I bite back my knee-jerk reaction to finding out my stepmom is more interested in my career than my own dad. I want to hate her—evil stepmom and all that. Only she’s not evil. She seems perfectly fine. Certainly better than Janet (two wives ago), who tried to put me on a diet and cosigned my dad whenever he ragged on me for going to a casting call instead of a job fair. Or Destiny, who tried to make herself my agent even though I already have a damn good one.
“Baby girl?” he interrupts my brooding. “You still there?”
“Sorry, Dad. I’m still here.”
“Great, because I also called to let you know that Andre stopped by the apartment.”
Just hearing that name makes my blood run cold.
“What?” My jaw is so tight, it’s hard to speak.
“Don’t worry,” he says, attempting a soothing tone. “I didn’t let him up. He just caught me in the lobby…He said he was worried about you.”
“Worried?!”
That negro hassomenerve! He wasn’t worried about me when he had his dick inside his background singer’s mouth. Nor when he missed our last anniversary dinner to meet up with some Instagram ho. Page Six broke that story.
I roll my suddenly tense shoulders.
“Andre gave up the right to beworriedabout me the moment he signed the divorce papers.” But not before making my attorney earn his hefty retainer and then some. Despite our odd first meeting, Henry Park was worth every penny.
“Baby girl,” he begins, but I cut him off before he can launch into another lecture.
“Don’t ‘baby girl’ me, Dad. Andre is a liar and a cheat. If my lawyer had been anyone else, I would’ve wound up payinghimalimony to travel the world getting “strange” at every tour stop.”
A liar, a cheat, and a moron. The prenup was ironclad; even infidelity couldn’t disqualify it. What itdidn’tallow was committing any crimes. Like, say, siphoning a percentage of everycheck I made into a secret account for his own personal slush fund. Even a misdemeanor on either of our parts would tarnish the “lover-boy next door” image the label created for him, and we wouldn’t want that, now would we?! Thanks to society’s engrained misogyny, they could write cheating off as a “moment of weakness”. Stealing, however, was apparently too far. After more than a few messy squabbles played out in the media, he finally settled out of court to keep the truth hidden.
“He made a mistake, Kendra. He’s a rich, handsome man with women throwing themselves at him daily. Is a wandering eye really worth throwing away four years of marriage?”
My jaw drops in disbelief. Andre had a wholewandering dick, and my dad wants me to take him back? He may not know about thethiefpart—strict confidentiality was a stipulation of the settlement—but the habitual cheating should be enough.Ishould be enough.
“If I were going to get back with him,” I say through clenched teeth, “it probably would’ve happened before I filed for divorce and moved out. It’s been final for two months, Dad. Andre and I are over. End of discussion.”
“I just don’t want you to end up like me,” he admits, sounding resigned. “Debbie is great, but it shouldn’t have taken me four walks down the aisle to find her. Your mother and I were dumb and in love, rushing to get married without thinking. But you and Andre did it right. You took your time, did the whole white wedding thing. There must be something there worth saving.”
“Maybe there was. But it’s long gone now. I just wish you could be on my side for once,” I reply sadly.
We talk for a few more minutes; him about how Debbie wants to put an herb garden in the backyard, me with some vague details about tonight’s show. But it’s all white noise. Talking with my dad is like doing an interview, and the only way to get through those is with my trusty public smile in place.
I promise to reach out next week, and he finally ends the call, having drained every ounce of good feeling I had from tonight’s show. Instead of glowing about eye-fucking Damon on the runway, right in front of everyone, I’m scowling about Andre’s triflin’ ass. Andre, who hadn’t made me feel as hot as that look did in over a year.
The cheating was bad. The stealing was worse. But nothing hurt more than how he made me feel when we were intimate. When we tried, at least. We used to have amazing sex. Hot, steamy, marathon sex that required electrolytes and a sandwich to recover.
Then the Viega shoot happened, and everything changed. My body, which had brought me so much success through the years, which I took great pride in despite it not conforming to traditional beauty standards, became a prison. Andre tried to be understanding at first. He tried to work with me and ease me back into intimacy, but after a while…
I shake my head to cut off that train of thought.Enough. He’s out of my life, and I’m better for it. I just had a killer fashion season. Now it’s time to find someone hot, available,and interested to help me with my little problem so Sexy Kendra can finally get her groove back.
Chapter four
Damon
Holy shit!Holy shit, she looked right at me! She definitely saw me. And shewinked. Oh shit, I’m totally busted! Has she seen me before, or was tonight the first time? Oh my God, there’s no way tonight was the first time with the way she winked.
I pace back and forth in my living room, still sweaty, having practically run straight here from the event. My heart’s beating faster than when we played against Real Madrid. Kendra Gray, the international supermodel who I’ve lusted after forforever, who I totally thought I blew it with two months ago, just fuckingwinkedat me in front of everyone at a major fashion show.
It was more than a wink. A wink is something you do when you have a secret, or an inside joke. Whatshedid was take me to at least third base with just her eyes. I glitched for a full three seconds before I remembered I was in public, I was wearingsweatpants, and I was actively interviewing to coach minors. Getting caught with a boner at a fancy event would hardly help with my job search. I hightailed it out of there as fast as I could and hopped on the L train home.
Frustrated and winded from my impromptu jog, I rake my hand through my inch-length hair.
