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Smiling like a seasoned temptress, she winked. “If there’s ever anything you need—I’ll be more than happy to help.”
Matt finally met her gaze, but didn’t respond.
Enough was enough. Seth cleared his throat.
Matt jumped again and then his face flushed a deep burgundy. “Seth,” he boomed too loudly. “C’mon in. Cookie, that will be all for today.”
The vixen’s lips managed to spread wider as she demurely cast her gaze down. “If you say so, Dr. Valentine.” She turned and walked saucily toward the door.
“Remember, if you need anything—anything at all—call me.” Cookie winked and disappeared from the door.
“Can you spell trouble?” Seth asked, blinking from the trance her swaying hips induced.
“Who—Cookie?” Matt asked. “She’s harmless.”
“So is a starved lion—as long as you’re not locked inside its cage.” Seth folded his arms and leaned against the doorframe. “Look, Matt. I don’t know how to say this other than to just come out and say it.”
Matt cast a curious glance at the mirror and met Seth’s reflected stare. “All right. Let me have it.”
“I think you and Chanté should see a marriage counselor.”
A silence roared on the heels of his words and judging by the intense glare from Matthew, he expected the vanity mirror to crack at any second.
“Have you lost your mind?” Matthew asked, standing from his chair and storming toward the door.
Seth managed to jump out of the way before Matt slammed it on his arm.
“Chanté and I are fine. The last thing we need is a marriage counselor,” he said and barked a humorless laugh.
Seth glanced around the room and feigned surprise to find there were no other parties surrounding him. “I’m sorry. Are you talking to me—or someone else who hasn’t refereed a few screaming matches at your home?”
“All couples have disagreements,” Matt answered flatly and then exchanged his starched white shirt for something more appropriate for the tennis court. “Of course, they usually refrain from putting itching powder in each other’s clothes.”
“Or cutting each other’s cars in half.”
A wide smile monopolized Matt’s face. “That was pretty good.” He jutted a finger. “Extreme—but pretty good.”
“Come on. What’s the big deal?” Seth shrugged. “You encourage and educate people everyday about the importance of counseling. What’s the big deal in practicing what you preach?”
Matthew unzipped his pants and jerked them down his legs. “The big deal is there isn’t a damn thing that a psychologist can tell us that we don’t already know. We’re both controlling perfectionists with hot tempers. Theories and overblown rhetoric are not what we need. Especially when you’re dealing with someone who is stubborn as an ox.”
Seth frowned. “Help me out. Who’s the ox in this scenario?”
“Not funny.” Matthew tried to pull his left leg out from the bunched pants leg, but instead lost his footing and fell face forward. “Goddamn it.”
Seth covered his mouth in time to cork his laughter.
By the time Matthew recovered and climbed back to his feet there was no trace of amusement on Seth’s face—despite Matt’s sock suspenders and Daffy Duck boxer shorts.
Matthew cleared his throat and then launched into an explanation for the boxers. “Chanté burned just about everything in my underwear drawer after the car incident.”
“I think you got off lucky.”
At last, Matthew smiled as he reached for his pristine-white tennis shorts. “I do, too.”
A knock rapped on the door.
“Come in,” Matt shouted.
Cookie peeked inside with a sheepish grin. “Your package arrived, Dr. Valentine.”
Matthew’s eyes lit up as he clapped his hands together. “Oh. Bring him in.”
Seth’s brows furrowed in curiosity but the feeling was quickly sated when Cookie entered the dressing room with the most adorable brown-and-white puppy.
“There’s my little man,” Matt exclaimed, finally stepping free from his trousers to reach for the dog. “Thank you, Cookie.”
“My pleasure. Do you know what you’re going to name him?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Matt scratched behind the puppy’s ear. “I have to spend some time with him and get a sense of his personality.”
Cookie leaned over and kissed the dog on top of the head. “Well, keep me posted. I love dogs!”
“Will do.”
The intern gave either Matt or the dog a wink, Seth couldn’t tell which.
“Call if you need anything,” she reminded him again and then disappeared with another wink.
“Excuse me, uhm,” Seth said once the door closed. “But isn’t Chanté allergic to dogs?”
“She’s not allergic,” Matt said unconcerned. “She just hates them.”
“I stand corrected.”
Matt sat in his makeup chair and began to coo and imitate baby talk to the bundle of fur.
“What kind of dog is he?”
“Bulldog. Isn’t he handsome? Maybe I should name him Buddy? As in my Buddy.”
“You know your wife is going to hit the roof when she sees him.”
“Probably.” Matt smiled. “But I’ll just keep him on my side of the house. Besides, everyone needs companionship. A fact my wife seems to have forgotten.”
Seth stared at his friend. Finally, he decided to stop pussyfooting around. “Let me ask you something. And be honest if you can. If you and Chanté continue on the way you have been, how long do you think it will be before you finally accept Cookie’s invitation?”
A flash of anger returned to Matthew’s eyes. “You’re out of line.”
“And you’re in denial.”
That loud silence returned to the room, but this time it was layered with a tension usually reserved for heavyweight boxers on fight night.
“Look, I’m your friend.”
“You’re my agent.”
Seth thrust up his chin at the verbal blow. “All right. I’m your agent. As your agent I think I should warn you that a marriage counselor is better for your reputation than getting caught with your hands in the Cookie jar.”
Matthew’s heated black gaze snapped up to Seth as he opened the door.
“Think about it, Matt.” His gaze shifted to the puppy. “Good luck, Buddy. Something tells me that you’re going to need it.”
Chapter 5
“Hello, Shawanda. Welcome to The Open Heart Forum.”
“Dr. Valentine? Oh, Lawd, girl. I didn’t think I would ever get through.”
Chanté chuckled as she glanced up at Thad through the glass partition. “Well, I’m glad you did, Shawanda. What’s on your heart tonight?”
“Yeah, well, I need to get some advice on what I should do about this (beep!) that’s been creeping around with my man.”
“Whoa, whoa, Shawanda.” Chanté laughed. “I got to tell you this isn’t one of those trashy talk shows, so I’m going have to ask you to watch the language. You think that you can do that?”
“Yeah, girl. Just tell me what I should do about this…heifa stalking my man ’cause I’m seriously about to catch a case if she calls my house one more damn time.”
“Well,” Chanté shook her head and braided her fingers. “Have you confronted your husband about this woman?”
“Oh, we ain’t married or nothing. We’ve just been living together the last fifteen years.”
Thad slapped a hand around his mouth while Chanté remained composed.
“I see. Before I address your question, Shawanda—do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Uh, well, I guess not.”
“Why have you wasted fifteen years of your life on a man who clearly doesn’t respect you enough to marry you?”
“Hey, that’s my baby’s daddy. The ring will come. I mean, you know, he first has to get his wife to sign the divorce papers.”
“His wife?”
“Yeah, she’s been trippin’ ever since he chose me over her trifling behind.”
“So let me get this straight—” Chanté straightened in her chair. “You’re calling because your man is exhibiting the same behavior you benefited from fifteen years ago when he left his wife for you. Do I understand that right?”
“Look, Rufus left my sister because she didn’t know how to treat him right. She never could keep a man, if you know what I mean.”
“Unfortunately, I think I do.” Chanté sighed. “All right, Shawanda and the rest of you ladies out there who think that hanging on to a man, any man, by any means necessary is the road to eternal bliss. Snap out of it!”
Chanté drew a deep breath and shook her finger at her desk microphone like it was an errant child. “This sort of behavior is unacceptable, despicable and downright counterproductive. It’s bad enough that you destroyed one family, but you’re calling me to help you stop someone from paying you back for what you put out in the universe. The way I see it, Shawanda, you have two choices, get out or suck it up.
“If you have any sense left you’ll do the right thing and crawl to your sister on your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness. Got it?”
A loud click followed by a dial tone filled the airwaves.
“Humph. Another woman who can’t take the truth.” She shook her head. “Look, ladies. One of the hardest things you’ll ever have to learn is to know when to let go. It’s not always healthy to only listen to your heart. Your heart can convince you to give up things you have no business giving up. Trust me, I know.”
Chanté stayed her tongue, realizing that she’d nearly said too much. To her surprise, Thad had already removed his headphones and was stretched out in his chair, shaking his head.
“We cut to Dr. Laura Schlessinger’s repeat show about a minute ago.”
“Oh, thank God.” Chanté sighed and dropped her head on her desk. “I was about to experience a serious case of verbal diarrhea.”
Thad stood from his chair and strode out of the control room and into the studio booth. “Hey, what do you say we grab some coffee at our favorite diner? We could talk and…talk.”
Chanté rolled her head to the side and peeked up at him. “Talk?”
Somehow, she managed to lift her head and smile. “Thanks, Thad…but I think I’m going to have to take a rain check.” She removed her headset.
He nodded with obvious disappointment. “All right. But I got to tell you—the rain checks are stacking pretty high. I’m going to start cashing them in soon—real soon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow night it is.” Thad slid the bill of his Yankees cap to the front and winked. “Get some rest. You look like you need it.”
Chanté watched the young producer as he shuffled out of the studio and then felt herself tumble back into a void so complete, she barely had any energy to pack up her belongings. “Sleep,” she mumbled under her breath. “What a novel idea.”
Like a zombie, she headed out to the employee parking lot. Despite exhaustion, Chanté knew when she climbed into bed, sleep would be rationed out in fitful doses. Such had been the case for the past five months. Ever since she’d kicked Matthew out of their bedroom.
She was angry. He was angry. She threw things. He shouted hurtful things at the top of his lungs. Neither apologized. To do so would mean that one of them was wrong. After eleven years of marriage, Chanté was tired of always being wrong.
Chanté’s heels clicked louder against the asphalt, renewed anger brewed in her blood. Over the past five months, she’d lamented over every argument they had ever had and not once had Matthew apologized.
Not once.
As she approached her parking space, the sight of the rented Mercedes only fed her anger. Matthew deserved more than just some itching powder sprinkled in his clothes—maybe being thrown into a cage with a wild animal would elicit some sense of satisfaction.
“Okay, maybe that’s a little too harsh,” she admitted, but a smile curved her lips all the same.
As Chanté merged into traffic, she wished that she’d taken Thad up on his offer for coffee and a talk. She wanted to talk to someone, but hated feeling pressured to do so. The irony of that didn’t escape her.
She drove for hours, most of the time going back and forth over the same stretch of highway—never really ready to make the right exit for her house. No matter the hour, she knew Matt would be waiting up for her in the living room, although he would never admit it. He’d always claimed to be working whether his laptop was on or not. That still meant something, didn’t it? What about the other night when he’d nearly made love to her on the floor of the foyer?
Wasn’t that a sign that he still wanted her?
At least her body…or what her body should be capable of giving him.
