Betrayal (13 page)

 

“Hello? Earth to Tamia.”

Snapped out of her reverie, Tamia gave Honey a blank look. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

Honey laughed. “I was asking if you plan to try on that dress or stare at it all night.”

Tamia glanced down at the red satin sheath in her hand. “I don't want it,” she murmured, returning the dress to the rack.

Honey eyed her curiously. She was a voluptuous young beauty with a golden complexion and a glamorous weave that flowed down her back. She'd been a rising star in the underground porn industry when Lou was forced to sell his film studio, and now she was one of his most popular escorts, commanding a thousand-dollar hourly rate.

“Are you okay?” she asked Tamia.

Tamia forced a smile. “I'm fine. Why?”

Honey frowned. “You had a faraway look in your eyes when you were staring at that dress.”

Tamia shrugged. “I was just thinking about something.”

“Or someone,” Honey said knowingly.

Tamia pretended not to hear her as she circled another rack of clothes, her fingers wandering over designer frocks without making another selection.

To celebrate landing her first client, she'd invited Honey to meet her at the Galleria for an afternoon of shopping. Their arms were laden with bags by the time they'd headed into Neiman Marcus, vowing that this would be their last stop before they went to dinner.

Honey followed Tamia. “I know you were thinking about Brandon. He's been on your mind all day.”

“How do
you
know?” Tamia mumbled.

“Girl, please. You don't think I saw the way you were admiring those badass loafers in the Louis Vuitton store? And please don't tell me you were thinking about buying a pair of men's shoes for yourself.”

Tamia said nothing.

“I didn't think so.” Honey popped her gum. “I still don't understand why you didn't go to the courthouse that day to stop Brandon and Cynthia's wedding. That's what
I
woulda done, 'cause there's no way I'd have let that fine-ass brotha marry another woman.”

“He hasn't married her yet,” Tamia sourly reminded Honey. “And do I look like Dwayne Wayne to you?”

Honey frowned. “Dwyane Wade?”

“No, Dwayne
Wayne
from
A Different World
. He crashed Whitley's wedding to stop her from marrying—Oh, never mind,” Tamia broke off in exasperation. “I keep forgetting how young you are. Or how young I
suspect
you are, since you won't tell me your age.”

Honey grinned unabashedly. “Don't change the subject. We were talking about you and Brandon.”

Tamia sighed. “There
is
no me and Brandon.”

“Which is a damn shame. Everyone knows you two belong together.”

“Not everyone. Brandon apparently didn't get the memo.”

“Oh, trust, he got it,” Honey affirmed. “That brotha loves you, which he more than proved during your trial. Seriously, Tamia. I don't know any other man who would have risked public humiliation by defending the woman who'd cheated on him. Sorry,” she added when Tamia winced. “Not trying to hurt you, boo. Just keeping it real. Brandon put his reputation and his pride on the line when he decided to represent you. He knew haters would call him a pussy-whipped fool, but he didn't care. All that mattered to him was keeping you out of prison. Unfortunately for you, he's a standup guy who wants to be
everybody's
hero. If Cynthia wasn't pregnant and if his father wasn't running for governor, you know he'd be with you. You're the love of his life, Tamia, and nothing's gonna change that.”

Tamia swallowed tightly as Honey's words brought tears to her eyes.

“I hate seeing you like this, Tamia,” Honey said gently. “You're my girl, and I want you to be happy.”

Tamia dabbed at her eyes. “You know what would make me happy? If we could stop talking about Brandon. I'm really trying to move on, but it's hard to do that when everyone keeps rehashing what went wrong between us.”

Honey grimaced. “I'm sorry. I should have realized I was only making things worse.”

“Not worse. Just . . . not better.” Tamia sifted disinterestedly through a row of pleated skirts, then sighed. “By the way, I've been meaning to tell you that Beau Chambers asked about you.”

Honey perked up. “Brandon's brother?”

Tamia nodded. “He asked me who you were when I ran into him the other day. He remembered seeing you with me that night at the wellness center when Bishop Yarbrough showed up.”

“Oh, yeah,” Honey murmured.

“He wants to meet you, so he invited us to a fundraiser banquet they're having.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Tamia hesitated. “I don't wanna go. Brandon will be there, and I don't know if I can handle seeing him again. But if you really want to meet his brother . . . I'm willing to go with you.”

Honey's expression softened. “You'd do that for me?”

Tamia nodded.

“When's the banquet?”

“Next Friday. Two days before Christmas.”

Honey frowned. “Damn.”

“What's wrong? You can't go?”

“Nah, girl. Keyshawn's off that day.”

Tamia scowled at the mention of Honey's boyfriend. “Can't you just tell him you're going out with a client that evening?”

Honey sighed. “I could, but I already promised to spend the day with him. He'll get upset if I change the plans.”

“And God knows you don't wanna upset
his
crazy ass,” Tamia muttered darkly.

“No, I don't. I'm really trying to keep the peace so he won't tell anyone about me and Bishop Yarbrough.”

“I know, but how long are you gonna let him hold that secret over your head?”

Honey didn't respond. Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she glared at something or someone behind Tamia.

Following the direction of her hostile stare, Tamia saw a Hispanic woman standing nearby. She was folding cashmere sweaters on a display table while surreptitiously watching Honey and Tamia.

“Can I help you?” Honey spat loudly.

The store employee looked startled. “Excuse me?”

Honey smacked her lips. “Is there some particular reason you've been following us around for the past twenty minutes?”

The woman's face reddened. “I-I w-wasn't follow—”

“Let me tell you something,” Honey cut her off, rolling her neck. “Ain't nobody trying to steal nothing up in here. We make
more
than enough money to buy anything we want in this damn store. What about you? Even with an employee discount, you probably can't afford
shit
with your minimum-wage check.”

The affronted woman gasped.

“I don't appreciate being followed around like some fucking criminal,” Honey continued, “so I suggest you fall the hell back before I call your manager over here.”

Sputtering with indignation, the woman dropped the sweater she'd been folding and beat a hasty retreat.

Tamia snickered, shaking her head at Honey. “You are a mess.”

Honey sucked her teeth. “That bitch was working my damn nerves. And she wasn't even slick with her shit.”

Tamia chuckled, wondering how someone so feisty and confrontational could allow herself to be any man's punching bag.

Tossing her long hair back, Honey cast a bored look around the department store. “I don't know about you, girl, but nothing's really catching my eye.”

“Mine either,” Tamia admitted.

“Good.” Honey grabbed her arm. “Let's get the fuck outta here and get something to eat.”

Later that evening, Brandon was reviewing court documents for one of his new cases when someone knocked on his door.

He glanced up, not at all surprised to see Addison standing in the doorway of his office. “Wassup?”

“That's what
I
should be asking you,” she drawled. “Got a minute?”

“Sure,” Brandon said, setting aside his paperwork. “I need a break anyway.”

Addison smiled, sauntering into the large room. She was an attractive brunette with bright green eyes and long wavy hair. She was in her early thirties, like Brandon, and taller than average at five-nine. She'd removed her suit jacket at some point during the day, revealing a sleeveless cream blouse that showcased her busty cleavage.

Brandon watched as she strolled to the leather sofa near his desk and sat down. As she smoothly crossed her legs, her skirt rode up her toned thighs.

When Brandon lifted his eyes to hers, she gave him a sultry smile.

He leaned back slowly in his chair. “What's on your mind?”

A suggestive gleam filled her eyes. “Do you really wanna know?”

“Only if it pertains to work.”

Her smile deepened. “What else would it pertain to?”

Brandon just looked at her.

She chuckled. “I just met with Mitch,” she explained, referring to the managing partner of the firm's litigation department. “He told me that I'll be reporting to a new supervisor. Imagine my surprise when he said it was you.”

Brandon nodded. He, too, had been surprised by Mitch's decision. It was customary for new partners to become supervisors of less experienced attorneys. But Addison was a senior associate, one of many Brandon had beat out to make partner that summer.

“No offense, Brandon, but I honestly don't know what to make of this move,” Addison admitted. “I'm either on my way out the door—or I'm being groomed to be named partner next summer.”

Brandon's mouth twitched. “You're not on your way out the door.”

Her eyes lit up. “Then I'm being groomed for partnership?”

“Of course you are. But so is everyone else on the partnership track. You know that.”

“I know.” She sighed. “I was just hoping you could give me some insight. You know, now that you're a made man and all.”

Brandon chuckled. “As Mitch probably explained to you, our department is undergoing some restructuring, which involves shifting workloads. You're not the only one who was reassigned to me.”

“Oh, believe me, Brandon, I'm not complaining. You're a brilliant attorney and a rock star at this firm. I know I can learn a lot from you—and I'm not just saying that to suck up.”

“Thought never crossed my mind,” Brandon said drolly.

Addison laughed, shaking her head at him. “This is definitely gonna take some getting used to.”

“What?”

“Our new roles. Five months ago we were peers—hell, rivals—vying for the same promotion. Fast-forward to now, and you're my boss.” She smiled, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. “I'll have to get used to being under you.”

There was no mistaking the sexual innuendo lacing her words.

Brandon sat up, reaching for his paperwork. “Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

“Actually, there is.” Addison's eyes were twinkling. “Do you think I'm attractive?”

“What?”

She smiled, amused by his startled tone. “Do you think I'm attractive?”

Brandon frowned. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Because I want to know the answer. Obviously.”

“Why does it matter what I think?” Brandon countered.

She shrugged. “I'm a woman. You're a man—a gorgeous one, I might add. It's only natural that I'd care whether or not you find me attractive. So do you?”

Brandon sighed with exaggerated patience. “Yes, Addison, I think you're attractive.”

“But not attractive enough to date.”

He gave her a bemused look. “Where are you going with this? We're colleagues—”

“So are you and Cynthia, but that didn't stop you two from sleeping together. And now you're engaged.”

Brandon frowned. “I'm not going to discuss my relationship—”

Addison laughed. “I'm not asking you to. I was just making the point that your lack of interest in me has nothing to do with us working together. There's another reason.” She pinned him with a direct look. “You don't date white women, and I'd like to know why.”

Brandon groaned. “Can we not get into this right now?”

“You don't have to worry about offending me,” Addison hastened to assure him. “I'm not the sensitive type, so I can handle whatever you tell me. I just want to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I'm curious. So are a bunch of other women at this firm.” Addison smiled. “Humor me. Please.”

Brandon heaved a resigned breath, shaking his head at her. “It's nothing personal. I'm just not attracted to . . . certain women.”

“You mean white women,” Addison translated.

He nodded.

“And why is that?”

Brandon gave her an amused look. “Is there a law stating I have to be?”

“Of course not. It's just unusual, given your background. You grew up in River Oaks and attended predominantly white private schools. You're the kind of black guy who's
supposed
to end up with a white wife.”

He cocked a brow. “Supposed to?”

“Under the circumstances.” Addison grinned. “So how did you defy the odds?”

“I don't know, Addison,” Brandon drawled sardonically. “I didn't realize I was ‘defying' anything just by being me.”

Addison slipped off her heels, making herself more comfortable on the sofa. “Have you ever dated outside your race?”

“Once. Back in high school.”

Addison eyed him knowingly. “It must have been a bad experience.”

“Not really. She was cool. We just didn't have that much in common.”

“So that's it? You gave up on swirling after
one
try?”

Brandon chuckled, stroking his goatee. “I didn't give up. I just realized I preferred women of my own race.”

He had fond memories of the girls he'd met from Dre's high school. They'd gone on double dates to the movies, carnivals, picnics, rap concerts, you name it. Brandon had the money and the ride—a sweet black Jetta his parents had bought him for his sixteenth birthday. His tenderoni always rode shotgun while Dre kept her friend company in the backseat. The four of them would hang out at Dre's crib, watching music videos and making out on the sofa while his mother pulled double shifts at work, oblivious to all the cherry popping that was happening under her roof.

“Looks like
someone's
enjoying a stroll down memory lane,” Addison observed, interrupting Brandon's reverie.

He grinned crookedly.

“Let me ask you one more question.”

Brandon sighed. “One more. Then we both need to get back to work, a'ight?”

“Yes, sir.” Addison gave a mock salute, making him chuckle.

“Ask your question.”

“What do you love so much about black women?”

Brandon stared at her. “
Are you serious?
”

Addison blinked. “What?”

“Yo, what the hell kinda question is that?”

“What do you mean? I wasn't trying to be offensive.”

“No?” Brandon challenged. “Would you ever ask a white guy what
he
loves about white women?”

“Um . . . probably not.”

“Because you'd assume the answer should be obvious.”

“No,” Addison countered defensively. “I wouldn't ask because I really don't care. I've always been more interested in black guys than white guys. That's why I started this whole conversation with you. Hearing your perspective has been enlightening. Depressing, but enlightening.”

Brandon regarded her through narrowed eyes.

After several moments, she smiled meekly. “If you'd rather not answer my question—”

“Nah, I'll answer it.” The sooner he did, the sooner he could send her on her way. “What do I love so much about black women? Hmm, where do I begin? I love the beautiful shades of their skin. I love their curves and thick asses, but even when they're on the slim side, they know how to walk into a room and own it. I love their strength and courage. I love their layers of complexity—what you see ain't always what you get. I love their intelligence, whether they're dropping knowledge from the classroom or the streets. I
love
it when they carry themselves with the pride and dignity of Michelle Obama, but they know how to get down and dirty when the time's right. I love that we can chill together and watch
Good Times
, and I don't have to explain the jokes 'cause the sister's already laughing right along with me. I love knowing that whatever differences we may have, at the end of the day, no one understands me better than a woman whose ancestors slaved under the same sun as my own.”

By the time Brandon had finished speaking, Addison's mouth was agape.

A long silence passed.

“Wow,” she marveled, staring at him. “That's . . . quite a tribute.”

Brandon smiled sheepishly. “What can I say? The sisters got me sprung.”

“No kidding.” Addison swallowed visibly and pursed her lips, looking discomfited as she glanced around the room.

Brandon was vaguely amused. “You all right?”

“I think so.” She met his gaze, then sighed ruefully and smiled. “I haven't been this jealous since the night I overheard you and Tamia having sex in this office.”

Brandon went still. “What're you talking about?”

Addison chuckled, running her hand along the leather sofa. “You don't have to play dumb, Brandon. I was here that night burning the midnight oil. I came over to ask your advice about one of my cases, but your door was closed. Before I could knock, I heard the unmistakable sounds of fucking in progress.” She grinned wickedly. “The way Tamia was moaning and groaning and begging for more . . . well, let's just say my vibrator got one helluva workout that night.”

Brandon frowned at her.

“Hey, baby, I'm back from my—” Cynthia strode through the door, pulling up short when she saw that Brandon wasn't alone. As her eyes raked over Addison lounging on the sofa, her face tightened with angry displeasure.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Addison purred, “Actually—”

“Not at all,” Brandon smoothly interjected. “Addison was just leaving. Isn't that right?”

She met his stern gaze, then sighed dramatically. “If you insist.”

“He insists,” Cynthia spat.

Addison smirked at her, then swung her legs down from the sofa and bent over to retrieve her shoes, deliberately showing off her ample cleavage. She took her sweet time sliding on her pumps, provocatively sheathing one foot then the other.

As Cynthia glared at her, Brandon had a flashback to the night he'd invited Tamia to his office for a booty call. She'd arrived to find him and Cynthia huddled over his desk, laughing at something he couldn't even remember now. It had been perfectly innocent, but Tamia hadn't seen it that way. After she and Brandon got into a heated argument, she'd stormed out on him and run straight into the arms of Dominic.

Brandon frowned at the memory, watching as Addison rose from the sofa, smoothed down her skirt, and tossed her hair over one shoulder.

“I enjoyed chatting with you, Brandon,” she drawled, sauntering from the office. Pausing at the door, she smiled and winked at him. “Looking forward to our weekly one-on-ones.”

Cynthia slammed the door behind Addison, then rounded accusingly on Brandon. “What the hell is she talking about? What weekly one-on-ones?”

Brandon calmly began gathering his paperwork. “I'm her supervisor now.”

“
WHAT?
Since when?”

“Since today.”

“You can't be serious!” Cynthia burst out, marching toward his desk. “Addison has no damn business reporting to you!”

“Mitch made the call, not me.”

“I don't care! You need to have her reassigned to someone else!”

Brandon frowned. She knew he didn't like being told what to do. “Listen—”

“No,
you
listen,” Cynthia hissed, planting her hands on the desk and leaning toward him. “That hussy has been after you for years! You know it, I know it—hell, everyone at this damn firm knows it! Do you really think it's wise for you to become her supervisor? Do you honestly think she won't try to seduce you the first chance she gets?”

Brandon sighed. “Come on, baby. You know I ain't checking for Addison.”

“Well,
she's
checking for you!”

“That's her problem, not mine.”

“
Wake the fuck up, Brandon!
” Cynthia exploded. “Can't you see what's going on here? Addison's probably the one who requested the reassignment so she'd have an excuse to work more closely with you. The second you reject her advances, she's gonna turn around and accuse
you
of sexual harassment! Is that what you want?”

Brandon scowled. “Of course not.”

“Then tell Mitch to reassign that bitch to someone else!”

Brandon stood. “I'm not doing that.”