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“I’m glad you’re getting out,” Coco said. Her mother hadn’t been feeling well due to a bad sinus infection.
“Oh, by the way, Gregory Barton called here. He’s in town for the next couple of weeks and wanted to get together with you.”
Greg was an old boyfriend from her college days. “What did you tell him?” Coco asked.
“That I’d give you his information. There was nothing else to say.”
“So you didn’t mention anything about him getting someone else pregnant while he was seeing me?”
“I figured I’d let you handle all of the particulars,” her mother said. “I know that you don’t like me interfering in your relationships.”
Coco laughed. “You are never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“No, I don’t think I am,” she responded with a short laugh.
A customer walked into the shop.
“Mama, I have to go,” Coco said quickly. “I’ll call you later.”
She silently debated whether or not to give Greg a call. He’d e-mailed her a few times, apologizing for hurting her and for being unfaithful. He had told her that she was the one who had gotten away.
Whatever.
She later decided that it was best to leave the past in the past. She would call Greg back, but only to say goodbye.
Ransom Winters bobbed his head to the thumping music as he strolled around the room, making sure the boys were completing their school assignments.
Thirty-two years old and a self-made millionaire, Ransom was the founder of D-Unit, a structured day program for at-risk teens who didn’t attend school on a regular basis. The boys had a history of excessive class cutting or suspensions in their regular schools; D-Unit was a reputable, short-term alternative for them to attend, but still keep up their regular school assignments.
He paused at the table by a young man wearing a black-and-white Sean John T-shirt. “What are you working on, Jerome?”
The fifteen-year-old glanced up and said, “I have to do a book report on the Civil War.”
“Have you started your research?” Ransom asked.
“Not yet.” He glanced around the room before adding, “We don’t have a computer at home.”
“Do you have encyclopedias?”
The boy shook his head, looking embarrassed.
“You can use the computer over there,” Ransom said, pointing toward the one on the far left. “We have a set of encyclopedias, as well. Let me know if you need any help.”
“Thanks.”
Ransom smiled. He truly believed that it took a village to raise children, and having been a youth counselor in the school system, he knew firsthand that most teens weren’t misbehaving just because. There was always a reason, usually due to what was going on at home: absent fathers, mothers on drugs, etc. His program allowed teens to come to the center and continue their education. He and his staff worked in a Christian hip-hop environment designed to put the teen boys at ease.
Recent statistics showed that the students in his program returned to school with a change of attitude and grades improved. A couple of the boys had turned in their flags, giving up the gangs to which they once belonged. Before they left the program, Ransom met with each of them to help create short– and long-term goals. He followed up, making regular visits to the schools to make sure his boys were on track and had successfully merged back into the school system.
“I’ll be out for a bit,” he told one of the staff members. “I’m going to introduce myself to some of the local businesses across the street. Maybe we can find some more volunteer opportunities for the boys. I’ll pick up lunch. It’s sub sandwiches today. Rick, can you call in their orders for me?”
“No problem,” said the man seated over at a desk in the far corner.
Ransom left the center and glanced across the street. He was always looking for ways the boys could perform the community service requirements that were part of his program. He had been considering going over to the Stanley Chocolates factory to see if they would allow his students to come in and work in some capacity for a few hours a day. Many business owners in the small outdoor mall where he was located hadn’t been real receptive to having boys with baggy pants and hats on backward in their workplace.
Ransom was never one to give up, so he walked briskly across the street and strode into the plant with purpose.
“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.
“I’d like to speak to the manager, please. I don’t have an appointment, so if he or she is busy, I’d like to schedule one. I’m the owner of D-Unit across the street.”
She smiled at him. “What is your name, sir?”
“Ransom Winters.”
“Michael, there’s a Mr. Ransom Winters here to see you. He’s the owner of D-Unit.”
She hung up, saying, “Please have a seat. Michael will see you shortly.”
“Thank you.”
Stanley Chocolates had been around for as long as he could remember. Ransom glanced about the reception area, studying the pictures.
A man walked out from the back. “Hello, I’m Michael Stanley. You’re Ransom Winters?”
Rising to his feet, he nodded. “I am.” He followed Michael to his office.
Closing the door, Michael said, “I saw a message where you’d called me last week. You were actually on my list to phone today. We had a lot of orders that needed to go out and I was short staffed.”
Ransom sat down in the visitor’s chair facing Michael. “I completely understand. I really appreciate you seeing me without an appointment.” He gave a quick overview of his program.
“I applaud your efforts,” Michael responded when he finished his presentation. “I’m sure the response to the center has been overwhelming.”
Ransom nodded. “So much that we’re opening another one in Inglewood soon. The schools seem to fully be on board. Now if I can just get more of the local businesses to lend their support…”
“You can certainly count us in,” Michael said. “However, I would like to have an orientation with the boys who will be coming here, and they must adhere to the rules I set for them. If they don’t, I will have them leave immediately.”
“Understood,” Ransom said. “Thanks so much, Michael. I appreciate it, man.” He stood up. “I won’t keep you from your work any longer. Thanks again.”
Michael rose to his feet. “I’ll walk you out. By the way, my sister owns the chocolate bar next door. You should go over and introduce yourself. She thought you owned a music store.”
“Really?” Ransom asked. “Is the music too loud?”
“I don’t really hear it unless your door is open,” Michael said. “Nobody’s complained, have they?”
“No,” he responded. “But I’ll cut the volume. I didn’t realize you could hear it all the way over here.”
A young woman walked into Michael’s office just as they shook hands.
“Hey, I was just talking about you,” he said to her. “Coco, this is Ransom Winters. He’s the owner of D-Unit.”
She looked surprised, but recovered quickly and held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Constance, but everyone calls me Coco. It’s very nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” he replied.
Ransom was struck silent by Coco’s beauty. He estimated her to be about five-seven. Her body wasn’t too thin or too thick—just the perfect size, in his opinion, and her clear complexion was a golden-butternut color. Coco wore her hair in a sassy, short style that gave her a youthful look. He guessed she was in her mid to late twenties.
He finally pulled his attention away from her and glanced at Michael, to find him smiling.
Busted.
He had been caught ogling the man’s sister. Hopefully this would not cast him in a bad light. He wanted to leave them with a good impression.
“Sis, I think you need to hear exactly what D-Unit is,” Michael told her, sending a wave of relief through Ransom. “It’s not what you thought it was.”
He smiled at Constance. “I heard that you believed I’d opened a music store. That’s not what D-Unit is about.”
“I did,” she confirmed. “So if you don’t sell music, what do you sell?” Coco scanned his clothing. “Are you selling clothes?”
He shook his head. “I don’t sell anything. D-Unit is a center for teens. Right now we’re geared to helping boys in particular, but plan to add services for girls by next year. We offer a structured day program.”
She regarded him with somber curiosity. “What exactly is that?”
“It’s a program designed to help boys stay in school and on target even when they have been suspended.”
“So all those teens I’ve seen coming in and out of your shop are your students?” Coco asked, trying to hide her astonishment. To her they looked more like gangbangers than students.
“Yes,” Ransom answered. “When they’re suspended from school, they usually do nothing but run the streets or stay home playing video games. Neither is the best choice for them.”
She nodded in agreement. “Wow, you’re definitely not a music store. I totally had you figured all wrong.”
“I guess with the music always playing, it was natural you made that assumption,” Ransom said. “The students seem to relate well to music.”
He liked that she seemed interested in his pilot program. Hopefully Coco would allow one of his boys to put in some volunteer hours at her store. “I haven’t been to your shop, but I’ve heard a lot of good things about it.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m pleased with the way things are going. Word of mouth is the best advertisement.”
Michael snapped his finger. “I knew that I recognized your name. You won a Grammy earlier this year.”
Ransom smiled and nodded. “Most people have never heard of me.” He could feel the heat of Coco’s gaze as she quietly observed him.
“You’re one of the biggest songwriters out there,” Michael said. “I know because I have a couple of friends in the industry. My sister here plays the violin.”
Ransom glanced over at her. “I’d love to hear you play sometime.”
She gave him a smile that caused his heart to flip. “You might regret it afterward. I haven’t played much in years. I’ve had my hands deep in chocolate.”
They laughed.
If her brother had not been standing there, Ransom most likely would’ve asked Coco out on the spot. But he decided to keep it professional between them. He still held out hope that she would allow one of his students to fulfill his community service hours in her shop. She was one neighbor he was happy to have.
Coco could hardly keep her eyes off the handsome man standing before her. He was not at all what she expected. Ransom had to be at least six-four or –five, his shoulders broad and muscular. His skin was the color of delectable dark chocolate and his eyes a dark brown with a hint of hazel.
He looked familiar, but Coco was sure they had never met. There was something about his eyes. She searched her memory and came up with nothing. She knew some Ransoms but it was their surname.
“I need to get back to the center,” he said. “But before I go, I was talking to Michael about community service.”
Her brother quickly gave her a recap of their conversation.
“Part of the program includes my students volunteering for community service hours,” Ransom interjected.
“I’m going to have some of them help out in the plant,” Michael announced.
Guarded, Coco met his gaze. “Really?”
He nodded. “I think it’s a good idea, sis.”
Although she was very attracted to Ransom, Coco was not about to have a bunch of teens she didn’t know working in her shop.
“Would you be interested in having one of my students come in a couple hours a day?”
“I’m sorry, Ransom. My shop brings in a certain type of clientele and, well, I’m not sure how…” Coco looked to her brother for help.
Ransom gave her a polite smile. “Thank you for your time. I need to pick up lunch for my students and get back to the center.”
“You left me hanging, Michael,” she said after Ransom left the plant. “Now he probably thinks I’m nothing but a snob.”
“Ransom is doing a good thing with those teens,” her brother responded. “It wouldn’t have hurt to let one come over to help you.”
“I’m not saying it isn’t a good program, but he can’t change those kids overnight. Michael, you are taking a great risk by bringing them into the plant. You need to discuss this with Dad and see what he thinks.”
A flash of anger ignited in Michael’s eyes. “I’m the one in control, Coco. I don’t need to report to Dad—not about this.”
“Those boys lead troubled lives and if they are involved in gangs, who knows what will happen?”
“Maybe all they need is to know that they matter in this world, sis,” Michael pointed out. “We grew up with two wonderful parents. Most of those kids are from low-income, single parent homes.”
“So you think I’m wrong for not letting them come to my shop?”
He met her gaze. “I never said that, Coco. I can’t tell you what to do in your shop.”
“And you don’t want me telling you what to do in this plant, right?”
“Right,” he confirmed. “I have everything over here under control.”
Coco released a soft sigh of resignation. “Michael, I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Chapter 2
