Betrayal (7 page)

Brandon paced in front of his office windows with his phone pressed to his ear, temper escalating with each ring that went unanswered.

Finally Cynthia picked up. “Brandon—”

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

She paused. “What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean,” he snarled. “What were you doing at Tamia's apartment?”

“Oh, you mean the apartment you rented and furnished for her behind my back?” Cynthia jeered. “The apartment you're planning to use as your love nest?”

Brandon clenched his jaw so hard the tendons in his neck bulged. “What were you doing there?”

“What do you think?” Cynthia hissed. “I went there to have a woman-to-woman talk with Tamia.”

“Stay away from her.”

“I have every right—”

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM HER!” Brandon roared.

Cynthia fell silent.

Chest heaving, nostrils flaring, Brandon growled menacingly, “You wanna talk? Talk to me. You wanna fight? Fight me. You go anywhere near her again and we're gonna have a serious fucking problem. Do you understand me?”

Cynthia hesitated. “Yes.”

“You'd better.”

“What about you?” she challenged petulantly.

“What
about
me?”

“Are
you
going to stay away from her? Because it sure as hell doesn't look that way to me. I went through your cell phone, Brandon. While you couldn't be bothered to call
me
while I was over at my parents' house bawling my eyes out, you called
her
twice on Saturday and once yesterday. And I wasn't even at her place five minutes today and you were calling her again!”

Brandon stopped pacing.

“First of all,” he said, keeping his voice level, “it's not like I was calling to hook up with her. I needed to give her some information. Second, if you can't refrain from snooping through my personal things, then maybe you need to stay at your house until the wedding.”

“Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?” Cynthia jeered. “You want me out of the way so you can bring home that filthy whore whenever you want. But guess what? I'm not going anywhere, so if you're planning to sneak around with her, it sure as hell won't be happening in the bed
we
share every night!”

Brandon closed his eyes, rubbing his throbbing temple. “I'm not planning to sneak around with Tamia. She deserves better than that.” He paused. “So do you.”

“So do I,” Cynthia repeated bitterly. “I'm always an afterthought with you.”

Brandon exhaled harshly. “What do you want from me, Cynthia? I ended my relationship with Tamia. I agreed to marry you—”

“Don't do me any fucking favors!”

He tightened his jaw, glaring out the windows. “When are you coming in?”

“I'm not.”

Brandon frowned. “I think you should.”

“I already took this week off for our honeymoon. Just because
you
flaked out—”

He cut her off. “You're up for partnership, Cynthia. Our colleagues already think you've been slacking for the past several months. Don't give them any more reason to believe you don't deserve to make partner.”

Cynthia was silent, mulling over his words.

He hoped he'd gotten through to her.

But then she said defiantly, “I have plans with your mother. She doesn't have any court cases today, so she invited me to spend the afternoon with her. Frankly, after the weekend I've had, I need all the moral support I can get.”

Brandon shook his head. “You're making a mistake.”

“I'll be there tomorrow,” Cynthia said curtly. “And I find it interesting that you couldn't be bothered to attend church yesterday, but you had no problem getting up for work this morning.”

Brandon scowled. “Are you finished?”

“What? Why are you—”

“I have to go.” He disconnected and tossed the phone onto his desk, then scrubbed his hands over his face and fired off a string of harsh expletives.

His chest burned at the thought of Cynthia showing up at Tamia's apartment and flashing her engagement ring in Tamia's face, maliciously taunting her. He knew Tamia was tough and could take care of herself. But right now she was vulnerable and hurting, and the last thing she needed was Cynthia rubbing salt into her wounds.

“
Fuck!
” Brandon swore, banging his fist against the windows.

He was tempted to call Tamia back to apologize for Cynthia's visit, but he knew that would only make matters worse. The best thing for him to do was leave her alone, just as she'd asked him to.

The sooner he let her go, the sooner they could both get on with their lives.

Or some semblance of a life . . .

 

Brandon struggled to concentrate on work for the rest of the day. At five o'clock he gave up, grabbed his briefcase, and rolled out.

As he strode across the underground parking garage, he dreaded the thought of going home and dealing with Cynthia. So he pulled out his smartphone and called Dre to see if he wanted to meet for drinks.

The moment he heard his best friend's voice, he knew something was wrong.

“Wassup,” Brandon said, climbing into his Maybach and closing the door. “Everything all right?”

“Man.” Dre pushed out a deep, weary breath. “It's been a long day.”

“You sound like you need a drink. I just left the office. You up for Stogie's?”

“Can't tonight. I promised Ma we'd have dinner together. Now that I'm crashing at her place, she's been nagging me to spend more time with her. She says that I've been treating her house more like a hotel than a home.”

Brandon chuckled, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “You know how moms are with the guilt trips.”

“Tell me about it. You know I'd get my own apartment, but I'm hoping Leah will come around soon and let me move back home. Hey, why don't you come over for dinner?” Dre suggested. “You know Ma's always happy to see you, and I need to get your advice about something.”

“Yeah? What?”

Long pause. “I'd rather talk to you in person.”

Brandon raised a brow. “Damn. Sounds serious.”

Dre sighed heavily. “It is.”

Brandon was intrigued, and he couldn't deny that a home-cooked meal in a peaceful environment held far more appeal than spending a contentious evening with Cynthia.

“I'll be there,” he told Dre.

“Great. I have to wrap up a few things at the office first, but I'll call Ma and let her know to expect you.”

Brandon nodded. “Cool.”

Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to a two-story redbrick house situated on a perfectly landscaped lawn. The house, along with the white Lexus parked in the driveway, had been gifts from Dre to his mother, who'd raised him on her own after Dre's father skipped out on them, along with his other baby mama. Renay Portis had worked tirelessly to support herself and Dre, even scraping together the funds to send him to a prestigious NASA youth program, where he and Brandon had met at age eleven. Because she'd made so many sacrifices for him, there was nothing Dre wouldn't do for her.

Seconds after Brandon rang the doorbell, Renay Portis opened the front door and beamed at him.

“Brandon,” she exclaimed warmly.

“Hey, Ms. Portis.” Brandon smiled, leaning down to kiss her smooth cheek and give her a hug. “How you doing?”

“I'm good, baby,” she said, ushering him inside the house and closing the door. “It's so wonderful to see you. It's been a minute, hasn't it?”

Dre's mother was an attractive woman with light skin and dyed blond hair cut into short, stylish layers. She was medium height and had a thick, curvaceous figure. She was only eighteen when she'd had Dre, so she was often mistaken for his older sister rather than his mother.

“I'm so glad you could join me and Dre for dinner tonight,” she told Brandon, affectionately patting his cheek. “It'll be like old times again.”

Brandon grinned, awash with memories of childhood sleepovers—him and Dre gorging themselves on pizza and Doritos, trash talking over video games, watching kung fu movies and WWF wrestling, poring over dirty magazines after Dre's mother went to bed. Because Dre had lived in the projects, Brandon's parents had usually insisted on Dre spending the night at the Chamberses' mansion in River Oaks, which was light-years away from the poverty, crime, and violence that had plagued Dre's neighborhood. But Brandon had always preferred sleeping over at Dre's apartment because his mother had let them stay up all night and eat whatever they wanted.

Brandon smiled fondly at her. “Whatever you're making smells great, Ms. Portis.”

She beamed with pleasure. “Thank you, baby. It's a new recipe. Why don't you make yourself comfortable while I bring you something to drink. Beer okay?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Brandon drawled, loosening his tie as he sauntered into the stylishly furnished living room and sat down on the red sofa. The large flat-panel television was tuned to the
Real Housewives of Atlanta
, where a nasty catfight was brewing between two cast members whose names Brandon couldn't have guessed to save his life.

“Feel free to turn the channel, Brandon,” Dre's mother called from the kitchen.

Brandon chuckled, already reaching for the remote control on the coffee table. He turned to ESPN to catch highlights and analyses of yesterday's NFL games.

As he settled back against the sofa cushions, his smartphone went off. He dug it out of his pocket and glanced at the display screen, frowning when he saw Cynthia's number. In no mood to talk to her, he let the call go to voice mail.

Dre's mother returned to the living room, handing him a cold bottle of beer. “Here you go, baby.”

Brandon smiled at her. “Thanks, Ms. Portis.”

“You're welcome,” she said, sitting in the adjacent armchair and crossing her legs.

As Brandon took a swig of beer, he received a text message. Of course it was from Cynthia.

Where are you???

He calmly turned off the phone and tucked it back inside his pocket.

Renay gave him a concerned look. “Is everything okay?”

Brandon nodded, drinking more beer.

“Dre told me what happened on Friday,” Renay said gently. “I can't say that I was surprised.”

Brandon met her gaze. “You weren't?”

She shook her head. “You don't love Cynthia Yarbrough. Not enough to marry her, anyway.”

Lowering his eyes to his beer bottle, Brandon quietly admitted, “She's not the person I thought she was.”

“Women seldom are once they get what they want.” Renay observed Brandon for several moments, lips pursed sympathetically. “I know you're under a lot of pressure to marry Cynthia. Your parents and hers have probably been planning your wedding forever. But you don't have to go through with it if you've had a change of heart, Brandon.”

“I wish it were that simple,” he said grimly.

“I know. It should be.” Renay reached over and consolingly patted him on the knee. “I just want you to be happy, Brandon. You have too much going for you to settle for anything less than you deserve.”

Brandon mustered a small smile. “Thank you, Ms. Portis. I appreciate your support.”

“Of course, baby. You know you and Dre mean the world to me.” She smiled wryly. “It's a shame you both have such horrible taste in women.”

Brandon choked out a laugh. “What do you mean?”

Renay gave him a knowing look. “No offense, baby, but I saw right through Cynthia the very first time I met her. Preacher's kids are some of the most treacherous people I've ever known. As for Leah . . . well, Dre knows how I feel about
her
. She always acted as if she was doing him a favor by dating him, like she thinks she's better than him just because she's a doctor. But
he's
a doctor too, and he's just as successful in his field as she is—probably even more so.” Renay sniffed. “Not only that, but my son is
way
too handsome to be settling for some skinny plain Jane. Am I lying, Brandon?”

He laughed, shaking his head at her. “You know I can't answer that, Ms. Portis. And I don't think Dre would be too happy with this conversation we're having.”

“You're probably right,” Renay conceded with a deep sigh. “But I just had to speak my mind. Dre's got blinders on when it comes to that girl.” She paused. “Same way
you
are with Tamia.”

Brandon immediately sobered. “Ms. Portis—”

“Don't worry. That's all I'm going to say for now.” She smiled and patted his knee again. “Let me just check on dinner. I'll be right back.”

After she left, Brandon pulled out his phone and powered it back on so he could call Dre to see if he was on his way home.

When he saw that Cynthia had left him two messages, he felt a pang of guilt. He knew he should call to let her know he'd be back late. It was the considerate thing to do. The mature thing.

But he wasn't feeling very considerate or mature where Cynthia was concerned. For that reason, he intended to put off dealing with her for as long as he could.

Still, his thoughts churned as he watched
SportsCenter
, his unfocused eyes glazing over the highlights flashing across the screen. He was so out of it that he didn't immediately register the gentle hand that settled upon his shoulders and began kneading his muscles.