I Heard A Rumor (11 page)

“Oh, you better call me back!”

Chante ended the call, then shut her phone off as she drank in the image of Zach in his white linen slacks and white tank top. He held out a long-stemmed red rose to her. “You look amazing,” Zach said.

Smiling, Chante took the rose from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.” She brought the rose to her nose. “I love roses.”

“Haven't met a beautiful woman who doesn't.”

She raised her right eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Think about it, a rose is the symbol for beauty, love, and war.”

“War? And why do you know this?”

“Got to know these things. You never know when you will be able to impress Chante Britt with it.”

“Anyway.”

“Okay, the florist told me when I bought the rose.”

Chante broke out laughing. “I was about to be impressed.”

“Ah, random facts impress the lady. Let me take note of that.”

She playfully pushed him in the chest. “Taking notes, really?”

“Yes, I have to know how I can keep that smile on your face.” He stroked her cheek. “Where are you driving me to?”

“Jestine's Kitchen.”

“Where?”

“You will see when we get there. Come on,” she said.

Zach handed her the keys to the Mustang.

“I'd tell you to drive slow, but I know that would be a waste of breath,” he said as they walked out of the hotel. They passed a film crew and a few photographers. Neither of them gave it a second thought as they climbed into the Mustang.

 

 

One of the production assistants for the film crew, which was recording a documentary about African American landmarks in Charleston, nudged the director.

“What?” the burly man barked.

“I think I just saw Zachary Harrington.”

The director almost dropped his camera. He was a native New Yorker who'd been following the case of the “Harlem Madame.” No one in the city had been able to find Zachary and discover what his involvement had been with the alleged sex ring. But if he could locate Harrington, get some footage of him, and maybe even ask him a few questions, CNN would pay him a lot for it.

“Hey, guys! Let's come back at sunset,” he said. “It will be a better shot.”

The crew groaned, since they had been up since six a.m. “Wrap it up!” the director yelled, then turned to the eagle-eyed production assistant. “What were they driving, and which way did they go?”

Smiling, the production assistant handed the director a slip of paper with the license-plate number written on it. “All right,” the director said, “let's find him.”

 

 

Meeting Street was packed, as Chante expected. But she found a parking spot about a block and a half from Jestine's Kitchen.

“What's so special about this place?” Zach asked as they got out of the car and walked toward the restaurant. A line of people stretched along the sidewalk.

“Well,” Chante began, “it's named after Jestine Matthews, a woman who lived until she was one hundred and twelve years old. The family she worked for in the late 1920s opened this restaurant to keep Jestine's legacy of good food alive.”

“You know your history of this city,” he said with a smile.

“Charleston is filled with a lot of history. A lot like New Orleans.”

Zach nodded. He'd considered going to the Big Easy before settling on Charleston for his great escape. Holding Chante's hand, he knew he'd made the right decision.

As they waited in the line, he couldn't help but wonder if things would change between them when she learned of the drama he was embroiled in back in New York. Glancing at Chante, he wondered if she would be forgiving, or would she take exception to the fact that he didn't tell her everything?

“What's with that look?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“You were staring again,” she quipped.

“Have you seen yourself? I'm not the only one staring. But at least I know what's underneath the wrapping.”

She pinched his arm. “Keep it up and you will never see underneath this wrapping again.”

Zach snickered. “You and I both know that's a lie.” Bringing his lips to her ear, he said, “You'd let me take those sexy shorts off your exquisite body right now and eat you for lunch.”

The heat of his words and his breath made her tingle with excitement. She couldn't even jokingly deny what he said. “I don't know what I'm going to do with you.”

“After we eat, I have quite a few ideas.” His smile made her throb between her thighs.

“Takeout?” she asked.

Though the sexual tension between Zach and Chante was hotter than the oil used to fry Jestine's famous chicken, the cozy atmosphere of the restaurant drew them in. And a coveted empty table made them stay. “I see this is a popular place,” he said as they took a seat.

“Very. There's no telling whom you might run into here,” she said as she placed her napkin in her lap. “And the cucumbers are to die for.”

Moments later, a waiter set a bowl of pickled cucumbers on the table. “Welcome to Jestine's Kitchen. I'm Peter, and I'll be taking care of you today. Would you like to try Miss Jestine's table wine?”

“It's a little early for . . .”

“It's iced tea,” Chante said with a smile as she interrupted Zach's question. “And yes, we'll have a pitcher.”

Peter nodded and headed to the kitchen. Chante was about to lean in and whisper something wicked to him when she heard someone call her name. Looking in the direction the voice came from, she groaned when she saw her high school nemesis, Rochelle Moore.

“Hi,” Chante said as Rochelle and a heavyset man made their way toward her.

“Wow,” Rochelle said when she reached the table. “You look amazing. I guess law school and all that stuff paid off.”

Chante narrowed her eyes at the former cheerleader who looked as if she'd eaten her younger self. “Rochelle, I'm surprised to see you in Charleston. How did that modeling career work out for you?”

Rochelle laughed uncomfortably. “Well, you know that was a childish dream. I'm actually a principal at Hanhan High School.”

“Nice. Good for you. I remember my childhood dreams of becoming a lawyer. I did that,” Chante said smugly.

“Is this the fiancé who cheated on you with a hooker?”

Zach's eyes stretched to the size of quarters.

Chante's smile dropped, and she narrowed her eyes at Rochelle. “Still following my every move?”

“You want people to think you're perfect, and you're far from it. You've always been that way.”

“And you believed it,” Chante said. “Otherwise you wouldn't be standing here trying to make yourself feel good because I had a setback. Glad to see nothing—much—has changed about you.”

“At least I can keep my man satisfied,” Rochelle said, then stalked off. Chante wanted to toss the bowl of cucumbers at the back of her head. Why did she fall into that high school trap of childishness?

“You two have never been friends, huh?” Zach asked as he watched her eye the bowl of cucumbers.

“Not at all. I should've known the true story of my relationship with Robert wouldn't stay in Charlotte.”

“So that jab was true?” Zach asked.

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes.”

“Then this Robert person is a fool. I don't understand how anyone could . . .”

“You know what,” she said, cutting him off. “I don't even want to talk about it. I'm surprised she didn't seek me out on social media to let me know she knew about Robert's scandal.”

Zach fell silent, wondering how his scandal would play out with her. She'd already dealt with her own sex scandal, and his drama in New York would only add insult to injury.

“I tell you what: we don't have to stay here.”

“I'm not running from that . . . We're here and we are not leaving.” Chante glanced in Rochelle's direction and wasn't surprised to see the smug heffa looking back at her.

“What's the deal with you and her?” Zach asked as he nodded toward Rochelle.

“The difference between being number one and number two. When we were in high school, she and I were always either number one or number two. Mostly, I was number one, and she tried to steal my boyfriend, and it didn't work out for her. She's been holding it against me ever since.”

“Tom Petty and the heartbroken.” Zach reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. “You're still winning.”

Chante leaned over and kissed him on the tip of his nose. “You're sweet.”

“Not as sweet as you are,” he whispered, then winked at her. “But you already know that.”

Part of her wished that she and Zach had something real. Something that would develop into the relationship they were pretending to have. It felt good and it felt real.

I have to stop this. I'm kidding myself if I think this is going to be anything more than a charade,
she thought as she stared into his eyes. Before she could say a word, the waiter returned with their drinks and took their food orders. Chante wished that she'd actually ordered some wine instead of iced tea.

“Zach, when you got that call earlier from your ex . . .”

“Yeah. I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk about that?”

She held up her hand, “Let me finish. You were pretty upset with her, and I need to know if you're going to take that passion and turn it around and try to get revenge, or are you going to give her a second chance?”

“Neither of those is going to happen. I want her to be a distant memory in my life. Why do you ask?”

Chante shrugged. “I'm just being ridiculous. I know that what we have here ends when we leave Charleston, so whatever you do or don't do with your ex isn't my issue.”

“Where did that come from?”

She took a sip of her tea. “Just over-thinking things,” Chante said. “You and I aren't real, so it doesn't even matter what you do when you leave.”

Zach nodded and took his own sip of tea. He started to ask her what she meant by not being real. Did she think last night wasn't real? Didn't she know that she had awakened something deep inside of him that he thought his ex-wife had murdered?

How could she question that? Maybe it was because she didn't plan to keep things going with him and found herself getting closer to him, or was the charade of their relationship getting to her?

“Do you think we should tell your mother that we're over?” he asked.

“What?” Chante pushed her glass away.

“Did she rattle you that much?”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “Are you serious?”

“You're the one who just made everything serious.” Zach reached out and held her hand. “Why?”

“I need to go to the restroom for a moment,” she said as she rose to her feet.

He stood up and blocked her exit. “Don't run from this. Just tell me the truth. What do you want?”

Chante sighed. What she wanted was the fantasy. She wanted them to exist in a vacuum and wanted to go back to simply having fun. She wanted to forget that she was running from her own problems.

“I just want to go to the bathroom,” she said as tears welled up in her eyes. “I'm sorry.” Her whisper hung in the air as she tore away from him. Once she was alone in the bathroom, Chante shut herself up in a stall and cried silently, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was a mess and had made an even bigger mess by getting involved with Zach.

I have got to stop leading with my thighs,
she thought as she wiped her eyes with a rough piece of toilet paper.
That wasn't the problem with Robert; he just embarrassed me, and I'm still suffering from it. Now this thing with Zach. I need to get back to who I am and stop acting like a man is going to make things better.

Emerging from the stall, Chante forced herself to put on a face that said she was fine. She forced herself to believe she was fine playing in this game, but if she was honest with herself, she would admit that the life she'd run from—husband and kids—was something that she wanted. Perhaps she'd spent such a long time rebelling against her mother's expectations that she'd squandered the chance to have just what her heart desired.

Wiping her face again, she headed out of the bathroom and ran into Rochelle as she walked in. The two women eyed each other with contempt. “Chante,” Rochelle said with a saccharin tone, “I hope I didn't cause you any problems.”

“Not at all,” Chante said with a smile that was just as fake as Rochelle's concern. “We are just as fine as we were before your interruption.”

“I know what your problem is,” she said. “You've always thought you were better than me.”

Chante laughed. “You thought I was better than you, and you wanted to be better than me. Rochelle, we've been out of high school for a long time, and you're still acting as if we're running for student body president.”

“Whatever.”

“Grow up.” Chante strutted away from her. When she reached Zach, her smile was genuine.

“Feeling better?” he asked as he rose to his feet.

Chante closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. She brought her lips to his and gently brushed them with her tongue. “Much.”

Zach smiled as he slid his hands down her back. “I don't know what kind of hand soap you used in there, but I like the effect it had on you.”

“I say we order our food and then go break a law and have sex on Folly Beach,” she whispered.

“Whoa!” Zach took a step back from Chante. “You know if we get caught, you have a lot more to lose than I do.”

“Then I guess you better be creative.” She winked at him, then took her seat.

“Oh, just me?” he quipped.

“I've actually thought about this for a long time, so yes, just you.”

Zach wished he could make their food magically appear because he was tired of talking. Placing his hand on top of Chante's, he stroked her smooth skin with his thumb. “Seriously, I need to know what happened in the bathroom.”

Her smile faded a bit as she stared into his eyes. “I've always allowed what other people think of me to dictate how I live my life. Everything was about proving someone wrong, proving that I could do everything that someone else could do, only better, and then there's my mother. It just hit me when I saw a grown woman still carrying a high school grudge that my life is mine. And it's time to live it for me.”

“Hallelujah. See, that's why you walked into the bar looking so uptight. I knew it was inside you all along,” he said.

Chante snorted. “You sure stared hard enough to see everything inside.”

Leaning back in his seat, Zach folded his arms across his chest. “We just aren't going to let that go, are we?”

She shook her head, and before she could tell him why, the waiter returned with their entrées. The delicious aroma of the food rendered them both speechless for a moment. It was now time to eat.

 

 

Nic burst into Taiwon's office, catching the attorney off guard as he hung up the phone. “What in the hell,” Taiwon gritted.

“Where is she?” Nic demanded.

“How did you get up here, and why do you think I . . . ?”

“We had a deal, Myrick! You were supposed to get Chante Britt back here and I'd keep your secret from your partners. Time is running out!”

Taiwon leaned back in his massive leather chair. “I can't force her to come back. Even after I dangled the partnership carrot in her face, Miss Britt is remaining hidden away where she is. So if you want to act on your threats, then go ahead. I'm getting sick of your bullshit and seeing your face.”

“Don't think I won't act,” Nic said. “You have two more days.”

Taiwon rose to his feet and stood toe-to-toe with Nic. Glaring at the politico, he grabbed him by his lapels and slammed him against the door. “I don't work for you, and I don't give a damn about Chante and your candidate. My concern is this law firm; not having her here while this idiot tries to run for mayor is the best thing for us. Do you think this fool has a chance to win when everyone knows he seeks the comfort of hookers?” Taiwon pushed Nic to the floor. “Get the hell out of my office.”

“You're going to regret this!” Nic said as he scrambled to his feet and stumbled out of Taiwon's office. As he went down in the elevator, Nic started to wonder if he should abandon Robert's ship. It wasn't as if he believed in him; it was just losing to Teresa, of all people, that left a bad taste in his mouth.

Besides, he'd helped worse people than Robert get elected. He planned to show that relic bitch that he was still in charge. And the only way to do that was to win this seat for Robert. She'd see that his influence still shaped this city, and that no matter who she thought she was, he still had the power.

As he headed out of the building, he knew he had to find Chante Britt by any means and force her to stand by Robert until he was elected mayor of Charlotte.

“Well, if it isn't Dominic Hall,” a female voice said. Gritting his teeth, Nic turned around and faced the very woman he wanted to destroy.

“Stalking me, Teresa?”

“No, but I knew you'd be sniffing around here looking for Chante Britt because of this madness you and Robert are trying to accomplish. Mayor of Charlotte? Really?” She laughed and shook her head.

“He will win.”

“Keep dreaming,” she said as she walked into the law office.

What is she up to?
Nic thought as he turned and followed her inside.