Betrayal (6 page)

Tamia strode through the glass doors that fronted the administrative offices of Pinnacle Sports Group, a sports management agency co-owned by Brandon, his brother, Beau, and Dre. Her stiletto boot heels sank into plush carpeting as she crossed to the large reception desk, which was manned by a dark-skinned beauty with a glossy weave down to her ass—eye candy for the athletes who were represented by the agency.

A look of surprised recognition crossed the receptionist's face when she saw Tamia. “Hello,” she greeted her. “Can I help you?”

“I'm here to see Dre. The clerk down at the wellness center told me I could find him up here.”

“Yes, he's in his office. Is he expecting you?”

“No, but I need to speak to him.”

“You don't have an appointment?”

“No.”

“Um . . . okay.” The girl reluctantly reached for the phone. “Let me see if he's avail—”

Tamia lost her patience. “You know what?”

As she marched past the desk, the receptionist sputtered indignantly, “If you'd just wait—”

Ignoring the girl's protests, Tamia left the reception area and started toward the back. As she strode down the hall, she heard the familiar sound of Dre's laughter coming from an open doorway.

Reaching the office, she saw him seated behind the desk with his booted feet propped up as he chatted on his phone.

“Didn't I tell you that Foster's a stud?” he declared, gloating about the Houston Texans' star running back, who'd led his team to an impressive victory yesterday. Dre, who had a PhD in sports medicine, was the athletic trainer for the Texans.

“Don't sleep on us. We could go all the—” Dre broke off abruptly, his eyes widening at the sight of Tamia standing in the doorway.

When she arched a brow at him, he swung his legs down from the desk and mumbled into the phone, “Let me holla at you later, my brotha.”

As he ended the call, the receptionist blurted out, “I'm so sorry, Dre. I tried to stop her—”

“And you failed.” Tamia closed the door on the flustered girl and looked at Dre. “We need to talk.”

He frowned. “I'm kind of busy right now—”

“Didn't look that way to me.” Tamia strode to the visitor chair across from his desk and sat down. As she crossed her legs, she didn't miss the way his eyes lowered to her thick, denim-covered thighs. Remembering that he used to jerk off to her porn videos, she suppressed a shudder.

As he leaned back in his chair, his gray pullover stretched taut across his muscular chest. With his dark skin, heavy-lidded eyes, and smooth bald head, Tamia grudgingly acknowledged that he was good-looking, though nowhere near as fine as Brandon.

“So,” Dre ventured cautiously, “what do we need to talk about?”

“You and my sister.”

His face tightened, eyes flickering with guilt. “What about us?”

“You need to get in touch with her,” Tamia told him.

He frowned. “Look, I don't know what she told you, but I'm not interested in—”

“She's pregnant, Dre.”

He froze, staring at her in shock. “Wh-what?”

Tamia met his gaze directly. “She's pregnant. And the baby's yours.”

If Dre weren't so dark, Tamia would have sworn she saw the blood drain from his face.

He shook his head in stunned denial. “That's . . . that's impossible.”

“Why? Have you had a vasectomy? Are you shooting blanks?”

He swallowed visibly. “No.”

Tamia smirked. “Then it's not impossible, is it?”

Dre held her gaze another moment, then sat forward and passed a trembling hand over his head. He looked so devastated that Tamia couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

Until he opened his mouth again.

“How do you know the baby's mine? Fiona was always flirting with her clients at the barber shop, so I know I'm not the only dude she was messing around with.”

Tamia regarded him for a long moment, then slowly uncrossed her legs and rose from the chair. Planting her hands on top of the desk, she leaned toward Dre and sneered, “Aren't you the same self-righteous motherfucker who once told me that actions have consequences? Well, guess what? Screwing my sister was an action that has a consequence. That's
your
child she's carrying, so be a man and handle your fucking business.”

Dre gulped hard, staring up at Tamia. “She can't have that baby.”

“That's up to her. But you need to talk to her, Dre. I'm serious. If I find out that you haven't contacted her by the end of the week, I'm coming after your black ass, and I won't be so polite next time.”

With that, Tamia spun on her heel and marched out the door.

She was halfway down the hall when a deep voice called out, “Tamia?”

She stopped and turned, smiling when she saw Brandon's brother standing outside his office. “Hey,” she said weakly.

“Wassup, girl.” Beau sauntered toward her, wide shoulders swaying beneath his pressed white shirt, long legs covered in Armani. He looked so much like Brandon that Tamia's breath caught in her throat.

Beau smiled warmly as he reached her, diamond stud twinkling in his ear. “What're you doing here?”

“I needed to see Dre about something,” Tamia answered vaguely.

“So you were just gonna leave without saying hello?”

“I didn't want to disturb you. I know you're busy with clients and . . .” Tamia trailed off lamely. She couldn't tell him the truth, that seeing him was a painful reminder of everything she'd had—and lost—with Brandon.

She was relieved when Beau tactfully changed the subject. “Hey, listen, I wanted to ask you something. Last month when you came to the wellness center, there was a woman with you. Or at least that's what Dre told me when I described her to him. He said she came with you.”

Tamia smiled. “You must be talking about Honey.”

“Is that her name?” Beau grinned. “Yeah, she looked like a Honey. Sweet as hell. So she's a friend of yours?”

Tamia nodded. “Yeah.”

“I wanna meet her. Think you can arrange that?”

Before Tamia could respond, the receptionist called down the hallway, “Beau, I've been trying to reach you. Champ Suggs is on the phone. He said it's important.”

“Tell him I'll be with him in two minutes.”

As the receptionist bustled away to relay the message, Tamia raised a brow at Beau. “Champ Suggs? Pro Bowl wide receiver for the Giants?”

“Yeah. He's thinking about firing his agent and jumping on board with me.”

“Wow. Look at you, Beau. You're about to sign the next number-one draft pick, and now you might land Champ Suggs as well? Go on with your bad self.”

“Thanks, Tamia,” Beau said with a pleased chuckle. “It's been a good year.”

“And it's only been your first.” Tamia grinned. “You'd better not keep Champ waiting.”

“I know. Listen, before I let you go, we're having a scholarship fundraiser gala next Friday. Why don't you and Honey come?”

Tamia's grin faded.

“I'm not sure that's a good idea,” she said quietly. “Your brother will be there, and I don't want anyone to think—”

“You'd be coming as my guest, not his.”

“I know, but . . .” Tamia shook her head. “Honestly, Beau, I don't think I'm ready to see him again.”

Beau's expression softened with sympathy. “I understand. I'm not trying to make you feel uncomfortable.”

She sighed. “I know.”

“Tell you what. I'll mail you two tickets in case you change your mind about coming. Which I hope you will, because I'd love to see you there.” He winked. “Honey, too.”

Tamia chuckled dryly. “I'll think about it and let you know.”

As she turned and started away, Beau said softly, “Tamia.”

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting his gentle gaze.

“He doesn't love her.”

Tamia's throat tightened.

“Maybe not,” she murmured, “but he chose her. So I have to accept that and move on.”

Beau's eyes searched her face. “Can you?”

She smiled sadly. “I don't have a choice, do I?”

Tamia had just stepped through her front door when her smartphone rang. She dug it out of her handbag and checked the display screen, frowning at the unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” she answered warily.

“Tamia, this is Cynthia.”

Tamia stiffened. “How did you get my number?”

“From Brandon's cell phone. Are you free right now? I wanted to discuss something with you.”

Tamia frowned. “I don't think—”

“It won't take long. Are you at home?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Great. I'm on my way.” Cynthia hung up before Tamia could protest.

Fifteen minutes later she stood on Tamia's doorstep, looking sleek and stylish in a belted Jacquard dress with black tights and suede ankle boots. Tamia's eyes were unerringly drawn to the four-carat diamond twinkling on her left hand. The sight of the ring—and what it represented—drove a dagger through her heart.

Catching Tamia's wistful gaze, Cynthia flashed a cool, triumphant smile.

“Mind if I come in?”

Tamia minded very much, but since the heffa was already here, she might as well hear what she had to say.

She led Cynthia into the living room, where they sat on opposite ends of the pristine white sofa. Tamia watched as Cynthia looked around the lavishly furnished apartment, her gaze encompassing gleaming hardwood floors, expensive artwork, and picture windows that boasted spectacular views of downtown.

“Nice place,” Cynthia remarked, her voice laced with grudging admiration. “What an upgrade for you. From prison to One Park Place.”

Tamia sighed. “Yes, well, I was blessed with a generous benefactor.”

Cynthia's eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Benefactor?”

“Umm-hmm.” Tamia smiled slowly.

Cynthia swept another glance around, her mouth tightening with anger at the realization that Brandon had provided the fancy digs for Tamia.

“So is that what you want to be, Tamia?” she jeered contemptuously. “The kept mistress?”

Tamia smirked. “Beats being the rebound chick.”

Cynthia flinched, her face flushing with humiliation. But she recovered quickly. “I'd rather be the rebound chick than the whore who wasn't good enough to marry.”

Tamia snorted. “Bitch, please. The only reason Brandon is marrying you is because you claim to be pregnant.”

“
Claim?
I'm not ‘claiming' anything—I
am
pregnant!”

“So
you
say.”

Cynthia laughed caustically. “You know what, Tamia? You're just jealous because you and Brandon were together for nine months and he didn't get
you
pregnant.” She smirked. “And here I thought ghetto bitches like you perfected the art of the baby trap.”

Tamia narrowed her eyes. “
I
was on the pill. Were
you
?”

“I was.” Cynthia smiled smugly. “But obviously God intended for
me
to have Brandon's baby.”

Tamia clenched her jaw. It was all she could do not to reach over and slap the shit out of the heffa.

Striving for composure, she said in a low, measured voice, “Why are you here, Cynthia? What do you want?”

“I want you to stay the fuck away from my fiancé,” Cynthia spat. “Don't call him. Don't text him. Don't invent phony excuses to see him. Just stay the hell away from him.”

Tamia remained outwardly calm, though inwardly she was falling apart.

“As long as Brandon keeps his distance,” she said quietly, “I'll do the same.”

“Good. Because I really don't need the stress and aggravation of fighting with you when I have so many other things on my plate—planning the wedding, preparing for the baby, going house hunting with Brandon.”

Tamia congratulated herself for not breaking down right then and there.

Cynthia sighed. “Well, I'd better run,” she announced, rising from the sofa. “Brandon's mother and I are getting facials and massages at her favorite day spa.”

Tamia swallowed tightly. “How nice.”

“Isn't it?” Cynthia let out another sigh, heading toward the front door. “Mrs. Chambers has been so good to me. So loving and supportive. We've really bonded over—”

She was interrupted by a sudden burst of music from Tamia's smartphone.

Usher crooned,
“There's always that one person that will always have your heart . . .”

Cynthia froze in her tracks.

Slowly she turned to stare at Tamia, then at the lit-up phone on the foyer table.

She knew as well as Tamia did what the ringtone meant.

Brandon was calling.

Tamia walked over and calmly picked up the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Brandon murmured, his deep voice flooding her ear. “How are you?”

She met Cynthia's lethal glare. “I've been better.”

“Me, too.” Brandon paused for a long moment. “I got the information you asked for.”

“Really? That was fast. What'd you find out?”

“Lester McCray lives nowhere near downtown.”

Tamia frowned. “He doesn't?”

“No. Did he tell you that?”

Tamia was silent, chilled by the knowledge that Lester McCray had lied to her.
Why?

“What's going on, Tamia?” Brandon growled.

“Nothing. Listen, thank you for getting the information.”

“Tamia—”

“I can't talk right now, Brandon. I'm walking Cynthia to the door.”

Silence.

“She's over there?” Brandon's voice was chillingly soft.

“Yes, she is.” Tamia looked at Cynthia, who suddenly appeared nervous. “I'll give her your warm regards.”

Brandon swore viciously and hung up.

Setting the phone down, Tamia smirked at Cynthia. “I think you got some 'splaining to do.”

Cynthia's eyes hardened with fury. “You are such a bitch.”

“Takes one to know one,” Tamia drawled.

Cynthia glared at her another moment, then spun on her heel and marched toward the door.

Tamia followed her, pulling up short when Cynthia suddenly whirled around and sneered, “By the way, you know another word for rebound chick?” She held up her left hand with the diamond ring. “
Wife
.”

With that, she turned and flounced out of the apartment.

Tamia slammed the door and leaned against it, squeezing her eyes shut.

Though she'd gotten some satisfaction from the timing of Brandon's call, Cynthia's parting shot had brought her crashing back to earth, forcing her to face the hard, cold reality that Brandon and Cynthia were getting married. Having a baby. Buying a house together. Becoming one.

And where did that leave Tamia?

Alone and heartbroken, with nothing but shattered dreams and bottomless regret to keep her warm every night.

Swiping hot tears from her eyes, Tamia lifted her head from the door and looked at her handbag on the foyer table.

Before she could stop herself, she marched over and dug through her purse until she located Dominic's business card. Snatching up her phone, she dialed his number with trembling fingers.

He answered on the third ring. “Hello?”

“Dominic, this is Tamia.”

“Tamia,” he drawled, sounding pleased. “I've been hoping to hear from you. Have you made a decision about my offer?”

“Yes.” She resolutely set her jaw. “I accept.”