Mr. Wright & Mr. Wrong: A BWWM Romance (10 page)

I
t’ll be
a chance for you to dress up and let loose.

She had no idea how her father had scored a ticket to the Founder’s Society Charity Gala at the New York Botanical Gardens, apparently one of the hottest tickets in town. Cleveland had been a bit upset at being left out.

“Your sister deserves a break,” Frank had chided her older brother.

“You go and have yourself a good time, baby,” he had said to London. “Find yourself a new man. Or look gorgeous as usual and just drink champagne all night,” he ended with a wink in her direction.

Sometimes her father was absolutely wonderful. London had eagerly accepted the invitation, despite feeling she would be a bit out of her depth. She had a sneaking suspicion that her father was hoping she would make the sort of connections that might expand the client base of their firm tonight. With the Davis campaign underway, they supposedly needed a broader appeal. As she rode up and saw the sea of, mostly white, mostly elite, mostly absurdly wealthy, faces, she knew before she even stepped out of the car that these were not
Jefferson, Jefferson, Jefferson & Associates
sort of people. She stiffened her upper lip and secretly prayed there was plenty of champagne.

It had been awkward arriving alone. Still, she felt absolutely stunning in her dark blue, jeweled gown. It was long-sleeved, with intricate beading and floral attachments strategically placed over the transparent fabric so that glimpses of her legs, arms, and torso peaked through. The most daring bit was the deep plunging neckline that reached almost to her navel, and a similar plunge in back, just barely reaching the top of her ass.

As she looked down to check on her lady bits, she mentally thanked the gods for double sided tape. Still, it was the perfect dress to highlight the fact that 31 years hadn’t taken its toll on her, still rather proud, if “dainty sized” breasts. If Clayton could see her now, he’d forget that she even had a father to be embarrassed about.

Her hair was swept back in a loose chignon, held in place with a faux-sapphire comb. Her makeup had been professionally done, as befitted the evening. A heavy focus was on the smoky eyes, leaving only a shimmery bronzer and neutral lip gloss for her lips. As Antoine had assured her, “no need to mess with perfection.” She trusted his judgement.

She walked on the red carpet, her clutch in hand, smiling in a far more confident manner than she actually felt. Despite her father’s seemingly endless ability to make connections and hobnob with all the right people, that was
not
her forte. She was no socialite. She spent her nights with Chinese take-out and Netflix.

Fortunately, there was plenty of staff on hand wandering around the indoor tent with flutes of champagne. She eagerly grabbed one off the nearest wandering tray and sipped it down, letting her eyes roam over the glamorous dresses and sharp tuxedos. The tent was beautifully decorated with tropical floral displays and warm lighting. It was magical. Even if it wasn’t entirely her scene, it was definitely something she could get used to.

She sipped her champagne to give herself something to do, as she wandered around to take in the atmosphere. She should have probably been making connections to appease her father but she preferred being an observer of this life that was
ever
so slightly above her pay-grade. The
Jefferson & Associates
law firm did quite well, representing the most famous black faces in New York, from professional athletes, to music artists, to businessmen and, most notably, politicians. But they were still strictly a Harlem based firm.

She was on her second glass and the bubbles were already starting to work their magic on her. That’s when she saw him halfway across the room: Michael Wright.

She stopped mid-sip and stared. Michael was surrounded by three women, all of whom seemed to be vying for his attention. Her first thought was that she could completely see why Brooklyn was so taken with the man, age aside. He was the very definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Well, maybe not so “dark.” Otherwise, he was quite the catch. If London leaned that way.

He towered over the women in front of him, even as they stood perched on their stilettos. The full head of black hair and that strong chin she could see even from this distance was no doubt taken straight from his father. Everything else, from the eyes which looked as though they remained in a state of constant amusement, to the slightly (adorably) dented nose, was all his.

How in the world had Brooklyn of all people ended up with him?

All thoughts of Brooklyn’s love life had been pushed aside this week at the law firm of
Jefferson & Associates.
Dion Davis was in town, in preparation to officially announce his run for mayor. So far he was the only Democrat to throw his hat in the ring, which put him in a very strong position—and had her father nearly bursting with the possibilities that being BFFs with the first black mayor would bring. The only time London ever really talked to Brooklyn these days was when she decided on a whim to walk their grandmother to church, instead of London. London’s original plan had been to address it tomorrow after church. Now she had the perfect opportunity to confront the man himself.

She took another look at Michael Wright, imagining him and Brooklyn together. London felt a tiny wave of jealousy run through her, and she didn’t even know why. She wasn’t even into white men. She tilted her head to gaze at him at a different angle.

Of course, there was always an exception to the rule.

M
ichael nodded pleasantly
at the oldest of the three women, who seemed to be running the show in this little tête-à-tête. He looked toward the fresh young face that the two older women were trying to get him to focus on. She was probably an exact replica of what Version 1 and Version 2 looked like in their youth. He figured her to be exactly 26 years old; the perfect age to
land a husband
. The woman was certainly stunning, but Michael could read his future in her eager, bright, blue eyes…and he was already bored.

He felt eyes staring at him from across the room. His own roamed up over the heads of the women in front of him and saw the reason for the tingling of his sixth sense. His attention was drawn to the glowing, brown triangle of skin between the sides of her dress. They lingered over the two, supple mounds rising alluringly out of the whisper of dark, blue lace, covering just enough to leave him wanting. A smile came to his lips as he lifted his gaze to appreciate the face attached to that stunning display.

The woman had the glass halfway to her lips, her head tilted at an appraising angle, as if trying to size him up. His smile grew in hopes of helping her come to a decision. She suddenly noticed him staring back at her and threw him completely off guard by giving him a severe scowl of disapproval.

His smiled faltered only a little in response. There was something familiar about the face, but he couldn’t quite place it. Obviously she knew him, based on the daggers she was throwing with those eyes of hers. He searched his memory, flipping through female faces he had interacted with professionally, personally…or intimately. He usually tried to make it a point not to leave the latter group unsatisfied or unhappy. No need to have his own name splashed across the headlines alongside his father’s.

Although nothing caused a sudden spark of remembrance, he couldn’t let go of the nagging feeling that he knew her somehow. He decided to kill two birds with one stone by smoothing over whatever issue she had with him, and quench his curiosity at the same time.

“Excuse me, Annabelle,” he said to the middle Mrs. Conrad. He nodded to the other two women as he extricated himself from the circle, leaving them bewildered. The instant feeling of relief hit him, even though he knew he’d hear about it from his mother sometime this week. Once upon a time she feared Michael would succumb to the influence of his father’s habit of indulging in serial marriages. Apparently, thirty-six was the age at which her concerns shifted gears. Now she was just worried it wouldn’t happen at all.

When the woman noticed him walking over to her, he could see her bracing for an encounter. He studied the face: oval shape, high cheek bones, small nose with a cute, round tip. The eyes were heavy with make-up and had a sultry feel about them. The lips were what he most was drawn, plump and…so full of potential.

“Do I know you?” It was the cheesiest of pick-up lines, but in Michael’s defense, it was an honest question.

She gave him a look that was almost school-marmishly stern. “London Jefferson.
Brooklyn’s
sister?”

She stressed the second name as though it should mean something to him. He could only frown in confusion. The name danced at the edges of his memory, but it didn’t come to his head quickly enough for the woman in front of him.

“Wow,”
she said, disbelief clouding her gorgeous features. “Obviously the kiss wasn’t all
that
,
then?”

Now he was thoroughly confused. The look on his face must have shown it because she offered what she obviously thought was clarification. “
Knicks game
on Friday?
Town
Car
on Sunday? Do I even want to know what happened in between?”

Michael had no idea about the rest of it, but the mention of the game set bells off in his head. “Oh,
that
Brooklyn. Purple hair?”

“Yes,
that
Brooklyn,” she said, shaking her head in astonishment. “The purple hair is the
only
thing you remember?”

“Well, it was only a brief interaction,” he said warily, realizing they were obviously on two separate pages.

“Well, that doesn’t speak much for
your
abilities
does it?” she laughed looking him up and down. “How old are you anyway? Mid-thirties? What could possibly be your interest in a 23-year-old?” she immediately put up her hand. “Wait—don’t answer that.”

All he could do was laugh, which caused her eyes to widen in appalled shock.

“I’m glad you find taking advantage of my baby sister so—”

“Listen,” he interrupted, still amused by this mess—whatever it was. “I have no idea about any
Town Car
or what happened between that Friday and Sunday. All I did was give her the ticket. I was stuck in the office all night.” He leaned in closer to her. “There are a few associates who can vouch for me.”

He pulled away and gave her a questioning look. “Did you even
watch
the game?”

“No…but you’re Richard Wright’s son, right?” she asked, a crack appearing in her overly confident façade.

“Guilty as charged.” All of a sudden it was becoming a bit clearer. Now
he
was curious. What exactly had his little brother been up to all last weekend?

It was her turn to have a look of confusion. He let her stew with it a bit, enjoying this close proximity to her. All his senses were lit up. She emitted a wonderfully intoxicating floral scent. The shimmery skin of her exposed cleavage was so tempting. He had to dig his fingers into fists to keep from reaching out to touch it. She was completely oblivious, looking away in perplexed contemplation, as his mind wondered if that skin felt as good as it looked and smelled.

She brought her head around to look up at him, catching him gazing down at her like a lion scouting out a gazelle. He gave a guilty, but very charming smile. He was pleased to see the flicker of a flush before she fell back to her current mission.

“Well, who else could it be?” she probed.

He had no choice; no more games. “No doubt my brother, Alex,” he shrugged. He leaned in closer, “and before you ask, he’s a far more age-appropriate, 26 years old.”

“Brother...” she muttered, a frown creasing her forehead. She looked away, avoiding eye-contact now that the embarrassment was settling in. She threw her head back, finishing off the rest of her champagne with one large gulp, then bobbed her head back down to look at him.

“Listen, obviously there’s been a mistake here. I’m sorry I accused you of, well I don’t even know at this point,” she sighed in confusion, then looked at him again. “Again, sorry. I’ll leave you to it.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said before she could take a step. “At the very least”—he deftly grabbed two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter—“let me buy you a drink,” he said handing one glass to her and taking her empty one to place it back on the tray.

She accepted it with a wary look in her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he assured her with a grin. “I accept your apology. I’m just curious….” he said, taking a sip.

She let it hang before sighing and urging him on. “Curious about what?”

He finished his sip then gave her an inquisitive glance. “Why do you care who your sister dates? So what if she was dating a 36 year old man?”

“You don’t see the problem with it?” She asked.

He shrugged again. “I personally don’t see the appeal. I prefer more mature women. Women who know how to comport themselves with
poise
and
tact
, especially in public.” he gave her a mocking smile. She returned a wry twist of the lips. “But all the same, she
is
an adult.”

He watched her look away to ponder that.

“I think there’s something more going on here,” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

She turned to give him a withering look. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me.”

“Hey, it’s okay if you were jealous of her
possibly
dating me. A lot of women—”

“Jealous?!”
she cried out with a laugh. “Listen, thanks for the drink,” she lifted the glass, along with one eyebrow, “but I’m sure you have other pressing interests to attend to here.” She nodded her head behind him and he turned to find the Conrad trio looking at both of them with consternation. They had been joined by at least two other very well-maintained women, wearing very expensive gowns and very similar looks of disapproval.

He sensed London slinking her way around him and he turned to catch up with her. If she got away, he’d be left to the wolves. Besides, it was refreshing to be approached in a manner that didn’t have the distinct ring of imaginary wedding bells to it.

He stopped in his tracks as he caught a first glimpse of that long expanse of satiny, smooth skin exposed by the much more revealing back. It was the color of dark honey, maybe brown sugar, or caramel. Why were his thoughts instantly conjuring up images that made his mouth water just from looking at her? He followed the stretch of brown as it narrowed all the way down, like an arrow straight to…. Realizing she was getting out of reach, he took two long strides to catch up with her.