Faith Washington #2
“Ugh!” I winced as I twisted my ankle on the bottom step.
Pain seared through my heel when it hit the ground again, but I didn’t miss a beat.
I was already late. If I played my cards right, this would be my biggest story of the year.
The red carpet of the 3rd Annual From Boys to Men Charity Event was sprinkled with the who’s who in the Lulaville Black elite society.
Every millionaire in the tri-county area was set to be in attendance. I was only interested in speaking to one man. As I stepped out into the press section of the red carpet for the gala, I scanned the area for my target. I checked and double-checked my camera to make sure it was all set.
A picture was worth a thousand words, but I preferred video. Pictures could be misread. Sometimes they lied as easily as word of mouth. Pictures didn’t just capture a moment. They edited that moment in real time. A recording wouldn’t be misconstrued. It was what it was.
Tonight, as I stood outside of Cashville Resort & Casino, the red carpet was littered with hundreds of cameras. The deep red carpet was flanked with velvet ropes and hungry eyes looking for their next big story.
I stood right at the edge of it all, with my press badge clamped snuggly against the front of my baby-blue peplum jacket. The matching pencil tuxedo pants were adorable with my nude pumps. Just because I wasn’t standing in front of the camera didn’t mean that I didn’t want to look my best.
As I observed my surroundings, I noted how proficient things moved. Everything was so well-rehearsed. Cashville’s staff moved like a well-oiled machine. As a matter of fact, they were too perfect. So was he.
Nicholas King was the man of the hour, if you asked me.
I inhaled as I prepared myself to approach him.
It had been a long time but not long enough.
No matter how squeaky clean of an image Nicholas King wanted to portray, I was on to his bullshit.
I knew him and his little friends long before the scandal hit the news or Cashville even opened.
I knew what kind of man he was. I couldn’t wait to expose his entire operation.
“Reed!” someone yelled.
“Reed!” another overzealous reporter called.
My heart stopped beating for a full second.
I heard him before I saw him. I think I felt him even before that.
Even with my back to him, his energy was palpable.
I told myself that I wouldn’t look at him, knowing damn well that it was a lie.
He might have been the last person in the world that I wanted to see, but running into Reed at a Cashville event was inevitable.
I needed space. Nicholas had disappeared during the chaos. I needed to get to him while there weren’t a hundred other people in his face. More than anything, I wanted to get the hell away from the man of my nightmares. I tested the doorknob, only to find it locked.
I turned my focus back on the crowd. Maybe I could get to Nicholas after the party. He had been keeping such a low profile for the past few months that I was surprised that he actually showed up tonight.
The air in the room shifted, then all of a sudden, there he was. I felt dizzy and flushed all at once. We were outside, and it still felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room. Reed Fuller was the last person in the world I wanted to see, but there he was.
I inhaled as I took him in. He was far more handsome and somehow even taller. Smooth, butterscotch skin wrapped around him cloaked in an expertly tailored sky-blue suit. His impossibly long frame made him take up more space than anyone else in the area.
Unlike me, the crowd gravitated to him, drawn to his magnetism.
So was I, but I didn’t budge. Even from the back of the crowd, I noticed how his warm, chocolate eyes matched perfectly with his smile.
I hated that fucking smile. It was too perfect.
It was sickening that he was still so fine.
None of that mattered. If I had to do this, I was taking his ass down one way or another.
Carefully, I eyed Reed as he shook someone’s hand and flashed a smile too flawless not to be fake. He’d rehearsed it a million times. Everything about Reed Fuller was too good to be true. I knew firsthand just how well he could manipulate people.
I read over the notes and statements about Cashville. Although the Feds had closed out their investigation into the casino, there was speculation that they had never severed ties with their past connections. I tended to agree that you could never change a tiger’s stripes.
I was among the people who didn’t believe that Darius had acted alone in his fraud. Being put on the story could be my big break. All I had to do was get to Nicholas so I could cut through the facade and get some real answers for a change.
According to the files Barbara had given me, when the initial story broke, Cassidy practically staked her career on an exclusive interview with Darius. He’d slipped through a drug sting unscathed but felt like it would come back to bite him in the ass later.
Her investigator had been following the story for months and even spoke with him once he figured out he was being investigated and was seeking an immunity deal.
Darius was supposed to give her the exclusive on the story and the corruption behind the scenes at the casino.
He was supposed to give her the play-by-play of the inner workings of their operation and how they had bribed police officers and government officials to keep it running for over a decade.
Their business started years before opening the legit casino.
When it was time to deliver the story, Darius literally fell off the face of the planet.
He resurfaced on the news going down for kidnapping and a laundry list of other charges.
She tried to get to him, but he refused all visitation after his arrest. She should have known better.
I would have. Anybody willing to turn on their partners and friends to save their own ass couldn’t be trusted.
Barbara, the show’s producer, gave me a warning along with my assignment.
“Faith, I don’t need another basic-ass profile. I need hard evidence that something is still going on in that casino. We need to blow this thing wide open.”
With that in mind, I vowed to get my story one way or another. I couldn’t let the moment pass. According to Darius, his cousin Nicholas had been behind the entire operation. He claimed that he did the dirt while allowing Nicholas to keep his hands clean. That sounded exactly like him.
Nick wanted to portray himself as “man of the year” by donating a bunch of money to some children in need. The cause was noble. The men behind it were not. Since Nicholas had been so elusive to interviews, his charity gala was the perfect place to corner him and ask the real questions.
The integrity of the business was at stake. How could someone trust that the games weren’t being rigged if they were selling drugs, laundering money, and doing God knows what behind the scenes?
After a few months, the buzz of the scandal died down, and things seemed to return to business as usual, thanks to the charismatic marketing director, Mr. Reed Fuller. Reed was the self-proclaimed face of the company. This time, it was up to him to defend it.
His laughter floated across the air effortlessly as he took a few pictures with a short elderly woman, who kissed his cheek to show her appreciation.
He floated down the carpet, never dropping that smolderingly sexy smile as he juggled multiple conversations like it was something he did all the time.
“Reed, can you comment on the focus of the From Boys to Men charity?” a reporter called.
“Of course,” he responded, turning to give yet another textbook response.
“We at Cashville believe in investing in the youth first. Tonight is about these young men, not the cameras or even the money we’ll raise.
It’s about giving them a chance while they still have a chance.
That doesn’t mean that we don’t want you to dig deep. ”
“That’s amazing,” she said, nodding in approval.
Approval seemed to be the consensus. I watched as a few of the others within earshot smiled and nodded, almost swooning at his words.
His charm was so palpable that it felt contrived. Everything about him seemed rehearsed. If it had to be rehearsed, then it wasn’t authentic. I saw through his dazzling smile and scripted answers.
Reporters shoved microphones in his face and leaned on his every word like he was the second coming. Not me, though. I wasn’t fazed by his perfect teeth and that phony smile. I knew him. He was hiding something.
“Over here!”
“Reed!”
“One more picture!”
As the reporters vied for Reed’s attention, I didn’t bother with requesting. Moving to the back of the sea of cameras, I adjusted my glasses as I eased down to the end of the carpet. Right before he walked off the carpet, I stepped out in front of him and extended my hand.
“Reed Fuller, just a moment of your time.”
His eyes never left my face as he responded.