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She took his offered hand and climbed out. Once her vehicle was secured, she followed him inside the small, one-story brick building.
The interior of the bar was smoky, as she’d expected. She could tell from the pungent scent that most of the people inside were smoking cigars or pipes instead of cigarettes. The wood paneled walls were covered with neon signs advertising beers and liquor, as well as a few battered license plates and sporting equipment. Among the artifacts were several photos of Bob Marley, Sean Paul, Mad Lion and various other performers of reggae, dancehall and soca music. One sign in particular caught her attention. She read the sign aloud. “Welcome to Bull Country. Warning: Bears Shot on Sight.” Shaking her head at the old athletic rivalry between two local universities, she raised herself onto one of the padded leather stools.
Rashad simply sat next to her, at his towering six foot two inches of height he didn’t need to stretch or stand on his toes to sit on a bar stool. As the bartender approached, he ordered a root beer.
When the bartender turned to her, Lina said, “I’ll have a ginger ale with lemon, please.” She knew better than to drink alcohol. It was hard enough for her to resist Rashad while sober. The last thing she needed right now was to make a stupid mistake with him, one she couldn’t take back.
With his bottle of root beer in hand, he asked casually, “How have you been?”
She offered a soft smile. “Pretty good. Actually, I just found out yesterday that I made senior partner at the firm.”
His easy grin broadened, his eyes lighting up as if to express his genuine happiness. “That’s great, congratulations! I know you’ve wanted that partner spot for a long time.”
She felt the blush creeping into her cheeks as he raised his bottle in her direction. She remembered the talks they’d had during their brief time as a couple. While he hadn’t been very forthcoming with details of his life, she’d openly shared her hopes and dreams with him.
He took a long draw from his bottle.
She squirted lemon into her soda and sipped from her own glass, noticing the awkward silence that had fallen between them. To break it up, she asked, “How about you? What have you been up to since I last saw you?”
He set the bottle down, his eyes connecting with hers. “You mean, other than thinking about you?”
She sighed, rolling her eyes.
He seemed to take the hint, and altered his approach. “I’ve been doing fine. I still work for the register of deeds office, still do the Wednesday night shows with the band, though we did take a little hiatus while Darius and Eve were on their honeymoon.”
She smiled at the mention of her best friend and her new husband. “These days, she’s glowing. It’s the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time.”
“Darius is certainly happy, it even shows through in his playing on stage. Speaking of the shows, I haven’t seen you at one in a while.”
She lowered her gaze from his. “I think you know why, Rashad.”
He frowned. “Not really.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I know you and I aren’t together anymore.”
Because of your secrecy, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue and tried to keep the annoyance off her face.
“You can still come and enjoy the music.”
Rolling her eyes again, she met his gaze, and instantly regretted it. There it was again, that look he was so good at giving her. The dark, coffee-colored pools of his eyes seemed to hold a mixture of sincerity and desire. The longer she stared, the more she felt herself falling into them, being dragged back into his world.
The electronic jukebox behind her suddenly started up, blasting Shaggy’s hit “It Wasn’t Me.” The pounding syncopation of the music snatched her right out of Rashad’s world and back into reality. Shaking off the remnants of his charms, she decided to use this evening to her advantage. “So, how bad do you really want Monk’s piano?”
His back stiffened, as if he didn’t like that she’d changed the subject. “I’m sure I want it more than you do. You’ve never been into Monk the way I am.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “True, but my mother is about as big a fan of Thelonious Monk as a person can be.”
Now his brow hitched in surprise. “You mean you want the piano for your mother?”
She nodded. “She’s been feeling poorly lately, and I know she’d love to have it. It’s just the thing to raise her spirits, and since I got the promotion, I figured, what the hell?”
He cupped his chin, moving his fingers along his smooth, clean shaven skin. “That’s honorable and everything, and no offense to Mrs. Smith, but I’m going to do whatever I have to, to win the bid.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. I hope your mother’s health improves, but we’re talking about a piece of jazz history here. If it wasn’t for Monk, I never would have touched the eighty-eights. I have to have this piano.”
She couldn’t hold back her chuckle. She had nothing but respect for civil servants, since she worked with them on a daily basis. However, she also knew they weren’t exactly well paid. “You and I aren’t the only ones who want it, and from the looks of Mrs. Parker, she’s got some serious resources.”
He shifted on the bar stool, downed the last of his root beer. His gaze hardened and focused on the wall of spirits behind the bar. “You don’t think I can beat her bid?”
“No offense, but it’s a possibility. She looks like she could outbid us both.”
“Speak for yourself. You don’t know everything about me.”
She scoffed. “That’s for damn sure.”
He swiveled his head toward her. “Are we really going to do this here? Do we really need to revisit your trust issues?”
She pursed her lips. “My trust issues? I’m not the one who always had something to hide.”
“Not telling you every single detail of my life is not the same as hiding things from you.”
Draining the last of her ginger ale, she grabbed her purse and slid from the bar stool. “That’s where we disagree, Rashad. I opened up to you, and all I got in return was the brush-off.”
“I’m not your ex, Lina. You’re never going to be happy until you stop blaming all men for his shit.”
That did it. She turned her back on him, and without anther word or a backward glance, strode to the door and left.
* * *
Rashad dunked a boneless buffalo wing into his cup of ranch dressing and popped it into his mouth. From his corner of the booth at the Brash Bull, he had a pretty good view of the big screens displaying various sporting events. The televisions were muted, as usual, with the closed-captioning turned on. Most of the noise in the place was coming from the booth he shared with the other members of his jazz quartet, the Queen City Gents.
The men were currently entertaining themselves by teasing Darius about his so-called honeymoon glow. Having returned less than a month ago from an island hideaway with his new bride, Eve, Darius’s personality had taken a noticeable turn toward sappy.
Darius, the band’s bassist and Rashad’s ace since their days in college, pounded his fist on the table. “Y’all are just jealous that I’m getting some on a regular basis, and from a gorgeous woman at that.”
Swallowing a mouthful of beer, Marco scoffed. “Please. I never lack for female affection.” The saxophonist, a native of Costa Rica and a self-proclaimed ladies’ man, wore an expression that conveyed just how sure of himself he was.
Darius groaned. “Marco, we’re not talking about man-whoring. We’re talking about commitment here.”
Ken “the Zen” Yamada, the band’s drummer, barely looked up from his phone as he spoke. “This is why I don’t bother with dating. Women are just a source of contention between us.”
Darius shot back. “You know, Ken, I’m starting to think your ass is gay.”
Rashad simply smiled at their banter, preferring to enjoy his wings and beer instead of get involved in their pointless debate.
From his seat on the bench, Darius elbowed Rashad. “Don’t you have something to say, man?”
Rashad shook his head, keeping his eyes on the television nearest the table. “Nope. Not a damn thing.”
He was watching the local twenty-four-hour news channel focused on happenings around North Carolina. An image of two wrecked cars appeared, and Rashad read the transcript ticking by on the screen.
As he focused on the news anchor’s words, he realized that the accident had taken place in Charlotte, and that the owner of the auction house he’d been at last night, as well as the auctioneer, had been injured. The story continued to scroll by, ending with an announcement that the auction house would be closed, and all auctions would be postponed for at least two weeks.
“What are you staring at, Rashad?” The question came from Marco, and cut into his thoughts.
“The news. It looks like I’ll have to wait for my shot at Monk’s piano. The auction house is shut down for a couple of weeks.” Rashad grabbed a napkin and wiped the wing sauce from his fingers. He’d been looking forward to going over to the auction house that night, though it wasn’t his usual Saturday night activity.
Now, with the auction delayed, he could put more of his focus on obtaining the other rare treasure he wanted to make his own: Lina.
He imagined how she would act in a courtroom, arguing some poor opposing counsel under the table; or in her office, diligently attending to client paperwork and phone calls. She took her career very seriously, and he didn’t blame her. Her passion for the law was evident, and as the old saying went, if you do what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.
Darius elbowed him in the ribs. “Rashad, I hear there’s drama at county. What do you know about it?”
Darius’s pointed question drew Rashad out of his fantasy, and he groaned. “All I know is that the county budget is being cut, drastically. Right now, we don’t know how it’s going to affect us at the courthouse.”
“Sounds like things are pretty uncertain over there.” Marco ran his hand over his chin as if thinking.
Rashad agreed. “They are. What about you, how are things in the fast-paced financial world?”
“Same old, same old.” Marco shrugged, as if his work as vice president of Royal Community Bank was no big deal.
Rashad knew better. Royal was the largest minority owned private financial institution in the state.
Ken volunteered, “I’m in the running for a pretty big design contract for the city. Hopefully the budget cuts won’t put the kibosh on it.”
Rashad doubted the budget cuts would cause problems for Ken. As a skilled graphic designer, Ken’s services were always in demand. Aside from that, it was almost always more economical to hire a freelancer than to take on the costs of a full-fledged employee.
Darius joked, “No one ever asks me about my work.”
Rashad shook his head, punched his friend in the shoulder. “That’s because we all know you don’t do any. As long as you keep inviting us down to the beach house, we’re willing to overlook it.”
“Don’t be jealous of my awesome retirement.”
Rashad scoffed and punched him again. “Don’t be an ass about it, then.”
The basket of wings in the center of the table was empty now, so Rashad used a couple of Wet-Naps to clean up. Grabbing his wallet from the back pocket of his black slacks, he pulled out a twenty to cover his share of the tab and tip.
“I’m out, guys.” Rashad eased out of the booth, keys in hand.
His friends said their goodbyes as he strolled out of the building.
Inside the cab of his pickup truck, he started the engine and pulled out of the small lot. He thought about Lina as he navigated the streets of downtown Charlotte, taking I-77 out of the city toward his luxury housing complex.
The way she’d walked out on him the previous night, he knew he should probably let her cool off. Since he’d obviously upset her, he was willing to give her some space. Still, he was not willing to walk away from her, and what they could have together.
She was such a cynic, and he understood why. According to Lina, her ex-husband, Warren, had been an asshole of the highest order. He’d cheated on her at every opportunity and then further insulted her by assuming she was too stupid to figure out what he was up to. Any woman would be cautious after what she’d gone through.
What Rashad didn’t understand was why she insisted on making him bear the burden of her mistrust. Sure, he flirted with the women in the front row when the Gents put on their shows, that was part of the act. He was lead singer, and if smiling and winking at a few women kept ticket sales up, what was the harm in that? Somehow, Lina had associated his stage persona with his true self, and assumed that if he winked and charmed from the stage, he must be seeing other women behind her back.
That couldn’t be further from the truth. When they were together he’d been faithful to her. Hell, since he’d broken up with her, he’d been on a self-imposed hiatus from dating and sex. After Lina, no other woman seemed to capture his interest.
By the time he pulled his truck into the two-car garage beneath his unit, he’d made up his mind. He’d back off for now, give her a few days to be mad at him. But come next week, he fully intended to ask her out again, so they could heal the rift between them.
A woman like Lina was as rare and precious a find as Monk’s piano, and he didn’t intend to let either slip through his fingers.
Chapter 4 (#ulink_9f38a456-ae85-569d-a567-8e5853f2e9eb)
By Monday morning, Lina had managed to push most of her annoyance at Rashad aside, in favor of working on a new case. He hadn’t contacted her over the weekend, and she was glad. She was about to embark on a new phase in her career as an attorney, and the last thing she needed right now was to be distracted. Rashad MacRae was about the biggest distraction she’d ever encountered.
She shifted through the case files on her desk, looking for a particular piece of paperwork she needed to get started on her research. After a few moments of flipping through the pile, she realized she wasn’t getting anywhere. She pressed a button on her intercom system and asked her legal assistant to come in.
Randi Mayer entered a few moments later, the long strap of an attaché case slung over her shoulder. She was professionally dressed as usual, wearing a soft blue button-down shirt with a pair of navy blue boot-cut slacks. She also wore a pair of navy pumps with heels so high Lina wondered how she kept from twisting her ankles with every step. The young woman, a recent graduate of Duke Law, was extremely efficient at her job. If anybody could find what Lina needed, it was Randi.
“Are you looking for the Needleman files?” Randi asked the question as she crossed the room toward Lina’s desk.
Lina rubbed a hand over her forehead. “Yes. Do you know where they are?”
Randi extended a manila folder. “Here they are. I took them yesterday afternoon, typed them up and made copies. I should have told you, but by the time I finished, you’d already gone home for the day. Sorry about that.”
Relief caused Lina’s breath to escape in a long sigh. “Thanks, Randi.” Now that she had the files in her possession, she could get on with the rest of her day. As she flipped through the neatly typewritten pages, she thanked her lucky stars for such an efficient assistant.
“Do you need me for anything else?” Randi stood by the desk, waiting.
Knowing how tiresome it must be to stand in one place in those sky-high heels, Lina gestured to one of the two empty chairs on that side of the desk. “Yes. Go ahead and have a seat. With any luck, we can finish up our pretrial preparation before the day is out.”
Randi sat, pulling out a yellow legal pad and pen from her case. She crossed her legs and grasped the pen. “Okay, Ms. Smith-Todd, I’m ready.”
Opening the case file to the first page, Lina began dictating. “Case file for case number 26008, Howard Needleman versus Dewey and Fowler Incorporated.”
Lina then began to speak about the particulars of the case while Randi transcribed. Howard Needleman claimed to have been unfairly targeted by his new boss. Mr. Needleman insisted that his new superior, Kate Miller, was a female chauvinist who’d placed him on probation for no other reason than to threaten his job. At first, Lina had thought the case far-fetched, but Mr. Needleman and a few of the other men working in his office had presented her with compelling evidence to support his claims.
While Howard remained the only named plaintiff, four other men working in middle management within Dewey and Fowler all had similar stories. Two had been placed on the same kind of employment probation as Howard, and the other two spoke of several negative encounters with Mrs. Miller. One man had even taken it upon himself to use his smartphone to record audio of one of Mrs. Miller’s tirades. The Needleman case was, by far, the most interesting one she’d ever been tasked with.
As lunchtime approached, Lina’s bleary eyes and growling stomach made her close the case file. “Let’s take lunch, I’m starved.”
Randi ceased her writing and put away her pad and pen. “See you back here in forty-five?”
Lina smiled. “Tell you what. We’ve both worked so hard this morning, let’s make it an even hour.”
With a giggle and a wave, Randi left the office, closing the door behind her.
Pulling a tissue from the box sitting on her desk, Lina dabbed at her tired, watery eyes, careful not to disturb her eye makeup. She frequently ordered lunch from the deli a few doors down from the firm. They had great sandwiches and their proximity meant her lunch was always delivered in twenty minutes or less. Today, though, she’d been sitting in one place for so long she decided to walk down there and pick up her lunch herself, hoping the physical activity and fresh air would give her a second wind.
A few minutes later, she was strolling along Morehead Street, enjoying the early summer sunshine. The kelly green sleeveless sheath she wore was perfect for the weather, leaving her arms and legs exposed to keep her from overheating in the warm, slightly humid air. She’d left her cream-colored cardigan in the office—while she needed it to fight off the chill of the air-conditioning inside, she certainly didn’t need it out here.
