Chapter 6
Wesley
“Did you hear the latest Ms. Tea blog?”
“Such a shame … I know Joyce is mortified.”
“He should be ashamed of himself seducing that poor, innocent woman.”
“Disgrace.”
“I always knew he’d turn out like his father.”
The moment I stepped into the Batchelor estate, the stench of White Diamond perfume mixed with cigar smoke and a healthy dose of judgment destroyed any small sense of peace I’d had a few minutes earlier. I was used to being the subject of conversation when I walked into a room, but damn …
Negativity had fueled my climb up the corporate ladder, though. It wasn’t the first time someone compared me to my father, but I’d worked hard to distance myself from his criminal legacy. And Candice Garland was neither poor nor innocent.
I hate this shit. Another fundraiser for one of Granny’s charities. Around the room, members of my family were engaged, doing their part to raise the funds for the city’s homeless population. They were all required to be there, dressed to the nines, ready to nod and smile for her guests.
As I snaked my way through the crowd, something in the corner of the massive ballroom caught my eye.
A vision in a black formfitting but elegant dress.
The high neckline, sleeveless dress had a ruffle detail cascading down the front, all the way to the hem below her knees.
Her dark curls were thick and framed her brown eyes. Stunning.
Albany and Erica were huddled near the far end of the room whispering about something that seemed important judging by my sister’s wide eyes and flailing hands. Curious, I made my way over to them just in time to hear my sister shush my exgirlfriend mid-sentence.
“I guess I’m the topic of everyone’s discussion today.”
Albany glanced at me, her eyes unreadable. Dead, almost. “Hi, Wes.”
Erica’s gaze shifted from me to Albany, then back to me. “We weren’t talking about you, brother,” she explained unnecessarily. “It’s just—”
I squeezed my sister’s shoulder. “No worries,” I assured her. “You’re not the only ones whispering about the latest Ms. Tea post.”
“Yeah, I saw that,” Erica said. “Yikes. But I have to go.”
Albany stood silently after my sister excused herself, staring at her fingernails. There was so much I wanted to say, but this wasn’t the place or the time. The tension was thick, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from her.
“Any new leads?” I asked finally.
She sighed. “We don’t have to do this, Wes.”
“Look.” I stepped in front of her, tilted my head to meet her gaze. “I get it. I ain’t shit. But this is my life. My career is at stake. I’d like to know what information you’ve gathered.”
The ten-piece band segued into a ballad, and several people in attendance made their way to the dance floor.
As the Duke Ellington song filled the ballroom, I thought about the first time I’d heard it.
Immediately, I was transported back in time.
It was Albany’s birthday, and she’d determined the agenda.
Movies under the stars. I’d handled everything, rented a bunch of ’90s movies and set up a makeshift drive-in theater on her grandmother’s property.
The first flick was Love Jones. I’d never seen it, but I remembered the way she’d grinned when Larenz Tate appeared on the screen.
I was jealous. And the movie was just alright, but there was one scene …
The main couple were dancing to “In a Sentimental Mood.” For some reason, that song stayed with me for days afterward.
Even now, whenever I hear it, I think of her.
Next to me, Albany swayed to the music, eyes closed, hand over her heart. She’d done that then, too. “I love this song,” she whispered.
Staring at her, I agreed. “Me, too.”
My voice must have ruined the moment because she blinked. Seconds later, the wistful look in her eyes was replaced with ire. “To answer your question,” she mumbled, “no new leads. But I do think you should contact a PR person to handle the fallout from this smear campaign.”
“Do you really think I need it?”
For the first time since I’d arrived, she peered at me with concern in her eyes before it disappeared.
“We had this discussion. It could be anybody. Family, friends, colleagues … You said you’re concerned about your career, act like it.
” Her shoulders slumped. “Wes, I don’t think you realize that any negative press can impact your career. Even if it’s not true.”
“It’s not,” I offered.
“It doesn’t matter. People are going to run with the narrative. You need to get ahead of it.”
Part of me felt that it was too late, that anyone who cared already formed an opinion of me.
It had been that way for years. A few days ago, I didn’t care what people thought of me.
I cared what she thought. I wanted her to know I wasn’t that guy.
Except, I was. I’d hurt a lot of feelings, including hers, but …
“Just so you know, I didn’t seduce Candice,” I explained. “We never—”
She held up a hand. “Stop. I don’t want to know what you did with Candice. I don’t care. But I do have a question.”
Frankly, I was simply happy she didn’t tell me to fuck off, so I nodded. “What is it?”
“Of all the women in the world, why her? Why risk Granny Joyce’s wrath for that woman?” The fire was back in her eyes, and damn it, I liked it. Any emotion was better than none. “Is your dick so lonely that you can’t find someone else? Anyone else.”
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I replied, “Why wouldn’t I like her? She’s attractive, intelligent, sexy …”
“Oh, God,” she grumbled.
“Why is that so hard to believe?”
“I’ve done my research. You’re reckless. You’re content to have meaningless flings with crazy-ass women just to prove you’re manly. Mysterious. Unavailable. Which in turn attracts women to you. It’s a trap.”
I raised a challenging brow. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“Mostly. I know someone like you.” She shot me a pained look and, suddenly, I wanted to hold her, to comfort her. But we weren’t there. Not yet anyway. Maybe never. “Anyway, can you answer the question?”
“Is it going to help you uncover Ms. Tea’s identity?”
She hunched a shoulder. “Maybe.”
A host approached us, offering us one of the signature drinks—Granny’s fave, French 75. Albany smiled, thanking him and grabbing one of the cocktails. I followed suit, slipping a tip onto the tray.
Once the man was out of earshot, I turned my attention back to her. “It feels like you’re asking for details about my sex life,” I teased.
She rolled her eyes and took a sip. “Trust me, there’s not enough alcohol in this drink for that.”
Folding my arms over my chest, I said, “I told you … she’s a beautiful woman.”
Scowling, she pressed, “Just admit it. Candice was a challenge for you. Forbidden fruit. You were only interested because Granny told you to stay away. It’s a game, just like the one you’re trying to play on me.”
Stepping closer, I murmured, “I’m not playing you.”
She nodded, retreating from me, putting unwanted distance between us. “You are. Teasing and flirting with me is only going to piss me off more. You’ve always been charming, but I’m not the same girl you left in the carriage house. Naked.”
I scanned the immediate area, assured that no one was within earshot of us. “Bug, I know that. I’m not flirting with you,” I lied. Because I absolutely was. And I’d done it intentionally and without regard for how she might feel. I was an asshole for that.
“Do you? Because it feels like you think you can just waltz back into my life, call me Bug, and smile at me. And smell good. Then, I’m what?
Supposed to just giggle like a schoolgirl and drop my panties for you?
Let you crack open the heart that you broke years ago, that I spent years trying to piece back together again?
” She held her chin up high. “The only thing you’re doing is insulting my intelligence. ”
Since she’d walked back into my life, I’d wanted to have a conversation with her that didn’t devolve into harsh words.
As crazy and delusional as it sounded, I wanted my friend back.
“That’s not what I think. Albany, please …
” Please what, exactly? I couldn’t finish the sentence because I had no idea what the hell I wanted to say.
Because I had no good answer. I deserved her anger.
I deserved her wrath. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.
I didn’t deserve her. “I just want you to know how sorry I am.”
“I didn’t hear an apology,” she tossed back, fury in her eyes. “And stop looking at me.”
I searched her eyes. “I can’t stop.”
Her eyes closed. “Just go,” she whispered.
“I wish I could honor your wish, but I”—I sucked in a deep breath—“I don’t want to walk away.”
Albany arched a brow. “Again?”
Shots fired.
She set her still-full glass down on the cocktail table closest to us. “Like I said,” she continued, “it doesn’t matter. But just so you know … I’m not interested. I’ll let you know if I find out anything new about Ms. Tea. Have a good night.”
Before I could object, she breezed across the room, then disappeared out of sight.
The bartender slid another drink across the bar, and I immediately put the glass to my lips. The smell of the cognac soothed something in me, made everything feel better—even for just a minute. I took a sip, closing my eyes as the amber liquid burned its way down my throat, settling in my gut.
It had been a long week, an even longer month.
My career was in temporary wait-and-see mode, Granny still wouldn’t look at me without rolling her eyes, and Albany …
Over the years, I’d thought about how it would feel to see her, to talk to her.
I always imagined she’d be angry, but the reality of her disdain was a much harder pill to swallow.
“Drinking already?”
I’d already had my ass handed to me by Albany, but I wouldn’t give Jackson the satisfaction of a reaction. “Don’t you have someone’s ass to kiss right now?” I grumbled.