Chapter 8
washington
. . .
At the sight of Madison, my heart pounded wilder than a college drumline.
Damn near begging to escape my chest. She strolled down the steps of her sister’s home before I could find a spot.
I slammed on the brakes right there in the street.
A red velvet gown, the same style and color as my suit, hugged curves like the Mississippi in spring.
Red lips sparkled like Mardi Gras beads.
Man, the world was a canvas of shadows, gloom and doom. Maddy was a bright light. How dare I allow her flicker to die out? But here she was, bright as ever, opening the door before I could unbuckle my seatbelt.
“I’ve got it.” She sighed heavily. The way her breasts pushed against the velvet captivated me. “Don’t worry, Wash. You can open my door at the DuVall Mansion. I’ll be appreciative. The perfect date.”
“Good,” I replied, helping latch her seatbelt.
Her eyes locked on me when I looked up. She murmured, “Then you can escort Latrice to Gaston’s fancy brunch at the end of March. Deal?”
“No deal.” I shook my head enough to snap my neck. “Nah. No deal. Gaston DuVall is my mentor, Maddy. He got me into his alma mater. I would never have met you at Stanford without him.”
“Oh, so he played love connection?”
“In a roundabout way. Listen, it was my decision to join Cohen & DuVall the second I passed the bar. We needed to pay off our student loans quick, but he warned me about the work.”
“I know,” she murmured.
I smiled at her, memories of us deciding that I’d work my ass off for big money came to mind.
We’d been young and money hungry. No, honestly, I’d been money hungry, needing her father’s respect.
“We’re doing DuVall this one solid for all the help he gave us.
He gave me a chance. Steak and cake, chère.
But I feel you. I can’t stand his ass either. ”
“No, don’t try to sympathize with my feelings for your mentor.
And one favor, Mr. Baby No? Hello? Did you forget about the other two events you forced me to sign up for?
” After all her questions, I saw it. That slow, tectonic shift of her face.
Her eyes didn’t just narrow, they scanned my soul.
And then her face went soft, gorgeous, and peaceful instead of offering me that hurricane I just signed up for.
Madison said, “Actually, how was lunch with Latrice the other day?”
Grinning, I eased into the lane. “You jealous?”
“Nope.”
“Jealous adjacent,” I said under my breath.
“I can hear you, Washington Baby No. I’m not jealous in the slightest. You’re leading that woman on. Latrice is in lust with you.”
I explained the situation about Latrice, and it went in one ear and out the other. My wife didn’t have any words for me when I told her she wasn’t getting out of our contract. Just sat there, arms folded. Sexy and surly.
The car eased up the long, oak-lined drive. Spanish moss hung low enough to swipe the roof. The mansion looked like a history book and a horror movie had a baby, with its black columns and old money confidence.
Madison shifted beside me, one manicured finger drumming against her clutch. “Tell me again why I gotta play your girlfriend to impress the man who popped champagne when we divorced?” she asked, side-eyeing the house.
“He didn’t …” He did.
“Mm-hmm. She’s too artistic, Washington,” Madison mocked.
“For the record, Gaston never said that.” He was pretentious though, and he’d given me a shot. Gaston DuVall had chosen me to intern at Cohen & DuVall back when either he or his white partner thought the firm needed more diversity.
“Okay, but will they be auctioning souls with the art? I should’ve greased up with all your mom’s prayer oil tonight. May need protection.”
I bit back a laugh. “Chère, it’s for charity. And I’ma always gonna protect you.”
She twisted in her seat, all perfume and attitude.
“When you left corporate law, I thought we’d gotten rid of him.
” She folded her arms. “So now, I need background information on why you, a whole juvenile court judge, are helping that country-club wannabe politician. Guess I should be thankful for corporate law burnout.”
I straightened my tie. “District Judge DuVall is running for appellate court next year. He’s tryna make a name for himself as the face of ‘ethical reform.’ ”
“Which translates to that Black man woke up and remembered he needed to present a more diverse facade?”
“No lie there.”
“How many other educated brothas does he have on his roster?”
“C’mon, bébé. Let’s go in and see.”
“Okay. He hates me, FYI. I’m good with it. But if he embarrasses me, Wash, I’m gonna scuff this dashboard up so bad that your little judge friends will think you drive Uber and Lyft on the weekends.”
“You know what, since you’re doing that sexy pout thing, I won’t call that a violation of our contract.”
“A violation? How?”
“No threats.” I winked.
“Okay, I’ll do my best in the Honorable Plantation Politic DuVall’s house.” She grinned. “See? I said what I said.”
I barked a laugh. At least she stopped dragging me for a minute. I got out, walked around the car, and opened her door. Offering my hand, I slipped into a smooth Creole drawl. “Tonight, chère, you’re Mrs. Babineaux again.”
She laughed. “Sure, but I need the receipt for the dress you bought me.”
“You keep asking about that receipt, I’ma take you over my knee then amend our contract.”
Arm in arm, we entered the mansion. Gold leaf, marble, and chandeliers had their own tax bracket. I adjusted my cufflinks, a small flex compared to the rest of Gaston’s friends. But I was never too loud, even when I’d followed my mentor into corporate law.
My lips met her shoulder, and she glared at me, but not before a sudden shiver racked her body. And that gave me life.
We hadn’t made it ten feet inside before Gaston DuVall spotted us. He stood near the silent auction tables loaded with crystal vases, antique books, and framed jazz posters. Every item had a sign:
Minimum bid two thousand dollars.
“Washington,” Gaston said smoothly, shaking my hand, “and the lovely … Madison? Had I known you’d come tonight, I’d have begged you for one of your pieces.”
She offered a polite smile full of fakery. “Aw, if you had begged, sure. I would’ve been more than delighted. Is that an original Jean-Michel Basquiat?” she asked.
“Yes, you always delight me with your knowledge of the arts.”
“You do too,” she replied, strolling away.
Jean-Mi …? I scratched the back of my neck.
Gaston stared at me as if I’d brought a crawfish boil to a wine tasting. He’d always given subtle digs. Back then, I was young, married, and so heavy on the grind in corporate law that I hadn’t noticed them. I was focused on reading the fine print, bringing in money.
“Washington, I had no idea you had rekindled things. Or did you reach out to her for the optics? It will dispel the rumors that you left her penniless. Clever, clever.”
Oh, really? He’d never come out of pocket with me, and he wasn’t about to start now. I smiled slow, letting him hear the danger in my tone. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Judge DuVall. This isn’t about no damn optics. I left that woman with my heart, and I want it back. Along with hers.”
He coughed into his champagne. “How hard are they working you in juvenile court?”
As if overwork had made me lose my damn mind. I kept the smile on my face. “Enough to keep me busy saving kids from turning into the men who smile in people’s faces and still hope their marriages fail.”
Gaston gasped, then his jaw flexed. “Washington, you always brought fire into the courtroom. Keep it there. For the record, I didn’t hope your marriage failed.
Madison is a lovely young woman. She comes from a great family.
I have friends who holiday with the Spencers, so your sudden animosity perplexes me.
Nevertheless, to smooth over any misunderstanding, I thought she should’ve supported you more in corporate law. ”
“Leaving Cohen & DuVall was my call. Not hers.” My tone came out low and clipped, a gavel after a verdict. A misunderstanding, as he claimed, had better be the reason Madison thought dude held a grudge against her.
He raised his hands, palms out. “I understand now. It was your call to leave.”
“Ask next time. Assuming puts yourself between me and what I protect,” I whispered low, every syllable calculated.
Chosen. I didn’t need to make threats. I made quiet promises with my posture and my eyes, precise, controlled, and enough for Gaston DuVall to recognize the danger standing beside him.
First of all, I’d supported his funky-ass mission because dude helped me become financially free at a young age.
I owed him a debt. But now, these dates would serve another purpose. Me watching him.
If the District Judge had hurt more than my bébé’s feelings, then the whole three-date publicity stunt was over.
If he had hurt her, I’d come out of the robe and show him you didn’t mess with any Babineaux.
I wasn’t throwing parties for attention, and I wasn’t trying to dispel any rumors. I wanted my woman back home with me.
From across the room, I turned toward the wine table and spotted Madison near another section of the silent auction. That dress, woven from temptation, hugged every curve. A man standing near her leaned in, causing her to burst into a fit of giggles.
That laugh floated over, slid under my collar, and tightened my chest.
“She’s still very charming,” Gaston added.
This entire room would see how fast charming turned into a testimony if the dark-skinned brotha smiling at my wife kept trying me. As I grabbed two drinks, I watched the mask on dude’s face cemented in conquering her.
Who was jealous adjacent now?
Nah, I wasn’t jealous-jealous. I was clinically observant with mild homicidal undertones.
I’d take a mental note, sip my drink, and plot how to keep my woman from being snatched by anyone who thought charm and art-talk could outshine a lifetime of this good loving.