlier that day, she arranged to meet him for coffee.
“I understand why you didn’t tell me in the beginning,” she said, “but you could’ve at least told me before we met so I would’ve been prepared.”
“And then what? You show up for dinner out of guilt, then never return my calls again?”
That was exactly what she would’ve done, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
Special stared across the small table, admiring his sexy lips. “I just never imagined myself dating a handicapped person.”
Darius grimaced and his facial features tightened. “I’m not handicapped. I’m a guy with a spinal cord injury.”
Special pressed a hand to her chest. “Oh, Darius, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
He exhaled and didn’t speak for a few seconds. “No, I’m sorry.” He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I overreacted. I know you didn’t mean any harm. It’s just that I despise that word.”
“So what should I say? Is it okay to refer to you as a paraplegic?”
He exhaled. “How about just referring to me as Darius? I need you to see me, not my wheelchair. I hate the way people have treated me since the accident. Like I should be pitied. Most people are afraid to even look at me, much less touch me. But with the exception of the ability to walk, I’m still the same dude.”
How in the world can I date this man when I don’t even know the right words to say to him?
“I think we have a real connection,” Darius went on. “All I want you to do is give us a chance. If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.”
She took a sip of her coffee and cursed her luck, or lack thereof. There was indeed something special between them. But finding out about Darius’ situation had changed everything. They could never go for a hike or wrestle in bed or have wild, crazy sex. And what would her friends and family say when she introduced them to her new boyfriend? They’d think she’d lost her mind.
“I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about my situation. Just ask. Most people have a lot of misconceptions about people with spinal cord injuries.”
She did indeed have a million questions. “Were you injured in the Marines?”
“Nope. About six years ago I was driving home from work, minding my own business when a long-haul truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and hit me head-on. One second my life was all good. And the next...” His voice trailed off.
Despite all the activity around them, silence engulfed their table.
“I like you a lot,” Special said, almost apologetically. “A whole lot.”
“Same here.”
“I know you must have some more questions,” Darius prodded. “I’ll go ahead and answer them without you having to ask. I get around fine in my wheelchair and as you saw on our first date, I drive, too. My Lexus is equipped with hand controls.”
“Everything you do for yourself, I can do for myself,” Darius continued. “I don’t need or want a caretaker. I got a pretty big settlement from my accident, so I was able to customize my house with furniture and appliances that are easily accessible from my wheelchair. I do all my own cooking, and I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty good at it. I’d love to have you over for dinner sometime.”
This was all too much. She needed life to be simple. Dating a man in a wheelchair was not a burden she wanted to take on. But strangely enough, she was still very much attracted to the muscular man sitting across from
her. What she really wanted to ask about was sex. She wondered if what Eli had said about his pecker still working was true.
“So, um, are you able to have sex?”
Darius chuckled. “Oh, so you wanna have sex with me? That’s certainly a good sign.”
Special couldn’t help but blush. “That’s not what I said.”
“Fortunately for me, that body part still works like a charm.”
“Really?”
“Yep. As a matter of fact, since my injury, it’s not thinking about sex that gets me going. I have what you call reflexogenic erections. Now, I can just rub it and it gets hard. Wanna feel?”
“Boy, you need to behave yourself.”
They both laughed for a good long while.
“But how can you have an erection if the lower half of your body is paralyzed?” she asked.
“There are degrees of spinal cord injuries. A complete spinal cord injury means the spinal cord was completely severed, which was the case with actor Christopher Reeves. I’m an L1 incomplete. My spinal cord is partially connected, which gives me limited function below the waist. And by the way, erections aside,” he says with a wink, “I possess some other bedroom skills that I’m told are pretty top-notch.”
Special giggled softly. “You’re a mess.”
She thought about how it would feel to run her hands along his brawny arms. But a second later, she tensed with uncertainty about moving forward with him.
“You’re not adverse to having a friend who happens to have a spinal cord injury, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay then. Consider this the beginning of a new friendship. It may go someplace or it may fizzle. Let’s at least give it a shot.”
There was no way she could say no to that. He was right. There was nothing wrong with being friends. But it wasn’t going any further than that.
Special forced a smile, raised her empty coffee cup and feebly proposed a toast. “To our new friendship.”
CHAPTER 15
After my brief telephone chat with Bliss Fenton three days ago, I’m not at all optimistic that today’s meeting will lead to a quick resolution of Fletcher’s paternity problem. My job, however, is to represent my client to the best of my ability. When my assistant notifies me that Bliss Fenton has arrived, I decide to personally march out to the reception area to greet her.
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