Negativity had fueled my climb up the corporate ladder, though. It wasn’t the first time someone compared me to my father, but I’d worked hard to distance myself from his criminal legacy. And Candice Garland was neither poor nor innocent.
I hate this shit. Another fundraiser for one of Granny’s charities. Around the room, members of my family were engaged, doing their part to raise the funds for the city’s homeless population. They were all required to be there, dressed to the nines, ready to nod and smile for her guests.
As I snaked my way through the crowd, something in the corner of the massive ballroom caught my eye. A vision in a black formfitting but elegant dress. The high neckline, sleeveless dress had a ruffle detail cascading down the front, all the way to the hem below her knees. Her dark curls were thick and framed her brown eyes.Stunning.
Albany and Erica were huddled near the far end of the room whispering about something that seemed important judging by my sister’s wide eyes and flailing hands. Curious, I made my way over to them just in time to hear my sister shush my exgirlfriend mid-sentence.
“I guess I’m the topic of everyone’s discussion today.”
Albany glanced at me, her eyes unreadable. Dead, almost. “Hi, Wes.”
Erica’s gaze shifted from me to Albany, then back to me. “We weren’t talking about you, brother,” she explained unnecessarily. “It’s just—”
I squeezed my sister’s shoulder. “No worries,” I assured her. “You’re not the only ones whispering about the latest Ms. Tea post.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” Erica said. “Yikes. But I have to go.”
Albany stood silently after my sister excused herself, staring at her fingernails. There was so much I wanted to say, but this wasn’t the place or the time. The tension was thick, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from her.
“Any new leads?” I asked finally.
She sighed. “We don’t have to do this, Wes.”
“Look.” I stepped in front of her, tilted my head to meet her gaze. “I get it. I ain’t shit. But this is my life. My career is at stake. I’d like to know what information you’ve gathered.”
The ten-piece band segued into a ballad, and several people in attendance made their way to the dance floor. As the Duke Ellington song filled the ballroom, I thought about the first time I’d heard it. Immediately, I was transported back in time. It was Albany’s birthday, and she’d determined the agenda. Movies under the stars. I’d handled everything, rented a bunch of ’90s movies and set up a makeshift drive-in theater on her grandmother’s property.
The first flick wasLove Jones. I’d never seen it, but I remembered the way she’d grinned when Larenz Tate appeared on the screen. I was jealous. And the movie was just alright, but there was one scene … The main couple were dancing to “In a Sentimental Mood.” For some reason, that song stayed with me for days afterward. Even now, whenever I hear it, I think of her.
Next to me, Albany swayed to the music, eyes closed, hand over her heart. She’d done that then, too. “I love this song,” she whispered.
Staring at her, I agreed. “Me, too.”
My voice must have ruined the moment because she blinked. Seconds later, the wistful look in her eyes was replaced with ire. “To answer your question,” she mumbled, “no new leads. But I do think you should contact a PR person to handle the fallout from this smear campaign.”
“Do you really think I need it?”
For the first time since I’d arrived, she peered at me with concern in her eyes before it disappeared. “We had this discussion. It could be anybody. Family, friends, colleagues … You said you’re concerned about your career, act like it.” Her shoulders slumped. “Wes, I don’t think you realize thatanynegative press can impact your career. Even if it’s not true.”
“It’s not,” I offered.
“It doesn’t matter. People are going to run with the narrative. You need to get ahead of it.”
Part of me felt that it was too late, that anyone who cared already formed an opinion of me. It had been that way for years. A few days ago, I didn’t care whatpeoplethought of me. I cared whatshethought. I wanted her to know I wasn’tthatguy. Except, I was. I’d hurt a lot of feelings, including hers, but … “Just so you know, I didn’t seduce Candice,” I explained. “We never—”
She held up a hand. “Stop. I don’t want to know what you did with Candice. I don’t care. But I do have a question.”
Frankly, I was simply happy she didn’t tell me to fuck off, so I nodded. “What is it?”
“Of all the women in the world, why her? Why risk Granny Joyce’s wrath forthatwoman?” The fire was back in her eyes, and damn it, I liked it. Any emotion was better than none. “Is your dick so lonely that you can’t find someone else?Anyoneelse.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I replied, “Why wouldn’t I like her? She’s attractive, intelligent, sexy …”
“Oh, God,” she grumbled.
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“I’ve done my research. You’re reckless. You’re content to have meaningless flings with crazy-ass women just to prove you’re manly. Mysterious. Unavailable. Which in turn attracts women to you. It’s a trap.”
