IF I WERE YOUR WOMAN (2 page)

“Not well, thanks to you,” Ashton Bryant barked.

Laney offered Ashton a crooked smile. She knew the reason for her research colleague’s early morning tirade. What she hadn’t figured out was why it had taken so long for the confrontation to come to a head. 

Ashton stood on the opposite side of the desk and shook his finger in mid-air. “I have a right to know.”

“We all have rights, Dr. Bryant.” Laney made a face and her nose twitched. “What specific right are you referring to?”

“Why did you reject the research protocol I submitted to you?”

Laney settled in her chair and grabbed a bottle of water off the corner of the desk. She took a liberal sip, then responded to her decision to disallow
Ashton’s submission of a proposed medical research project, which was substandard at best. “It was incomplete. If memory serves me correctly, we reviewed the guidelines, together. Am I correct, Dr. Bryant?”

“No, you’re not correct. It’s just like
your
kind to do something as underhanded as this. Without your approval, my project won’t be funded.”

Your kind?
A crease settled in the center of Laney’s forehead once the meaning of the two words sunk in. At thirty-two, she was the first female physician and the youngest researcher to be named as director for the General Clinical Research Center for the University of Tennessee Health Science Center. As chair of the scientific advisory committee, one of her primary responsibilities was to approve all proposed research projects.

Laney straightened and opened the right bottom desk drawer. She pulled out a single sheet of paper from a file folder and placed it in the center of her desk. “Did you receive this memo from me, Dr. Bryant?”

Ashton snatched the paper off the desk and scanned over it. Two seconds later, his face turned beet-red.

“I sent it to you after our meeting, the one you regrettably can’t recall, outlining—”

“What’s your point, Dr. Houston?”

Laney ignored Ashton’s hostile tone. “My point is simple. Make the changes I recommended and I’ll approve your funding.” 

“You half-breed—”

“I wouldn’t finish that statement if I were you,” Laney warned in a soft, deadly fierce tone.  

“And if I do?”

Racism riled her. This wasn’t the first time Ashton had made a snide comment in reference to her ethnicity. Usually, his comments fell just short of racist, so she hadn’t been able to nail him. Her counter attack was to display zero emotion. Someone else’s ignorance didn’t constitute her worry. This time, though, his statement was clear and left little doubt for interpretation. With an arrow straight spine, the only child of a Caucasian father and an African-American mother rose to her feet. “
If
you do, I’ll make certain your career at this institution is over.”

“Who do you think you are?”

“Let me tell you exactly who I am. I’m a Harvard graduate and board certified physician, just like you. I’m a Ph.D. trained researcher, just like you.” She sat, satisfied she’d won the exchange, but it was her final point that scored. “But unlike you,
I
approve the funding for all research projects.”

“You won’t be back until January.” Ashton ran a hand over his partially bald head. “W-what am I suppose to do until then?”

“Hmmm, let’s see. Bringing your protocol up to an acceptable level of standard might not be such a bad idea.”

“You can’t do this to me!”  

Laney had hoped to squeeze in at least two uninterrupted hours of work before her flight to Oakland. Oh well, she’d finish reading the report on the plane. She stood and gathered the binder along with her purse and keys, then headed toward the door.

“Wait,” Ashton called out from behind with the paper still clutched in his hand. “You can’t walk out while we’re in the middle of a discussion.”  

Laney stopped and faced Ashton. She was good at a lot of things, but reasoning with irrationality wasn’t one of them. “I can and I will.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Ashton spat through gritted teeth.

Laney ignored the threat, and a smile tugged at her mouth. “Oh, by the way, Dr. Bryant, for future reference—” she paused, aiming her finger at the paper in Ashton’s hand. “That’s how
my
kind does things.”

With that, she walked out and quietly shut the door.

~ ~ ~

“Maestro, Code Blue!”

Later in the morning around ten, Ray opened the door at his estate. The urgent announcement from his business manager, Joseph “JoJo” Hennings, sounded as loud as an atomic bomb detonating. At the very least, he expected some type of greeting. There was no “Good morning” or “How are you doing?” from the five men before him, just ten pair of angry eyes flashing lethal glares. Creases between the brows, tight lips, and a meeting before noon meant only one thing. Trouble was on the horizon and a major decision needed to be made—and fast. He stepped back as the men marched single file across the marble-tile floor inside the foyer into the living room. 

Ray followed and braced his back against the wall, feet crossed at the ankle. He observed the crew he’d known for over twenty years. None of them were happy campers, and he hoped their anger didn’t ignite the nine thousand square feet, seven bedroom-seven bath structure he called home.

JoJo paced in a tight circle. Ray thought he’d blow a gasket any second. Winfred “Spooky” Nelson was the controlled, detail-oriented one. The drummer stood against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest, eyes exuding assault with intent to do bodily harm. Ace “Double A” Alexander made a saxophone blow with a mere look, but prowled around like a caged animal that’d missed a meal or two. The quiet one in the group was Mack Bonner. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he heaved as he gently polished an AE5 Fretless, the custom-made bass guitar he carried everywhere.

Hiking a pair of yellow-tinted Prada frames on his head, Ray settled his gaze on Henry Goldberg. “It’s your dime. Talk to me.”

“I wouldn’t exactly categorize the situation as a Code blue, yet. However, it bears watching.” Henry fished his Blackberry from the inside pocket of his suit coat. “This e-mail was sent courtesy of Evangeline Williams last night. And quote, I want contract negotiations for Les Croisés to begin immediately.”

Double A halted mid-stride and glared at Ray. “She’s whacked, Maestro. Who does she think she is?”

JoJo snorted. “She’s more than whacked. That tinsel-town barracuda! My sources tell me she’s a bitch to work for.”

“Settle down, Jo.” Ray focused his gaze on Henry, again.  “What kind of dilemma are we talking about here, Goldberg?”

“Well, Evangeline wants you guys to sign the contract renewal ASAP,” Henry stated calmly.

Everyone focused their gaze on Henry and shouted at the same time, “No.”

Although Ray always concentrated his efforts in the recording studio and stayed out of the politics of the boardroom, curiosity got the best of him. He wondered what had gone down to prompt this offer from Universal Entertainment, the recording label Les Croisés had been under contract with the past seven years. Six months ago, he along with Henry and the rest of his band members met with the new CEO after she’d landed the top spot following a messy shake-up with the board of directors. Talk about thoroughly unimpressed. During the meeting, Evangeline brought up the possibility of a renewal option. Les Croisés declined the offer. They’d all agreed to pour their energy into establishing a non-profit organization to provide music education to under-privilege African-American youth in urban cities. 

For the next fifteen minutes, Henry rattled off the terms of the renewal, which included one hundred percent ownership of their music masters. It was a deal most artists only dreamed of. He slipped his Blackberry back into his suit coat. “Well?”

Ray shrugged. “Well, what?”

“When do you want me to schedule a meeting with Evangeline?” Henry asked.

Ray sat heavily on the sofa with his hands clasped between his legs. “Look, Goldberg. What part of N-O isn’t getting through that thick skull of yours?”

Henry loosened the knot in his tie and sighed. “Evangeline doesn’t accept the word no easily.”

“That’s her problem,” Ray countered. He glanced over at JoJo, who’d finally settled on the sofa across from him. Exaggeration withstanding, he never dismissed anything his confidant told him as idle chatter. JoJo had an inside track in the music industry, which stretched from Hollywood to New York, and every chitterlin’ circuit in between. If anything was about to jump off, JoJo had the heads up on it first.  “All right, Jo. Give me the lowdown.”

JoJo theatrically cleared his throat and bounced to the edge of the sofa. In an instant, he had his Personal Digital Assistant
in front of him. “Well, she’s been snipped, nipped, and tucked by some of Bel Air’s best plastic surgeons. For the last twenty years, Ms. Thang has worked her way up the music ladder. She’s game on everything. Hails from Atlanta, forty, long, lean, leggy, single, zero dependents, chauffeured in a black Bentley, has a personal assistant, Antón—” he broke off and flashed a devilish grin. “Talk has it he doubles as her boy toy.” He touched the stylus to the down arrow. “Okay, moving right along. Summa cum laude from Wharton business, serves on the BOD of several Fortune 500’s.” He paused then shook his head. “Scratch that forty, people. Numbers aren’t adding up. Girlfriend has to be pushing forty-five. Anywhooo, she didn’t leave her last gig under the best of terms.”

Ray frowned. “I heard she quit?”

“Quit,” JoJo exclaimed, slapping his forehead. “Oh,
pleassse
. Fired is more like it. And from what my sources have told me, things went down
real
funky.” 

As far as Ray was concerned, whatever the drama was involving Evangeline’s firing wasn’t his concern. He had his own troubles, like trying to figure out a way to function coherently during Laney’s visit. He focused his gaze back on Henry and delivered a stipulation of his own with point-blank accuracy. “Goldberg, tell Evangeline we will not, and I repeat,
will
not
sign a renewal.” 

Henry nodded. “Got it.” He glanced around the room at everyone. “I say we do dinner this evening. My treat.”

“Maestro will need to take rain check on that,” JoJo announced matter-of-factly.   

Henry stared, confused. “Why?”

Spooky tossed a sly wink at Henry. “Laney’s flying in tonight. My boy needs time to get his stuff together. He’s new at this dating game, you know. ”

Before Ray could respond, Double A chimed in. “Yeah, he has to brush up on his game.” He swung his arm up and glanced at his watch. “We probably need to bounce up outta here soon so Maestro can handle his business righteous.”

Frustrated, Ray shot to his feet and tossed a lethal glare at everyone.

Henry chuckled. “A
aa
h, Laney has finally agreed to give him the time of day, I see.”

Mack nodded in agreement. “Yep and it’s about time.”

“Maestro blows two winds south of crazy when Laney’s not around,” JoJo advised.  “She gives him stability, you know, and that’s good. We got to keep it pushing around here.”

That did it. It was bad enough he hadn’t been able to conceal his feelings for Laney from his boys, but there was no way he’d sit in his own home and listen to them talk about him as though he wasn’t even present. Ray stalked out the room, mumbling a string of oaths in French under his breath, ignoring the continued conversation about him.

T
he flight to Oakland arrived twenty minutes early. Laney stopped by the ladies room and when she came out, her heart was beating faster than normal. It had been seventy-seven days, four hours, and forty-five minutes since her last visit to Oakland. The excitement of seeing the only man she’d ever loved was finally at hand.

Laney walked toward the baggage claim area with a stride that was a notch above a stroll. She glanced at the crowd gathered near the baggage carousel, but didn’t see him. She’d never responded to any man the way she had to Raphael Baptiste.
Flummox
was the first word that filtered through her mind the moment they met. Before she’d entered the first grade, she knew the meaning of the word. Now she understood how it felt.

For the last ten years, she’d been consumed with her research and never had time for a man in her life. All of her energy and passion had been channeled into continuing the investigative study her mother began before she died. She’d been just as driven as her mother had been to discover a cure for the congenital birth defect with which she’d been born. If the countless research hours meant another child wouldn’t suffer the same fate, then the sacrifices she’d made in her personal life weren’t in vain.     

Sensuality and masculinity permeated through Raphael Baptiste. Simply put, the man exuded sex. Now Laney understood why women chased after him, but it didn’t mean she had to be one of them. She knew she was in trouble when her out-of-control hormones kicked into full gear and she fell hard for the man who’d told her upfront he’d never settle down with any woman.

Therein was her dilemma. A causal affair wasn’t on her agenda. Although she loved Raphael to distraction, what he wanted wasn’t what she desired. She wasn’t a snob, but she’d never sacrifice her two best friends—self-respect and dignity—in the name of love.