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Chapter 1
“Donovan, I can’t thank you enough for letting me film this,” said Amelia Marlow Reyes, field producer for Multi-Ethnic Television. “Pieces like this are going to drive the website clicks up the charts.”
Shrugging, Donovan Ravens scratched the back of his head. As CFO of the globally successful Ravens Cosmetics in Miami, he understood why people were interested in the dynasty—the family, though, not him. Donovan ran numbers, approved budgets and attended company functions. These events, it just so happened, took place at fashion shows and photo shoots. With the company celebrating over fifty years in the business, marketing and advertising had changed. This social-media-savvy generation wanted an up-close look at the entire family through their website. It used to be family photos every other year and placed in traditional magazines like Ebony, Essence and Jet. Now the world wanted to meet each member of the family on a daily basis through Instagram, Twitter and reality TV. The updated website for Ravens Cosmetics offered short videos with a candid look into the life of each member of the family. “I guess. There’s not much interesting about my life.”
Amelia swatted him on the shoulder. She didn’t hit as hard as his sisters did, but the blow did sting through the thick blazer of his tan jacket. “Are you kidding me? The world is infatuated with you. You’re the mystery bachelor brother.”
“All right, Amelia,” Donovan chuckled, knowing she was being kind by not calling him a playboy. As much as Donovan resented his celebrity status, he did not let it stop his dating life, and Amelia knew it. “You already got me to agree to this, you don’t have to butter me up.”
Amelia pretended to be shocked and lifted her left hand to her heart. Her diamond wedding band flashed under the hallway lights. Donovan heard she’d gotten married a while back to a great guy named Nate Reyes. Given the smile she’d sported all day, Donovan would have guessed she was a newlywed. Amelia’s large brown eyes stretched wide, her mouth forming a perfect O. “You can’t take a compliment, can you?”
“Let’s be honest, I’m not the average pretty boy like Marcus or Will.” To prove his point about his brothers, Donovan aimed his long index finger toward the scar that ran down his face, from his left eyebrow to his black beard.
Amelia rolled her eyes. “That only adds to your mysteriousness.”
“Whatever,” Donovan mumbled before handing over the keys to his two-story condo to Amelia’s film crew.
A bulky man with a camera strapped to his shoulders entered the foyer. Another crew member, a woman, carrying a long stick with a furry thing at the end—a boom—followed. Amelia filled the delay with chatter about the next step of filming. Some dude named Vickers tried to contradict everything Amelia said, seemingly pissed off she was there.
Donovan shrugged, still not caring what the old man wanted. Amelia was a friend of the family and the only person he’d agreed to work with on this ridiculous spotlight his sisters, Dana and Eva, thought would be good for the company. The plan was for every member registered to the RC website to gain access to the family via day-in-the-life videos of each one of them. The new line of men’s lotions and shaving creams needed to be promoted, and what better way for product placement than in the home of a family member who was also an executive at the company?
“It is tedious. I understand. But to pick up seamlessly from earlier, we need to get your full facial expression as you come inside,” Amelia explained.
Someone inside his apartment knocked on the door.
“Wait,” said Vickers, “your girlfriend is in there, right?”
The term girlfriend made him queasy—flavor of the month, sure. They’d dated on and off again with no commitment in sight. Tracy needed a place to crash while her apartment was being painted. She knew the camera crew planned to be here this morning but she swore she’d be gone. Since they dated more on than off and he allowed her to stay at his place unsupervised, he shrugged his shoulders, acknowledging the G word might be appropriate. “I guess,” Donovan mumbled.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if you were to propose to her on camera?”
Fusing his brows together, Donovan took a step back. “Hell no. Amelia?”
Amelia wedged herself between the producer and Donovan. “We agreed—no staged surprises,” she said to Vickers.
The dark brown–skinned man adjusted the gold-wired glasses on his face. “Think of the ratings.”
“Think about me walking away from this project right now,” said Donovan. He took a step back but Amelia turned to face him and grabbed him by the front of his pin-striped Oxford shirt.
“You’re not going anywhere, Donovan,” she said then turned her attention to the other man. “We’re not pulling any surprises. Vickers,” she snapped. “Didn’t you do your research? The women in his life never make it to girlfriend status. He’s only been with Tracy for, like, two months or so.”
Six weeks, Donovan mentally corrected her. Once more than a month had gone by without Tracy asking for a spot in a fashion show or a photo shoot in a magazine or asking about getting involved in the family business, Donovan had allowed her to spend the night with him there. Typically, after an evening together, he made sure to send a woman in a waiting limousine filled with roses without a promise of a second date. The D word. Donovan did not take women out to fancy restaurants but rather met them out and about. He avoided being photographed as well as being seen with the same woman twice. Better to end things with them sooner than later once they realized that they didn’t want to be tied down to a scarred monster.
When Donovan first received his permit at sixteen, he made a foolish mistake trying to avoid an object in the road and ended up overturning his car. He was fortunate to walk away alive, but his head hit the driver’s side window, shattering the glass, and then his face slammed into the steering wheel, leaving him with a gruesome scar down the left side of his face. Donovan scratched his face and recalled the first time a girl he liked had told him the truth. No one would ever want to wake up to a face like his every day. Once, on a blind date, he’d overheard a woman complain to her friend for setting her up with Scar but then console herself with the idea of getting access to the Ravens fortune if she became pregnant. Donovan knew he’d never trust that a woman would want him for him, not his family’s fortune. Knowing he was a Ravens, women still threw themselves at him. Who was he to turn them down?
So maybe women didn’t want to see his scarred face every day, but as he got older and more serious about the family business, women aggressively pursued him. Usually they wanted a modeling job at Ravens Cosmetics, an office position or the chance to marry into the family. He was well aware of the fact that being seen with him brought notoriety and other modeling competitors. The way he saw things, it was a win-win situation.
And then came Tracy. They’d met at a fashion show. She’d walked in with her own fan club. She hadn’t wanted Donovan for what he could give her and had even turned down the opportunity to participate in this MET reality special. After four weeks of dating, he guessed she sounded like a winner to him. Last Friday when Donovan had flown out to Michigan for business, he’d allowed Tracy the chance to stay at his place alone. The weekend had been the first step in trust...not something worthy of a proposal. If she passed this step, Donovan planned on getting out of the city with her for the upcoming holiday week.
One of the guys who’d entered the condo before him cracked the door open and asked to speak to Amelia.
Vickers pulled Amelia back by the corner of her blazer. “Let’s not forget,” he warned in a low voice, “I am the on-site producer here. When this assignment is over, you’ll go back to Southwood.”
Not liking it, Donovan stepped forward and wagged his index finger in warning at the man.
Amelia shrugged off Vickers’s touch, stepped back and shook her head at Donovan as the other producer disappeared inside. “I’m sorry about that.”
“Why do you put up with him?” Donovan asked. “Does Christopher know how he treats employees?”
Christopher Kelly, his close friend and scion of the Kelly political dynasty of Miami, had opted to invest in the entertainment world with Multi-Ethnic Television, opening his high-rise building to MET and several other successful businesses in Miami. They had bonded over being offspring of famous parents. And Donovan knew Christopher would not appreciate this behavior.
“Leave it alone,” said Amelia with a shake of her head.
The door cracked open again. This time a hand reached out with a thumbs-up. Amelia patted Donovan on the back and nodded to the cameraman behind them. “Now, you open your door and the film crew will start rolling from there. We’ll edit it later and splice it into a smooth cut.”
Still not knowing all the terms, Donovan crossed the threshold of his place. He’d already been told to ignore the camera and just act natural. “Natural” meant he ripped off his monkey suit and strolled around his apartment in his boxer briefs, but this was not that kind of show. Donovan set his keys on the half table by the door and headed up the curved stairway to his bedroom. One cameraman walked backward, filming him from the front. What happened to the other guy who’d come in first? Weren’t there a total of three of them?
Thighs burning from taking two steps at a time, Donovan made a mental note never to skip leg day again. Employees of Ravens Cosmetics took advantage of the gym around the corner of the building. He needed to do so again. The door to Donovan’s bedroom was slightly ajar. He heard whispers inside. Was Tracy awake? Did the cameramen wake her?
Pushing the door open farther, Donovan’s eyes adjusted to the bright sunshine creeping in from the balcony. His foot hit a bottle and then a pile of clothing. He shook his head at the mess his housekeeper was going to have to clean, then let his eyes wander to a hairy leg poking out of the comforter. The movement in the bedroom didn’t disturb the sleeping couple in his bed. Tracy rolled over and wrapped her legs around her partner. The fact Tracy slept with another man did not bother Donovan. His disappointment in himself for beginning to think he could trust someone did. The audacity of her bringing this dude to his place: sheer disrespect. Donovan balled up his fists to keep from flipping them off the mattress.
Whelp, so much for those holiday getaway plans, Donovan thought to himself. Relationships were not in his future.
* * *
British Carres flipped her agenda page for the next item up for discussion and her heart jolted. Finally! The Southwood School Advisory Council was going to acknowledge the growing need to fund Science, Technology, Engineering and Math for Girls Raised in the South—STEM for GRITS, an after-school program she spearheaded, involving twenty-plus girls attending Southwood Middle School. Her new robotics group received the hand-me-downs from the boys and it was time for a change. The male robotics team monopolized the lab Mondays through Thursdays, giving British’s team only one day in the lab for experiments. The local community collected money currently to distribute to the students in need and after they were all taken care of, a nice pot was up for grabs. Since the language arts, social studies and math departments received a bonus a few years ago, the sciences were next in line. As one of the lower level science teachers at Southwood Middle School, British felt like she had to work twice as hard, putting her degree in chemistry and science from Florida A&M University to good use. STEM for GRITS deserved some of the funds available.
The gray tables in the basement of city hall had been set up in a square so that all the committee members of the school board could read each other’s faces. This was the biggest challenge of all. She needed to channel her inner beauty queen and learn to compose her face.
Seated across from her was the thorn in her side, the director of the science department. Dr. Cam Beasley was a “good ole boy” who felt the best place for a woman was in the kitchen. The man loved to point out that British had taken a job as the home economics teacher when she’d first started out, further proving her point of the need for the science club for girls. Cam often forgot science was in everything taught in home ec. British had endured the sexism in the field while attending college. She hated the idea that a new batch of budding scientists could be being held back by some lab-coat-wearing, chauvinistic pig.
