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I’m amazed that my words have had their intended effect.
“Sasha,” the man says, his tone soft. He is trying the nice-guy approach now. “Sasha, you know I didn’t mean it.”
I place a hand on Sasha’s back and guide her to my car. Looking back over my shoulder, I give the jerk a warning glance. It says, Don’t even think of making a move, you piece of shit.
I open the passenger door and Sasha climbs inside. Then I quickly round the car to the driver’s side and get behind the wheel. Thank God, the man stands on the sidewalk and watches, not making a move to come toward the car. Quickly, I shift the gear stick in my car and send the BMW flying into traffic.
I drive for about a minute without speaking. Then I glance at my passenger, whose eyes are focused on her lap.
“Hey,” I say gently. “You’re okay now.”
She faces me. Nods.
“Was that guy your boyfriend?”
Another nod.
“He’s a bit … old. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe.” Sasha’s voice is soft, vulnerable.
Sasha’s phone rings. In her eyes, I see fear. It must be the boyfriend’s number.
“Don’t answer it,” I tell her.
Sasha worries her bottom lip, clearly torn and unsure what to do. “Don’t,” I reiterate. “Whatever happened, let him cool off. At least.”
Sasha raises the phone, and I mentally scream, No, no, no! But instead of answering the phone, she presses the button to turn it off.
Good, I think. That’s good.
Another minute or so passes. I’m not sure what to say to this girl. I don’t want to come off as preachy, but I also want her to know that she can open up to me. “I’m Claudia, by the way.”
“Do you always run to people’s rescue like that?” Sasha asks.
“Actually, never.” Thinking of my actions, I’m still surprised. “But I couldn’t keep driving … not when it looked like you needed help.”
The girl nods.
“Where should I take you?” I ask.
She tells me an address south of midtown.
“You don’t live with him, do you?”
“No.”
“Good.” I pause to negotiate a turn. “Where we’re going … it’s someplace safe?”
“Yeah. My sister’s place.”
She’s younger than I first thought, no more than twenty, and I can’t help wondering where her parents are. Not in the picture? Deceased, maybe? And how is it that her sister is allowing her to be out with a man more than twice her age?
There’s a story there. “Listen, if you ever need to chat. Or if you’re ever in trouble and want to talk to me, I want you to know that you can call me.”
“Why?” Sasha asks, sounding skeptical.
Why indeed? I have never done anything like this before. But something about this girl speaks to me. I’m not sure why.
“Because we all need someone to talk to from time to time. I’m a good listener.” I smile.
The girl nods, then looks forward again. After a while, she tells me to turn right. I do, and she continues to guide me the rest of the way to her sister’s building.
It’s not posh, but neither is it run-down.
Her fingers curl around the door handle. Before she can open it, I say, “Wait a second. Let me put my number into your phone.”
Sasha hands me her phone, and I enter my name and number. As I pass it back to her I say, “I don’t know what the deal is with your boyfriend, but it’s obvious you were afraid of him. If he comes around tonight—or any other time—don’t be afraid to call the police.” I’ve got a pretty good idea what this man is like, and he reminds me of Annelise’s sister Samera’s ex-boyfriend, Reed. Men who feel like they possess you are the most dangerous of all. There’s no telling what they’ll do. “Or, like I said, you can call me. Whatever you do, be safe.”
I wonder if my words have gotten through to Sasha at all, or if she’s going to exit my car and immediately call the man I rescued her from. It wouldn’t surprise me.
But as much as I fear she’ll do that, I also know that the hard sell to stay away from him—words from a stranger, no less—might just have the opposite effect on her and send her running right back to him.
So I drive away from her sister’s apartment, happy that I’ve done a good deed. One that has helped—at least somewhat—to dull the memory of my date with Mark.
Chapter four
Annelise
“I FEEL LIKE I NEED TO ESCAPE,” CLAUDIA SAYS. “I’m not going to meet anyone in this city who doesn’t know about my engagement to Adam. And … some of the things we did. Everyone’s so damn interested … as if they’re all virgins, or something. Probably all closet freaks themselves,” she adds with a scowl.
“Exactly,” I tell her. “Please, sweetie, don’t let them get to you. Mark is clearly an asshole, and it’s better that he let you know his true nature on your first date, rather than your tenth.”
“I know.” Claudia sighs. “All the same, maybe I ought to leave Atlanta. Move to California, or Seattle. Or heck, Timbuktu.”
Claudia is downright miserable. After she told me about her date with Mark, I suggested we go shopping for shoes at DSW. Shopping always lifts Claudia’s mood.
But not today. No matter how many times I tell her to stop worrying about what people think, I know she can’t help it. Raised in an elite African-American family, appearances have been important to the Fishers for generations. Even if Claudia personally couldn’t give a crap, her family puts the kind of pressure on her about her public profile that is hard to ignore.
And knowing that she was looking forward to meeting Mark, given that he’d be the kind of guy her family would approve of, I can’t help feeling bad for her. She didn’t deserve to be treated like a whore last night. Claudia’s beautiful both inside and out, and I want nothing more than to see her find a man who will love and adore her.
“Don’t let what Mark said get to you,” I tell her. “Obviously he’s a slimeball.”
“If only he were the only one who saw me as some perverted whore. But there was that other guy, remember? He didn’t come right out and say what Mark did, but he was curious about what I’d done with Adam. Obviously word has gotten around. And it’s not even like I did anything extra freaky. You know the fucking rumor mill. Sure, there was that bartender … but that wasn’t my idea, and I was cornered into doing that.”
I notice that a woman is lingering near me and Claudia, clearly eavesdropping. I’m sure our racy conversation has intrigued her.
“Can I help you with something?” I say sweetly, and the woman quickly hurries in the other direction. When she is out of earshot I continue speaking to Claudia. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but please try to put it out of your mind. And for God’s sake, don’t blame yourself. What happened with Adam happened. Really, it’s not even that big of a deal. People just like to talk.”
“Especially in my circles.” Claudia takes a low-heeled sandal out of a box and slips her foot into it. She examines the way it fits her, then frowns and takes the shoe off. “Seriously, I need to get away.”
Her words give me an idea. Maybe that’s exactly what she needs—what we all need. “You know what? We should plan a trip.”
“Getting away will be nice … but I’ll still have to return home. Maybe I should go to Europe for six months.”
“And miss your goddaughter being born?” I say, shooting her a stare. “No way.”
“I know. I can’t do that.” Claudia forces a smile, but it’s weak. “I love you for caring. But I’ll be okay.” The grin widens, begins to resemble something genuine. “I will be, promise.”
I head back to my photography studio after my shopping break with Claudia. I have an elderly couple coming in an hour for fiftieth-wedding-anniversary portraits, an aspiring model after that. Not a very busy day.
It’s the kind of day where I have time to think, and that’s what I’ve been doing—thinking about Claudia’s offhanded comment about getting away.
Going on a trip—anywhere—will do her a world of good. Not to mention Lishelle. Getting out of Atlanta while the city is buzzing over Rugged’s engagement will be ideal for her. Especially since she sent me a text letting me know that she’s no longer interested in Damon.
Maybe we can go to one of those adults-only resorts. Sure, people likely head to places like that with hookups in mind, but there have to be at least a few happily-ever-after stories. And if the only thing that comes of the vacation is that my friends flirt, have fun, maybe even get laid … well, that’ll do a lot for their dismal states of mind.
I am sitting at my desk, pondering exactly what to do, when the door chimes sing. Whipping my head in that direction, I see one of my favorite people entering my studio.
“Hey, Jared,” I say as I rise to meet him.
“Hello, gorgeous.” His eyes lower to my belly. “Wow, look at you. Pregnant!”
“Five months.”
Jared hugs me. “Congrats.” And as we pull apart, he asks, “Have you set your wedding date yet?”
“Hmm.” My smile is pure saccharine. As much as I love Dom, I’m not sure I want to take another walk down the aisle. When you’ve had a marriage crash and burn, it makes you a bit wary of the institution. I was raised in a very religious household, and always believed marriage was the only way. But despite my ex-husband’s own Christian upbringing, he didn’t feel he owed me fidelity.
No, Dom and I don’t need to make it legal in order to be happy. Not that Dom necessarily shares my opinion. And his mother, an Italian Catholic, definitely wants to see us married before the baby is born.
“Not yet,” I tell Jared.
“Make sure I get an invite.”
“You know you will.” I playfully cut my eyes at Jared. Surely he hasn’t shown up to talk about my marital status. I wonder if he has good news for me. “Did you catch him yet? Wishful thinking, I know.”
Jared shakes his head. “No, sorry.”
No, of course not. Too much time has passed for that to be likely. “Then what brings you by?”
“I was in the area. Figured I’d check in on you. See that everything is okay.”
Jared has been checking in occasionally for the last five months, when there was a robbery at my studio. I wasn’t here at the time—thank God—but I came in one morning to find the place ransacked. Photos were trashed, and my most expensive camera equipment was stolen. When I called the police, Jared was one of two officers who came out to investigate.
“Everything’s good,” I tell him.
“I see that,” Jared says, eyeing my belly. “You never mentioned this the last time I was here.”
“I wanted to make sure I was far enough along before announcing it to the world.” I’m pretty certain that Jared developed a bit of a crush on me after our first meeting, which was why he showed up again just days later. He’s gorgeous—about six foot two, with caramel-colored skin, serious muscles in all the right places—and if I wasn’t happily involved, I’d absolutely have been interested in dating him. But, considering I am in a relationship, when Jared asked me if I wanted to get a coffee, I gently let him down. Right then and there, his flirting stopped. In fact, now he likes to tease me about when I’m going to marry Dom.
Jared’s respectful, which I like, a real decent guy. I have often thought that Jared might be perfect for Lishelle, but the timing was never right to introduce them.
But now …
“Still looking for that special someone?” I ask, an idea coming to me.
“Still single,” Jared confirms.
I tsk. “In a city like Atlanta overrun with available women, it’s hard to believe a guy as hot as you hasn’t found one to settle down with.”
Jared shrugs. “The women here—at least the ones I’ve run into—aren’t looking for something real. They care about the kind of car you drive, and what you’re going to buy them.”
“Superficial,” I say. And I can’t deny that what Jared says is true. I’ve seen it myself. Here, women are all about designer shoes, designer bags, high-end cars. I like pretty things as much as the next girl, but I’ve never been about being with a guy for what he can do for me financially.
“Been there, done that, and I’m not getting married only to get divorced again. I’d rather be single than settle.”
“Preaching to the choir, my friend,” I say. It’s the reason I haven’t wanted to jump into marriage with Dom. I love him, and he’s great to me. But there’s the little thought in my mind, the fear: What if something goes wrong?
Claudia and Lishelle tell me that I’m being overly paranoid, and point out that Dom is not Charles. I know they’re right. And now that I’m pregnant, Dom and I will be connected for life, whether we want that or not.
“Whatever happened to the brother you were supposed to bring by? You remember—you were supposed to do a photo shoot with him?”
“Right, right. Why don’t we set up an appointment. I’ve got time off coming in two weeks, so no excuse.”
“Wait. Did you say that you’ve got time off?”
“Ten days.”
My mind is churning with a sinfully delicious idea. “Any plans?”
“Other than rest and relaxation?”
“I mentioned to you that I want you to meet my friend. Lishelle—the one you’ve seen on the news?”
“Right.”
“And you have a brother. And I’ve got another friend.” I’m speaking more to myself now, the idea taking full shape in my mind. “This could be perfect.”
“What could be perfect?”
I grin. “Take a seat.”
On Sunday, once I’ve got confirmation that Jared and his brother are in, I drop my little bombshell on my friends while we’re at Liaisons.
“I have a surprise for you,” I announce.
In unison, both Lishelle’s and Claudia’s eyebrows lift in curiosity. But Lishelle is the one to speak. “What kind of surprise?”
