I wasn’t most people.
While she’d grumbled about the melee at the fundraiser, she said one thing that piqued my interest.Jackson is next.
I had turned over the phrasing in my head for hours afterward. It could’ve meant anything. After all, she’d publicly kicked Wes out of the fundraiser and let Jackson scurry out of the room as if he hadn’t provoked him.
Granny could’ve been referring to the next meeting, the next suspension, the next marriage. But I couldn’t drop the suspicion that it meant he was Ms. Tea’s next target. At the time, I couldn’t wrap my brain around the motive, so I shifted my attention to other potential suspects. Yet, I kept coming back to that moment. Especially after Wes revealed that Ms. Tea had held back on scathing information about Wes’s “love child” in Wellspring.
Wes massaged the back of his neck. “And Grandma Liv?”
I shrugged. “There’s no way Granny would meddle inmylife without my grandmother’s permission and full cooperation.”
The room descended into silence, thick and suffocating under the weight of what I’d uncovered. Seconds dragged by as I watched him. He wasn’t okay. I wanted to reach out, to comfort him, to tell him it would be alright. But I couldn’t lie to him. The truth was … The entire situation was fucked up. I knew it. He knew it.
Finally, he let out a slow, uneven breath and looked at me. “I need to—” His jaw clenched. “—I need to make a call.”
“Okay.”
He kissed my brow and left the room. As I removed the pictures from my wall, I thought about the ramifications of my discovery. Grandma and Granny Joyce had deliberately embarked on a mission to … what?
Social media was lucrative. Earnings varied depending on the type of content and number of followers. Ms. Tea had become a macro-influencer in a brief time, clocking three hundred thousand followers. That number grew every day because of her consistent posts about hot topics.
But …
I found it hard to believe they’d done this for the money or the clout. Neither of them needed it. Both had successful businesses that brought in millions in revenue. While some content creators earned up to thousands of dollars for each post, that money was a drop in the bucket for them.
Granny Joyce made that type of money in her sleep as the CEO of one of the biggest Black media companies in the world. Before that, she’d built a fortune as a radio personality, the host of a popular morning talk show, and even acting in a few movies. Her speaking engagements alone could support a family of five in this area.
So … why?
When I started my investigation, I assumed Ms. Tea was someone with an axe to grind against Wes. An obsessed woman. A business rival. People like Samira, who wanted attention, or John, who simply disliked him. But Granny loved Wes. She’d supported him. Why would she do this?
Sighing, I texted Grandma:Are you busy today?
Before I walked into Batchelor Corp to present my findings, I had to talk to Grandma. It was baffling that she could be involved. I knew firsthand that she was vindictive and very protective of me. But she was Granny’s best friend. She was Bri to me. Yet, she allowed sensitive information about my sealed divorce to go public.
I needed answers.
My phone vibrated. The familiar rhythm that indicated there was a new Ms. Tea post. Opening the app, I went directly to the page, bracing myself for more mess.
The Tea Whisperer buckles under pressure & shuts down her page. This is who y’all thought would dethrone me? #PutSomeRespeckOnMyName
The pic accompanying the post was a screenshot of Samira’s live video apologizing to the Batchelor family for everything.
On second thought, Ms. Tea did good work sometimes. I still didn’t understand her motive, though. But I’d find out.
A text notification appeared as I scrolled my timeline, watching silly videos of people slipping on ice.
Grandma: I’m home. Come by anytime.
I gathered the pictures, stuffed them into a folder and filed it. After I cleaned my desk, I shut down my computer and walked out of the office in search of Wes.
I found him on the balcony, staring out at the Canadian shoreline. Windsor, Ontario, was a short drive via bridge or tunnel. It was a quiet town with breathtaking views of the Detroit skyline and good pizza. Bri and I crossed the border quite a few times to eat and shop.
Leaning against the door, I watched him. The sculpted muscles of his broad back flexed as he bowed his head. He was so beautiful. Last night, we crossed a line that I’d once vowed to never step over again. But the sincerity in his voice, the raw need in his eyes, and the desperation behind his words when he asked me if I was sure made it impossible for me to deny him. To deny my own heart.
He told me he loved me.
Those three words had healed the part of me that I thought was dead forever. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t scared anymore. I wanted to move forward with him. Which meant I needed to close the tired threads of the past, put the pain and the hurt behind me so that I could embrace the light.
