Never Keeping Secrets (17 page)

 

Monica knew she shouldn't be there. She knew she should have declined his request. She even knew she had time to turn and run.

But she didn't.

She was curious about the invite.

She shivered as the October night became chillier. She started to turn up the heat but remembered the building's owners weren't required to supply any until the fifteenth. That was next week.

Dressed in a black lace skirt and leather blazer, Monica rose from behind her desk and opened the door to her office. He stood there looking very handsome in a black leather jacket and dark denims. She stepped back and waved him in, but he didn't move past her. Instead he wrapped one of his arms around her waist and pulled her body close to his.

She brought her hands up to grasp at his upper arms. “Excuse me?” she snapped.

He turned her body and pushed her up against the wall, pressing a line of hot kisses to her neck and then down to the exposed vee of her blazer. “If you didn't want this you wouldn't have agreed to leave the party and meet me here,” he said, unbuttoning the blazer and jerking it open to expose her full breasts barely held by the sheer bra she wore. He lowered his body to suck at one plump nipple while his hand gently rolled the other between his fingers.

Monica closed her eyes and arched her back with a moan.

There was something so deliciously sneaky about it. So deliciously wrong.

He jerked her skirt up around her waist.

Monica pressed her back to the wall and thrust her hips forward to help him. She shivered as he shifted her panties down over her hips until they fell to the floor around her ankles and the top of her leather booties.

He pressed the side of his face to the soft swell of her hairless pussy, inhaling her scent deeply as he grazed his chin, cheeks, and mouth against it. “I told you I was going to eat this pussy good, didn't I?” he asked her, looking up at her as he raised one of her quivering thighs onto his shoulder.

The lace of her bra rubbed against her throbbing nipples and she brought her hands up to tease them as he released his tongue and took the first lick of her pussy with a deep moan. Monica banged her foot against his back as he sucked at her clit. “I told you I was the king of eating pussy.”

She opened her eyes and looked down at the man with his head buried between her legs. “What the fuck am I doing?”

“Getting your pussy ate.”

She pushed at his head until his mouth freed her clit. She shifted so quickly to move off the wall that her panties around her ankles tripped her up. She fell face first to the hardwood floors. Ass exposed.

He slapped her on the ass and chuckled as he helped her to her feet.

Monica snatched away from him and fought to free her panties and jerk her skirt back down. “This was a mistake. Too much champagne,” she said, trying to find reasons that she could believe her damn self.

She thought she had left all of her ratchetness behind years ago in her early twenties. Her days of single-handedly juggling dicks were over.

“Right,” he said in disbelief, walking around her office and studying the photos on her bookcase.

Monica frowned and walked over to remove the photo of her and Cameron that he picked up. “Listen, I have to get home. Again I'm sorry if I led you on. Blame it on the alcohol,” she said, moving to the door to hold it open.

“Jamie Foxx don't believe that shit,” he said smugly. “You been eye-fucking me all night.”

“I believe it was you and your client eyeing me,” she said.

Usain turned and smiled at her. “You got a kick out of two men wanting you. Both throwing off those sex vibes. Both waiting like dogs to see who you would pick to . . . bone.”

He was right.

There had been a listening party at the 40/40 Club. She hadn't been that surprised to see Usain or Kelson there. They all floated in the same circles. But she had been surprised when both were so attentive to her all night. Both elaborating on their desire to see just what she hid between her thighs and under the pencil skirts she loved to wear so much. Those drinks had made her lose her damn mind 'til she was caught up in the hype and finally let Usain suck on an ice cube as he proclaimed to be the best pussy eater ever born, just wiping all of her good sense away.

She couldn't believe she actually sat in a club deciding between Kelson or Usain. Usain or Kelson. She completely forgot all about Cameron.

He tapped his hard dick lying down the upper part of his thigh before he unzipped his pants and fought to free it through the hole. “You want this dick,” he said.

Monica shifted her eyes up. “You're drunk too. Be sure to use a car service. We'll all laugh about this crazy shit when we see each other again. Sober. And less horny,” she said.

He put the beast away and walked over to her. “Maybe you're right. I am feeling nice,” he said, stepping over the threshold. He turned. “But I still can taste your pussy on my tongue.”

Monica watched him until he left the outer office and made his way to the elevator. Her cab was waiting downstairs with the meter running. Sampson was still at the 40/40 Club waiting for her wherever drivers waited as the employers enjoyed their night. He didn't need to know her every move.

Cameron paid his salary and his loyalties could lie with him.

After waiting long enough for Usain to disappear she left the office. As soon as she was in the backseat of the cab, she called Cameron. The liquor and champagne were making her sleepy and she yawned as he answered his phone. “You still up?” she asked.

“Yeah, just waiting on you to get in safe.”

“I'm on my way,” she said, slumping back against the vinyl, pleather, plastic, what-the-hell-ever of the seat. All she knew was it stuck to the back of her thighs. “I am walking out the club as we speak.”

The cab driver eyed her in the rearview mirror.

“Love you.”

She opened her mouth but the words wouldn't come. “Me too,” she said instead.

Monica knew that she still loved Cameron but seeing how he was handling his layoff was making her reevaluate the traits about him that she loved. The traits she wondered if he still possessed.

She had no idea who the couch-loving, CNN-watching, cookie-eating, I-live-in-my-silk-pajamas man was anymore. He was a shadow of the former powerful businessman he used to be. And a part of his appeal to her was his power and position in their industry.

It hadn't been that long since the layoff but she knew if he continued on the same path she wasn't sure if she could walk it with him . . . and she damn sure didn't want to have a baby with that man either.

The driver pulled to a red light and Monica shifted her eyes to him as he began searching through the junk on his front seat. Curious to make sure he wasn't getting a gun or some shit, she leaned forward and looked through the Plexiglass just as he picked up his cell phone.

She leaned back against her seat but just as quickly she leaned up again and looked down at the seat. Her eyes completely bugged at the book lying there. “Keesha Lands,” she read in complete shock.

The driver pulled off at the green light.

Monica rapped her knuckles on the glass twice. “Excuse me, could you hold that book up please?” she asked, fighting the urge to press her face against the glass to get a better look. She didn't though. It probably was an oversized petri dish for germs.

“Well, I'll be damned,” she said, looking at her ex-friend's name in print. It had to be Keesha. Or was it another Keesha Lands, best-seller of what had to be street lit from the half-naked girl on the cover?

The driver kept his eyes on the road as he reached over to feel for the book and then held it up, pressing it against the glass and even turning on the overhead light. “It's pretty good. My daughter wants to read it but I told her to let me check it out first.”

“Can I buy that book from you?” she asked, digging into her purse cash.

“Naw, this is my daughter's book. I couldn't do that,” he said, shaking his head as he continued to drive.

Monica pressed a hundred dollar bill onto the glass as soon as he stopped at another red light.

“She'll be the fuck all right,” he said, hopping out of the car to open the passenger door and quickly swap the book for the money.

Monica turned the book over and there was Keesha's photo near her bio on the back.

The driver pulled up to the 40/40 Club and Monica dug out another twenty to pay him for the fare before she climbed from the car, pushing the book down into her tote as she went to stand by the valet parking stand. She called for Sampson to pick her up, but her mind was focused on getting home, taking a shower, and hoping to sober up enough to read the book.

“That bitch actually wrote a book,” she said, still amazed.

She was the wife of a CFO who was laid off but still a wealthy man. Danielle was on TV. Keesha was an author.

She smiled as she remembered some of the crazy stunts Diane used to pull that would embarrass Keesha so much
. Now that bitch is out there.

“Ms. Winters. Are you ready?”

She turned her head to find the Denali double-parked and Sampson holding an umbrella to shield a sudden light rain. “I'm sorry. My mind wandered. I'm ready, thank you,” she said, lightly holding his arm for support as he led her to the rear of the SUV.

“Early night,” he said.

“Yes and still too late,” she said with a yawn.

Soon the mellow sounds of Curtis Mayfield began to play.

That's my Sampson
, she thought as she let her head drift to the side. She didn't bother to sleep, though. He would be dropping her home before she could get into a deep enough sleep to matter.

And not fifteen minutes later the Denali pulled to a stop before her apartment building. The doorman immediately stepped out with his own umbrella and headed toward the vehicle. “No need to get wet, Sampson. The doorman is right here. See you tomorrow,” she said, letting the man help her from the car.

“There's a delivery waiting for you at the desk,” he said, stepping back to hold the door to the building open for her.

“They could have taken it up to the apartment,” Monica said as she watched him go around the tall desk and sit a box on top of it.

“No, ma'am. It was specified that it be given directly to you. We didn't even mention the delivery to Mr. Steele.”

Monica eyed it. It was a bright red box with a huge gold bow. “Did you see the person who delivered it?” she asked, picking it up.

“Just a regular delivery service,” he said, moving around the desk to go and open the door for one of her many neighbors.

Monica carried the lightweight box to one of the seats before the lit fireplace in the elaborately decorated area. She set her purse on the seat beside her and then set the box on the table. It had been a minute since she received one of the ridiculous e-mails and whoever got a kick out of wasting her time had never bothered contacting her via any other method. Except the text the one time.

She pulled the card from under the bow. She almost dropped it as she read the words.

Monica dropped the card onto her lap and removed the bow and the lid from the box. It was a box of Godiva chocolates but taped to the wax paper was another card. She opened it and the chorus to Babyface's song “Never Keeping Secrets” played loudly.

Monica read the printed words.

 

 

Babyface's voice singing that hook continued to repeat itself. Monica slammed the annoying card shut. She picked the package up as she rose to her feet. As soon as she was near enough to the flickering flames she tossed everything into the fireplace and then stood there and watched the fire consume it.

K
eesha sat quietly in the chair in front of her agent's unkempt desk. Madge was a tall and thin woman with a fuzzy bob that was more white than any other color her hair used to be. She looked at Keesha with concern over the rim of her red-framed glasses. She reached in the top drawer of her dresser and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a fifth of Johnnie Walker Black Label. “Did you drive?” she asked as she stood up to grab two paper coffee cups.

Keesha shook her head as she bit her bottom lip and looked out the window at another brick building. It was definitely a room without a view. “So what does this all mean? How do I pay my bills? Am I supposed to just give up writing and go get a job? Like—and excuse my language—what the fuck am I supposed to do, Madge?” she asked, shifting her eyes back to her agent and the cup of brown liquor she handed her.

Keesha took it and even got it close enough to her mouth to get high off the fumes before she remembered she was now four months' pregnant. She didn't bother to explain all of that. She just set the cup on the edge of the desk in a random clean spot.

“Your editor was willing to offer you a deal—”

Keesha sat up on the edge of her chair. “For a third of the original deal? Then I only get half up front with a deadline to turn in the book to get the other half. I can't make it off that.”

Madge set her cup down as well. “Listen, we turned down your publisher and I tried shopping to other editors but if you are stuck to this six-figure advance . . . you may have just written your last book.”

Keesha crossed her legs in the charcoal wide-legged pantsuit she wore with fuchsia heels. She came dressed for business because she meant business. Her savings were already drying up making her share of the bills. She hated swallowing her pride and firing the part-time maid she had hired—the one Corey warned her she could not afford. They still had a mortgage, car notes, Kimani's private school tuition, credit cards, personal loans. Gas was high as hell. Groceries were bananas. Clothes were a hard screw. And then there was Diane still sucking on the teat whenever she got ready. And that still wasn't all of her bills. Hell, Uncle Sam got his off the muscle.

Keesha began flexing her foot in agitation.

The bills were steadily stacking and the money was steadily drying up.

“I also spoke to the production company this morning when you were headed in,” Madge said, her Long Island accent prominent.

Keesha noticed this time she did take a sip from the cup. She steeled herself.

“The length of time they purchased to try and acquire backing for the film has passed and they are not going to make a new offer to extend the contract.”

“So no movie.”

Madge shook her head, sending her dry and brittle bob swaying back and forth around her slender face. “No movie,” she said.

Keesha was no virgin and she thought she knew how it felt to be fucked but this was a whole new level that she did not like.

“I didn't turn down the offer from your editor. I just told them we would consider it for a week or so,” Madge said, lighting a Marlboro Light.

Keesha felt a strong craving for a Newport—almost as strong as she used to crave dope—but cigarettes were a no-go now too.

Keesha checked the cell phone sitting in her lap. It was Shawn. She sent his aggravating ass to voice mail. The last thing she had time for was him, his dick, or his assertions that the baby could be his.

“Keesha, the goal is to keep putting books out, build your audience, write better and better books with each new one,” Madge said. She dipped her head so low that her glasses almost slid off her nose. “Take the lower advance. Write the best book you got in you and make your money on the back end. With the right book sales we're back in better negotiating waters. You feel me?”

Keesha actually smiled at her agent's attempt at Blackness. Keesha knew she meant to lighten the mood. It just barely worked. “Okay. Take the deal,” she said, feeling like it would have been easier to pull teeth without Novocain then pull those words from her.

Madge put away the liquor bottle and walked to her adjoining bathroom to flush the liquor from the two cups they didn't drink. She walked back over to follow Keesha to the door. “Go and enjoy lunch and I'll call you when the deal is done,” she said, opening the door.

Corey stood up and dropped the magazine he was reading as he waited. His eyes studied her face as Madge walked back into her office and closed the door. “What happened?” he asked as they left the building.

“I fucked up. My advance is getting slashed and I ignored every motherfucking thing you told me about saving money and planning for the future. I fucked up,” she said.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders as they stood in the foyer of the building. “Trust me, it will all work out,” he assured her. “You see these shoulders? I got it.”

Keesha's guilt cloaked her. This man had no clue about the confusion she was bringing into his life with the baby.
I have to tell him the truth. I have to. I will not do to my baby what my mother did to me. Fuck that crazy shit.

“I got a surprise for you,” he said, opening the glass door and letting her walk out onto the side street first.

They walked to the corner and hailed a cab. As soon as she was settled on the seat, Corey whispered something to the driver before he finally climbed into the back. Instead of driving into New York and dealing with parking, they had parked their car at Newark Penn Station, hopped on a train to New York Penn, and then caught a cab to Madge's office.

Keesha assumed they were just retracing their steps back home. Her assumptions were proven wrong when the cab pulled to a stop outside one of the entrances to Central Park. “Why are we at the park?” she asked.

“We're going on a carriage ride,” he told her, climbing from the back of the cab to pay their driver, and then walked over to talk to the carriage driver.

She felt her phone vibrating in her pocket like crazy and as soon as Corey jumped out of the cab she pulled it out and put it on silent before she climbed out of the cab. She pulled the trench coat she wore over her suit around her thick body as Corey took her hand and led her to the carriage.

But she swallowed back her complaints at the roses and chocolates on the seat. Keesha let Corey help her up into the carriage and she picked up her gifts as she scooted over to make room for him.

The driver looked over his shoulder down at them and at Corey's nod the carriage took off at a leisurely pace.

Keesha couldn't lie. She had never done anything like something she'd seen in a movie, and the fact that he planned that ahead of time made her love him more . . . and feel bad for him even more than that. Corey was so crunk for Jesus over the baby. She hated that the truth of it all might destroy him.

They came to a stop beside a lake and Keesha had to admit that even just sitting by the water with her head resting on Corey's shoulders was relaxing. They went from all hood to all good.

“Keesha, I love you.”

She sat up to look him directly in his face but her eyes fell down to the solitaire ring he held in his hand.
Oh God . . .

He reached out for her left hand. “I know we have gone through some tough things but we came through it together and I just believe that we were meant for each other. And not just you and me, but Kimani and the new baby too. We were meant to be family and be there for each other. Thick and thin.”

Guilt and love had her sandwiched.

“I couldn't imagine my life without you and I don't want to.” Corey slid the ring onto her finger. “Will you marry me?” he asked.

Her shoulders slumped because this should have been a perfect moment. It should have been but it wasn't. Not with the weight of her secret overshadowing it all.

“Keesha?” he asked.

He was the only good thing in her life besides her child. She recognized that much too late.
I can't lose him. I can't.

“Yes, yes,” she told him, leaning forward to taste his mouth.

He held her face and deepened the kiss, their tongues circling each other before he drew hers into his mouth.

Keesha closed her eyes and gave in to the way he made her feel.

Keesha and Corey were lounging on the sofa and Kimani was stretched out on the floor as they all watched
Coming to America
for the millionth time.

She picked up the cordless where it sat on the back of the chair. She answered when she recognized their neighbor's cell phone number. “Hey, Jeremiah. What's up?”

“Walk over here when you get a chance and come by yourself.”

Keesha frowned but she dropped the phone and stood up, sliding her bare feet into her slippers.

“Where you going, Bay?” Corey asked, his eyes barely shifting from the flat screen over the fireplace.

“Jeremiah's. He didn't say what's wrong but it must be something with him and his boo,” she said, already easing around the couch and heading for the front door. “I'll be right back.”

The sun was just starting to set and the sweater she wore barely did a thing to keep the fall night winds from biting against her. Before she could make it down her steps and across the drive, Jeremiah was already standing on his porch with a big red box in his hand.

“Is that an engagement gift for me?” she asked. “I didn't even get to tell you about it yet.”

“Damn, so Corey proposed. Congratulations,” he said with a smile that deepened his dimples. He came down the steps to hand it to her. “But we'll talk about that later. Let's get into this box that is for you. The deliveryman said to only give it to you when you were alone.”

Keesha arched a brow as she eyed the red box and gold bow. “Who's it from?” she asked.

“They didn't say.”

She turned and dropped down on Jeremiah's porch to undo the lid. She removed the card taped to the wax paper and then lifted the paper. “It's chocolate,” she said, reaching for one.

Jeremiah politely reached out and took it from her hand to toss into the bushes lining his front yard. “An unsealed box that you were not expecting and have no clue who it's from, Ms. Everything-I-Eat-My-Baby-Eats.”

“True,” she agreed, opening the card.

“Okay somebody likes Babyface,” Jeremiah drawled sarcastically.

Keesha read the card to herself and then read it again.

 

 

She honestly thought the e-mails she had been getting were spam and she ignored them all but here was a package with the same bullshit, delivered to her at her address and they clearly knew about Corey.

Was this some of Shawn's mess, she wondered, turning the lid over to pull the card from beneath the gold bow.

“Who's it from?” Jeremiah asked.

“Some fool,” she lied, tearing up both cards.

Friday night she was going to fuck Shawn all the way up.

Oh shit just got real.