“Excuse me sir, but I have a message from Lomax,” the waiter interjected.
Like I’m supposed to know who Lomax is, I thought, but I kept my thoughts private.
“Yes. What is the message?” I asked, giving my attention to the unusually tall figure standing in front of me. His name was Andreas. His medium copper brown hair fell to either side of his head. His facial hair seemed only two days removed from a fresh shave, and until his return to the table, I hadn’t noticed his thin pink lips and intense azure blue eyes.
“Mr. Patrick McKay has asked that you be informed his business meeting is running a few minutes late and he should arrive shortly,” Andreas repeated.
I sat thwarted, not by the news that had just been delivered, but at the barefaced gentleman who had been paying more attention to me than to the Chicken Scaloppine that sat on a white square dinner plate since it was brought to him—undoubtedly chilled by the cooling air flowing from the vents above. When I acknowledged the attention, this stranger, with his stoic demeanor, quickly interrupted his gaze, reached for his dinner fork, and toyed nervously with the cuisine before him. I took a quick glance at my watch. When I looked up again, my admirer had invited himself, not only to my space, but to an unsolicited conversation as well. He welcomed himself to the chair, which should have already been occupied by Patrick.
“I should apologize for my gaze as it was not my attempt to make you uncomfortable,” he offered. “I couldn’t help but overhear the message. I don’t think this is my place, but just a quick warning about Mr. McKay. He’s a man with an indecisive ego. He thinks he should have you and anyone else he wants. If your relationship with him is anything but business, I suggest you reconsider. You don’t want a man like that in your life, unless you’re ready for the hurt that comes with it.”
I was surprised at his assumption. Why would my relationship with Patrick be anything but business? He’s audacious. I wasn’t going to feed into this conversation. It seemed Patrick had left a bad taste in the mouths of a few people.
“My meeting with Mr. McKay is all business, trust me,” I said with a serious face.
“Well, even in business we find time for a little pleasure. Here.” He slid his card across the table. “Call me. If you want to know anything about this man you’re about to do business with, I’m your man.”
He excused himself. As he left, he walked with his eyes toward his feet. He did not return to his seat, but turned and headed downstairs. As he descended the stairs, the confidence with which he spoke while he sat across from me seemed to disappear from his body.
I looked at the name across the top of the card. Travis Price, I thought. He was an agent from De Nouveaux Visages Modeling Agency—at least that was the information on his business card. Could it be? I thought. The same Travis Price that Jackson said approached him about modeling. This world can’t be that small.
“This is Mr. McKay’s favorite,” the waiter interrupted. He poured a glass of Fuligini Brunello. I reached for the wine glass. The passionate bouquet of blackberries and cherries danced at my nose, and then wrapped around every taste bud in my mouth. I nodded, giving the waiter my approval.
As I waited for Patrick, I began to peruse the menu, searching for the first entrée description that watered my mouth. Mr. McKay seemed to be a popular man around here. I was sitting at his usual table, drinking his favorite wine, and I wondered what else was in store for me.
“He’s sampled just about everything on the menu, and everything is a must have.” Her voice was soft and sexy. At first I paid it no attention, but it did sound familiar. “The Linguine Fra Diavolo with lobster, shrimp, calamari and clams is his favorite, but I’d suggest the Risotto with lobster, crab, and roasted sweet red peppers. That sounds even better,” she suggested, reciting the dishes and their contents from memory.
I lowered the menu. My eyes widened in disbelief. I expected Patrick McKay, but instead Devaan Bradley stood before me.
I looked at her from head to toe.
She wore brown Michael Kors Veronica boots, rocker denim jeans and a toggle leather jacket. She stood with her hand to her side and a mocha shoulder tote hanging from one hand. The curly charcoal-black hair she sported during Thanksgiving had been cut short and lightly colored. Her short hair blew lightly in the air flowing from the vent above her.
“I wish I knew Patrick as well as I knew the menu,” she said. She opened her jacket and sat. She placed her tote on the floor in front of her and crossed her leg one over the other. She leaned forward with her elbows on the table and rested her chin on top of clasped hands.
“I thought Mr. McKay was running late?” I asked, looking at her.
“Trevor, you’ve never spoken to Mr. McKay, or Bran, for that matter.” I looked at her and waited for her to clarify. “It was me the whole time.”
“What are you talking about?”
She reached down into her tote and placed a black box on the table. “It’s a voice alteration device.”
“So you’re not here because Patrick…”
“Told me about his past?” She laughed. “No. That was a bomb you dropped. Everything I know about that side of him, so far, I’ve learned from you.”
“Hmmm. Aren’t you going to ask how Jackson is doing, or do you already know.”
“All I know is what you told me the last time we spoke.”
“You mean the last time I spoke to Bran.” I sat back and smiled.
“I have spoken to Jackson, but my brother tends to keep relationship problems to himself.”
“I see.” I stared at Devaan. “Why did it take you so long to call? I thought I wasn’t going to hear from you again, not that I looked forward to any of your calls. Though I must say, our last two conversations were a delight. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Trevor, all I was doing was looking out for my little brother.”
“Your little brother isn’t little anymore. And what makes you think he isn’t capable of looking out for himself? I’m curious. You had opportunities to tell him everything, the letter, Thanksgiving, the phone call on Christmas, but yet you didn’t. Why did you prolong this?”
“Like I told you. I didn’t want to be the one to hurt him.”
“But you could have used your voice alternation device and he wouldn’t have known it was you.”
“But I’d know it was me. Besides, when I met you I liked you. I liked how you interacted with him. I know my brother, and I knew that it’d be easier to forgive you if you told him about Dexter. That’s what I tried to get you to do. Jackson has a good heart, and I know you do, too. But you don’t deserve him if this is how you’re going to treat him.”
“How’d you do it? How did you know about Chicago and anything that happened with Dexter?”
“You’ll be surprised how many people Telly knows?”
“You mean Patrick.”
“You know some people can’t keep their mouths shut. Dexter is one of those people. He told Patrick about the trip. As for knowing what happened in Chicago, that was just pure luck. I relied on your conscience and what I thought I knew about relationships between attractive men like you and Dexter. Obvious attraction equals sexual tension, and you have to get the sexual tension out of the way before you can work on a true friendship. I know I can’t say that for everyone, but in your case, I was right. Patrick knew I didn’t want to see Jackson hurt again. But I can see now he had his own reasons for feeding me the information.”
“You never wondered why this man, Dexter, was telling Patrick so much?”
“I wondered, and I had my suspicions. But what are suspicions without proof? The only way I was going to get proof was to play his game. These days you have to do your research. I acted naive and allowed him to lead me to the sources.”
“It wasn’t my intention to hurt Jackson.”
“A lot of times hurt isn’t intentional, but our actions usually are.”
“Aren’t you going to say anything to Patrick?”
/> “I’ve heard stories about women finding out the man they love having shared their beds with other men, and I wondered how they deal with it. You asked yourself how could they not know. There had to have been some sign, something. Then I realize you can’t really question how people handle situations ‘til it happens to you. So, no, I’m not going to say anything to Patrick yet. I need to know what else you know.”
“I think you just missed someone who would be more than willing to give you the information you’re looking for.” I removed Travis’s business card from my wallet and handed it to Devaan. “His name is Travis Price. I’m not sure what he knows, but he just gave me a warning when he heard I was meeting with Patrick. He left immediately after his warning. He didn’t even finish his dinner.”
“Thanks. And what about Dexter?”
“I’m not sure what he’s going to tell you, but I’ll see what I can do. I didn’t know he and Patrick were talking like they do, so he might not tell you anything at all.”
“Thank you, Trevor,” Devaan said.
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t made you any promises.”
The waiter returned, poured Devaan a glass of wine, and then asked if we would be eating. Devaan looked at me, and I nodded to confirm.
She admired the wine. “Hmmm,” she responded, giving the waiter her approval.
I decided on Lobster panzerotti in spicy lobster brodo with diavolicchio, which was enjoyed mostly in silence. Devaan savored her British Columbia King Salmon with fresh cranberry and garden beans, and salsa verde.
“So what made you think I would show up here?” I asked, bringing my wine glass to my lips.
“It wasn’t a matter of thinking. I was told you’re a curious one. Plus you said you had already told Jackson everything, so you had nothing to lose.”
“I have nothing to gain, either.”
“You don’t know that,” Devaan smiled. “Help me get the details I need on Mr. McKay, I’ll help you get my brother back.”
“How are you going to do that?”
“Remember, he’s my brother.” She took a sip of her wine and then looked at me. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“I thought I had my reasons figured out. I thought he was cheating ‘til I found out I was wrong.”
“Then I was right. You really don’t know the man who loves you.”
37
Friday, February 13th
Trevor…
The message I wrote in Jackson’s Valentine’s Day Card was simple. Meet me halfway, I wrote, and included the name and address of my favorite restaurant. I was taking a big chance, asking to meet him, and on Valentine’s Day. What if he doesn’t show? What if he does?
Like new Easter dresses in church on Easter Sunday, Halloween costumes on Halloween, and Christmas sweaters on Christmas Day, there were many in the office wearing red and white in observance of Valentine’s Day.
Caela had an oversized bouquet of red and white roses she received, and it came from none other than Tavaris Nisby, Kellen’s father. According to Caela, the reconciliation went better than expected. He had made plans to visit and spend some time getting to know Kellen—and her.
Morgan stopped by my office a few times, and on one of his visits, he offered to return the favor, inviting me to lunch, his treat. Unfortunately, I had to decline since I had planned on leaving early. I did ask him to pencil me in for a later date.
I was sitting behind my desk, getting ready to call Denise when there was a tap on my door. Before I invited my visitor in, the door swung open.
“Please tell me you’re not busy,” Wesley said. He stood in the door in one of his best fitting suits.
“For you? Nope,” I said, hanging up the phone.
Wesley walked over to my desk and stood. “I need your opinion on something.” He removed two small black boxes from his pockets, opened one and then the other, and placed them on my desk. “What do you think? Which one?”
I looked at the rings and then up at Wesley. “Shouldn’t you be asking Caela or one of the other ladies for their opinions on these?”
“Come on, man. Which one of these would you give your lady?”
I took each engagement ring and examined it carefully. Both were sparklingly beautiful. One was a diamond three-stone platinum, the other was a white gold diamond twisty ring, which I thought would look sexy on Erin’s finger. I could understand why Wesley was having a hard time choosing just one.
“When do you plan on taking the knee?”
“Tomorrow night,” Wesley answered quickly. “I’m really feeling this girl, Trevor. I’m just hoping she says yes.”
“I’m sure she will.” I picked up the second ring again, the white gold twisty ring. “I think she will love this one.”
“I think she will, too.” Wesley agreed. He picked up both boxes and began walking towards the door. “Oh,” he said, turning around. “I forgot to ask you how are things with Jackson.”
I think I was more nervous about tomorrow night, even
though Wesley was about to take his relationship with Erin further with his planned proposal. “There’s nothing to say about me and Jackson right now. I have plans for dinner tomorrow.” Wesley stood in silence looking at me.
“What?” I asked.
“You said ‘I have plans for dinner tomorrow’.”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t you mean we?”
“No. I mean I made reservations for dinner and sent Jackson an invitation. Now whether or not he shows up...”
“My guess is he won’t stand you up like that. Doesn’t seem his style.”
I hope you know him better than I do, I thought.
• • • • •
I sat on the couch in the living room bringing a long Friday to a close. Since morning, I had sat in one staff meeting after conference and hadn’t had time to lunch, and the idea of doing this all over again next week had me looking forward to a work-free weekend. I felt like I had completed a work-week in one day and I knew if I kept this up, it was going to have an adverse affect on some aspect of my personal life.
After work, I spent the rest of the evening doing the chores I knew I didn’t want taking up much of my Saturday. With Jackson still not speaking to me. I had so much free time on my hands. I had dropped off clothes at the drycleaners, giving them my usual instructions: No seam in my flat front pants. I had completed my grocery shopping without a grocery list, which meant I had probably picked up a few things I didn’t need and might have left off a few items I would be need sooner or later. The reviled task of folding laundry hidden in the laundry room was still ahead of me, but for now, I just wanted to relax.
I wanted to wake up next to Jackson. I wished tonight included dinner for two at one of my favorite restaurants with him, but for now, it was a quiet evening, and I was by myself.
I had just sat on the couch with one leg crossed in front of me. I had the remote in my hand searching through a list of free on-demand movies. February came in like it had a death warrant. It should be against the law to be this cold. The day before Valentine’s Day and here I was, alone. Before tonight it hadn’t dawned on me, but the possibility of spending Valentine’s Day alone was looming, and I had no one to blame but myself. I was preparing to drink myself to oblivion. It seemed every movie had something to do with love—just what I needed. As I settled into the movie The Good Night, my cell phone rang. I hoped it was Jackson. I still hadn’t heard from him. He hadn’t answered my calls and I wondered what he did with messages I left him. I had apologized so many times—I was running out of ways to say I’m sorry. I had even spoken to Dexter more than I ever had, having conversations with him that I wished I were having with Jackson.
Earlier in the week, on his way home from work, Dexter decided to explain his letter and the real reason for telling Giovanni the truth. Dexter had learned how lying hurts and how secrets divided.
Dexte
r had always lived his life as the product of a biracial relationship, but the letter he received imploded that world he knew. In a letter from his father, the one his stepmother finally decided to share with him, Dexter learned the truth. Connie Mears, the Black woman he and his brother Dane had called Mom wasn’t their birth mother. She was forced to carry his father’s secret to her grave. Dexter’s mother, Elizabeth Stallings was still alive. Now he just had to find her and find out why they had kept his real identify from him. Dexter was devastated that he didn’t belong to the family that had loved and accepted him and his brother, and wondered how much of the secret the woman he called Grandma Stoney knew.
My phone rang again, and again.
“How’s my man doing?” My father asked when I answered. “What are you doing home on a Friday night?”
“It’s cold.”
“That’s never stopped you before.”
“True. It’s been a long, stressful week.” I reached for the remote and paused the movie. “I just wanted to come home and relax.”
“Work?”
“Yeah, work.” I didn’t want to tell my father about my fallout with Jackson, so I bent the truth just a little.
“Well, son, take some time off, get some rest.”
“That’s exactly what I planned on doing.”
“Hey, how’s Jackson? We need to do dinner soon.”