Chapter 3 #2
Brianna squeezed my hand. “Don’t shut Grandma Liv out. I have a feeling she’d be angrier if you kept this from her.”
No doubt about that. Still … “I love Grandma, but she’s getting older. She could slip and say something to my father, and then he’d tell her, and all hell will break lose. And I don’t want them to know.”
At one point, it felt like Allison had made it her life’s mission to ruin mine.
When I excelled at anything, she’d ride in on her broom, under the guise of being a concerned mother, and burn my dreams to the ground.
Initially, I fell for it because I wanted—no, I needed—the connection.
But my willful ignorance only lasted until third grade.
After I won the coveted prize for most cookies sold in my scout troop, she’d ripped my heart out by refusing to let me go to camp.
Instead, she’d sent me to a different type of camp.
In New York. Couldn’t enjoy weekends with my friends because I had to go to finishing school to learn the social graces.
I still remembered the day she pulled me out of the public school to attend Detroit Country Day School. I thought it was the end of my life at the time, but it turned out to be my salvation because I’d met my bestie there, my tribe. People who’d remained integral to my life since the fourth grade.
I had bonded with Bri over our mutual love of Destiny’s Child.
The day we met, we’d taken turns portraying Beyoncé during an impromptu mini concert in the school auditorium.
My best friend knew my family, at least all of the members that mattered to me.
She’d also seen firsthand the trauma Allison had inflicted and had a few battle wounds herself for sticking her neck out for me.
“You do have other family,” Bri pointed out. “Hear me out … I know you said no, but what about Ana?”
While my father never made it a priority to connect me with my mother’s family, Grandma ensured I maintained a relationship with my mother’s sister and extended family.
Although Aunt Ana and her husband, Jax, were wealthy, and wouldn’t hesitate to show up for me, I couldn’t imagine hitting them up for a loan.
I shook my head, slicing a hand through the air. “Never.”
“Sis, you love her. She’d do anything for you.”
“I love her, too,” I told my friend.
“Mo?”
Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only child my father had with a mistress. My older brother, Moses, had been solid from the moment we met. Of course, he would help me, but … no. I loved Mo, but he would kill Darrell. Literally. “Bri, you know I can’t do that.”
Her shoulders fell, most likely in a mixture of pity and exasperation. “Albany, I—”
“No,” I repeated, this time an octave higher. “I’m not asking anyone for help.”
“Why be on the struggle bus if you don’t have to?” she countered. “You won’t call Grandma. You know she’ll help if you tell her the situation. Your extended family is wealthy. Ana always asks how she can help. Didn’t you just talk to her the other day?”
“We chatted about her grandbabies and cribs. Small talk,” I argued. “Catching up about random shit. Having an innocent conversation about baby showers and asking for a loan are two different things.”
Bri blew out a frustrated breath. “Fine, I’m just going to let you wallow in self-pity a little longer.”
I sat up straight. “I’m not—” I sighed. “Okay, so I’m wallowing.”
“And I’ma need you to stop that shit in two-point-two seconds. It’s way past time for you to get your shit together.”
Gaping at my friend, I said, “Wow. Tell me how you really feel.” I tossed a paper plate at her, missing her on purpose.
“I’m just sayin’,” she continued, “you would tell me the same thing. And you have.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. “You’re right. No more wallowing. Much.”
“I understand. Trust me. I don’t like asking for help either. But you don’t have to do this alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have you. Grandma Liv knows I’m getting a divorce, but I just don’t want her to know all the details yet.
You know how she is. She talks too fast. Love her to death, but she’s liable to go on a rant and reveal everything to the whole world.
Then, I’d have everyone all up in my business. ”
My friend let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. But I better not see that money on my nightstand in the morning.”
I laughed. “I promise you won’t.” A couple of weeks ago, I’d stuffed a couple hundred dollars in her purse.
The next morning, the money was on my bedside table.
“I saw Wes today,” I offered, needing a subject change.
That encounter in the elevator earlier had rocked me.
It had been years since I’d laid eyes on him, let alone stood close enough for my body to react to the warmth of his body, and I needed to talk about it.
Brianna raised a perfectly arched brow. “Really? With his fine ass.”
“He’s not that fine anymore,” I lied. Truth was, Wes had transcended fine and morphed into something more than that. He was all man, smooth dark skin, intense light brown eyes, low-cut hair, and that beard … Damn. He was beautiful.
Brianna shot me a disbelieving look. “Oh please … Actually, I take that back. He’s fine as hell. Did you forget I work in the city? I see him often and he gets better with time.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled. “He’s alright.”
Laughing, Brianna shook her head. “I call bullshit.”
“What do you want from me? Okay, he’s attractive. Still an asshole, but nice to look at.”
“He’s still your asshole.” She stuck her tongue out after I tossed a pillow her way, missing her head by an inch. “You missed. Ha! So …?”
“So, what?”
“How was it? It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him. Did you talk to him?”
“Unfortunately, yes. And I hated every moment of it.” Even though my body loved it.
Brianna stared at me intently. “I get it. It’s a shame, though. As close as you were … Maybe you need to talk?”
My friend was right. Wes and I were more than friends.
As far as I was concerned, he was my person back in the day.
We did everything together, from playing tag in the field behind his house to attending every school and family function together.
The connection was so intense, everyone thought it was a foregone conclusion that we’d marry.
In fact, our families had campaigned for the ultimate Keyes-Batchelor merger.
After a while, I started to believe the hype too. Especially after our seamless transition from awkward kids to flirty young adults. It seemed to happen overnight, too. One day we were playing video games and the next evening we were making out in his car.
The joke was on me, though. Despite the years of endearing friendship between us, Wes had ruined everything with one selfish act on what was supposed to be the most special night of my life. After I’d finally confessed my love to him, he’d pulled the rug out from under me in the harshest way.
Grandma Liv had always told me forgiveness was for me, not the person who needed forgiving.
Yet, I couldn’t get over the fact that Wes had taken my virginity and promptly ghosted me.
He promised to come back, and I believed him.
Only to find out he left town altogether. No calls, no letters … Nothing.
It took years of therapy for me to even call him out on his asshole-ish behavior because I loved him so much. But once I’d written the words in my journal, Wes would always be The Asshole Who Broke My Heart. Not even Darrell’s indiscretions had hurt as much.
“Tell me about the meeting with Mrs. Batchelor,” Brianna said, bringing me back to the present. “Why did she contact you?”
When I woke up this morning, I had expected to wake up to unpaid bills, a too-much-wine hangover, and a ton of spam messages from random people.
What I didn’t expect was a voicemail from Joyce Batchelor asking for a favor.
Even hours later, I still couldn’t believe what the matriarch of the Batchelor family had asked me to do for her.
“A job offer”—I bit my thumbnail—“as her private investigator.”
Brianna’s eyes widened. “That’s good. Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?”
“Yes, but the first assignment … Apparently, there is an influencer intent on using the Batchelor family to get more views and reads on their platform,” I explained.
“She’s willing to pay Keyes Investigations a hefty retainer to figure out who this anonymous blogger is and help with other things. Discreetly, of course.”
“That’s a job, girl!” She eyed me skeptically. “Why aren’t we celebrating?”
Biting down on my bottom lip, I thought about the conversation earlier.
I had never known life without Granny Joyce, as I called Mrs. Batchelor.
She was family. After Cedric Batchelor was arrested and charged with embezzlement, my father and Allison had wanted to distance themselves from Wes’s family.
Ultimately, their efforts had failed because Grandma Liv had refused to abandon her best friend, her sister of the heart, under any circumstance.
“Albany?” Brianna called. “What’s wrong?”
Pulling myself from my memories, I looked at my best friend. “Nothing. I didn’t accept it.”
Brianna frowned. “Why the hell not?”
“I need time to think about it.”
“Your bank account is on life support. It doesn’t have time. So again … why?” she prodded.
“Because the job involves Wes.” I gave her a quick rundown on the job offer.
Wes’s ho-ish ways had caused a PR nightmare for the company.
Weekly hit pieces had been released exposing his dirty deeds.
Granny Joyce simply wanted to find the person targeting her family.
“I mean, I understand why she needs the help. Her regular private investigator is retiring, and she needs someone to step into his role.”
Brianna nodded her head. “All good things, right?”
“Right,” I agreed. “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea to get involved with this. I’d have to work with Wes, to ask him about his personal life.”
“But you mentioned she needed help with other things.”
“True.”
“Which is more work. Consistent work.”
“Not necessarily,” I argued. “It could be three times a month or three times a year.”
My friend picked up a pad and paper and jotted something down. “I think we need a list of pros and cons. Actually, I can’t even think of a true downside to this.”
“But—”
“Give me a minute.” It took less than sixty seconds for Brianna to hand me the list.
The top three pros should have sealed the deal—cash, opportunity, connections. But that fourth one … “Bri, I don’t—”
She tapped the paper with her forefinger. “Those are the only reasons you need, to not only take the job, but accept all of the potential cases. The one con—Wes—is irrelevant.”
Working for Batchelor Corp. could open countless doors for me. I’d be a fool not to jump at the opportunity. “I can’t deny those are great reasons to take the job,” I admitted. “That last one, though … Hate sex? Really, Bri? Yeah, no.”
Brianna snorted. “Whatever. I don’t think you even believe that. I say we place a wager.”
“I thought we already established I don’t have any money.”
“Not money. I’m thinking food. If you somehow fall on his dick, you have to cook dinner for two weeks straight.”
“And if I don’t? You can’t cook. What will I get for proving you wrong?”
Tapping her chin, Brianna peered up the ceiling. After a moment, she snapped and pointed at me. “If you win, I’ll put gas in your car for two weeks.”
With the price of gasoline high as hell, I considered taking the bet. Yet, the simple thought of sex with Wes flooded my body with a warmth I hadn’t felt in months. No, years if I was being honest.
“You’re thinking about naked Wes, aren’t you?” Brianna waggled her eyebrows. “Told you … he’s hot. Besides, it’s completely appropriate for exes to fall into bed at least once after the breakup. I’d say you’re about sixteen years overdue.”
Clearing my throat, I sliced a hand through the air. “No. It’s not going to happen. And, if it did, that would be a ‘con’ because nothing positive could come from that.”
“Okay, then don’t do it. Skip Wes’s dick and take the job anyway,” she said. “You need this.”
Again, Brianna was right. I did need it.
“Do it now because you know Mrs. Batchelor doesn’t wait around,” Brianna continued. “I’d hate for you to miss out on something that could be so good for your company.”
The positives outweighed the negatives but …
Was I ready to be in such close proximity to Wes?
Could I put the past behind me to do a much-needed job?
Can I manage to keep my panties on? Of course, I could.
I had spent years in the industry gaining invaluable experience in the field.
I’d survived shootouts, arrested high profile criminals, investigated top-secret crimes.
And shit … I’m a muthafuckin’ professional.
A smirk formed on Brianna’s lips. “Looks like you made a decision.”
I nodded. “You already know. I’m good at what I do. Finding a mysterious influencer will be a cake walk. And she wouldn’t have asked me if she didn’t think I could handle this. I’m going to do this job with a smile on my face. Then, I’m going to do all the jobs.”
A wide grin stretched across Brianna’s mouth as she clapped slowly. “Finally. And if you decide to let your body talk you into bedroom or boardroom action, try not to fall in love again,” she teased. “You know you’re drawn to tortured souls and Wes is the poster child.”
I scoffed. “Trust me, you don’t have to worry about that. Never. Happening. Again.”
“I don’t know”—she hunched a shoulder—“I’ve learned to never say never, sis.”
Even though I had my own doubts about my ability to not get sucked in by Wes’s trauma, I couldn’t afford to risk my heart again. Correction, I wouldn’t risk my heart again. I held my head high and said, “Fuck Wes and his sad, sexy eyes. I’m getting this money.”