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“I need you to do something!” Tamia began rattling off her demand before she fully entered Charleston’s office.
Inside, at the far end of a triangular corner enclave whose size would be the envy of any high-rolling New York office, stood Charleston beside a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the city. His assistant, Christina, an Irish redhead with envious, lime-colored eyes, was sitting in a chair beside his desk, typing as he spoke. Together, they looked up at Tamia.
“That’ll be all,” Charleston said.
“But we haven’t finished the letter…” Christina knew better than to push. She saved the file on her laptop and hustled out of the room as quickly as her rented Prada heels would allow.
Tamia stood before the sleek chrome and glass desk, her arms crossed, her teeth tight in a grimace. There was nothing else to say. Malik and his words had ignited fire in her in some way she didn’t know, couldn’t explain. The nerve of him to speak to her in such a way when he needed her, Tamia kept thinking as she charged upstairs to Charleston’s office. And what did he mean anyway? Her “level of consciousness”? The only thing he needed to be conscious of was keeping himself out of jail. That was the problem with men like him; they were always focused on the wrong things.
“People are going to start to believe we’re sleeping together,” Charleston joked, walking around to the front of his desk and sitting before Tamia. His jacket was off, revealing matching Burberry suspenders and a bow tie. It was pretentious, but that’s what he was going for.
“I’m not in the mood for games, Charleston. I just had the worst face-to-face in my career and I want out. I want you to do something. Get me out of this!” Tamia demanded. “Incense-carrying! Muslim oil–smelling! Dirty dreadlock–having! Son-of-a—”
“Whoa, girl! This is a place of business.” Charleston went to close the door. “Who are you talking about? The doughnut man downstairs?”
“My new client. He’s some ’hood rat with no class. He came into my office and attacked me,” Tamia said. “You’re right. This case is a dog. I have to get out of it and I need you to help me. I can’t—no—I refuse to work with that…that…ruffian!”
“Wait, he attacked you?”
“Well, he was very nasty. Asking me questions and sitting at my desk. Whoever heard—”
“That’s not the same as an attack. You know that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tamia said before lowering her voice to a secretive whisper. “Look, I know how these things work. I’m with you and there has to be some benefits to that. I need you to talk to your people upstairs and pull me out of this.”
“I already did that,” Charleston revealed softly as he prepared to tell his tale. That morning, when he walked into the office, he’d gotten a tip from an older and nosy security guard about Tamia’s suspicious night visit to the office. Just a brother looking out for another brother. The man laughed loud and long, imagining how slick Charleston would need to be to worm out of not being where he told a sister like Tamia he would be. He was sure there would be hell, but Charleston’s laugh was louder and longer. He’d been there before. The trick to getting caught in that kind of lie, especially with a woman he cared about, was to tell her what she already knew before she approached him about it and cover with a better lie that was wrapped around her. It worked like a charm. It always did.
“What?” Tamia uncrossed her arms and looked at Charleston sensitively. “You already spoke to someone?”
“Look, the other night, after we had dinner with Nathaniel, I went and had a drink with someone high up to talk about the case. Someone who owes me a favor.”
“Really?”
“Well, you seemed upset and I just, I couldn’t let you go out like that. So, instead of coming to the office, I went and tried to pull a rabbit out of a hat. Now, I got them to drop the co-counsel so you don’t have to deal with Jones anymore.”
“I guess that’s why Malik said reception forwarded him to my office.”
“But no one wants to step on toes and they won’t completely reassign the case.” Charleston’s tone was even and frank, like a salesman in the middle of his “I’m not pitching” pitch. He was telling the truth about not going in to the office, both he and Tamia knew that already, and he did have an important meeting with a colleague, but it was at a swingers’ club and included both the colleague and two of her married, yet bored gym buddies. Needless to say, there was little talk of Tamia. Awaiting a sexy tap from the whip a nude Charleston was holding, Phaedra had agreed to remove Jones from the case if he would have sex with her.
“I can’t believe you did that for me,” Tamia said, feeling foolish for stalking Charleston’s office and even considering that he’d lied to her. She’d been the one pushing him away.
“Yeah, well, you’re my woman and I want to protect you,” Charleston said, grinning at Tamia. “But it looks like the old plan is going to have to stand. Do what you have to do to get in good with this guy and just let the dog die. I’ll work on my side to make sure your next case is front page.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Hey, like you said, there has to be some benefits to dating a brother of my stature.” Charleston pulled at his suspenders and rocked from his heels to his tippy-toes.
Lovely Lowdown Liars: Top Ten Reasons Men Lie in Love
Like navigating the Bermuda Triangle and figuring out how to best hide your weave tracks, some things will always remain a mystery. For women, at the top of this list is why men lie. For eons, sisters have met in kitchens, cafés, and coffee shops to figure it out, but really, where men are concerned, it’s quite simple. The lie—the good or bad lie (which you almost always discover in the end)—is used to escape, abate, or ward off drama. Below are the top-ten reasons men lie. While knowledge certainly won’t help you avoid the lies, at least you’ll know why.
10. He doesn’t like your family or friends: If he suddenly has the flu the morning of your family dinner, the lie might be a sign that he simply doesn’t like them. It isn’t personal.
9. He’s hungry: A man’s stomach is a living, breathing thing. If over dinner he senses that saying “Of course I love your mother” will make you stop talking so he can eat, he’ll do it.
8. He’s tired: If it’s 2 a.m., you’ve proven your point, you’ve thought about it from every angle, and you two still can’t figure out what to do about something he can’t even remember, he’ll lie about, agree to, and confirm anything to avoid another “but we haven’t talked about…” statement.
7. He’s broke: No one likes a broke man. Even a broke man doesn’t like a broke man. If his pockets are shallow and no green is coming in, he might say, “I don’t want to go out.” Translation: “I can’t go.” The lie is used to protect his ego.
