chapter 19
Albany
I finished my final report around eight o’clock this morning. I worked through the night to compile all the relevant information—a summary of the investigation, evidence documentation, subject info, detailed findings.
Typically, I would offer recommendations and provide my client specific, actionable steps to address any issues I found within the investigation. In some cases, I would notify the police. Most of the time, though, I presented my report, collected my fee, and kept it moving.
In this case … Damn.
After I walked Wes through my investigative process, focusing on how I excluded certain members of his family from the list, I waited for him to say anything. When he didn’t, I squeezed his arm. “I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“Still doesn’t explain why,” he murmured.
“Trust me, I didn’t want to believe it myself.”
His gaze was fixed on the wall. “Why would Granny do this? Why would Grandma Liv do this?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“When did you first suspect Granny?”
Granny Joyce’s poker face rivaled some of the more nefarious criminals. She’d perfected it during her talk show era and carried it into her role at the company. But her mask slipped during one of our meetings—when she’d ranted about her grandchildren. Most people wouldn’t have caught it, but …
I wasn’t most people.
While she’d grumbled about the melee at the fundraiser, she said one thing that piqued my interest. Jackson is next.
I had turned over the phrasing in my head for hours afterward. It could’ve meant anything. After all, she’d publicly kicked Wes out of the fundraiser and let Jackson scurry out of the room as if he hadn’t provoked him.
Granny could’ve been referring to the next meeting, the next suspension, the next marriage.
But I couldn’t drop the suspicion that it meant he was Ms. Tea’s next target.
At the time, I couldn’t wrap my brain around the motive, so I shifted my attention to other potential suspects.
Yet, I kept coming back to that moment. Especially after Wes revealed that Ms. Tea had held back on scathing information about Wes’s “love child” in Wellspring.
Wes massaged the back of his neck. “And Grandma Liv?”
I shrugged. “There’s no way Granny would meddle in my life without my grandmother’s permission and full cooperation.”
The room descended into silence, thick and suffocating under the weight of what I’d uncovered.
Seconds dragged by as I watched him. He wasn’t okay.
I wanted to reach out, to comfort him, to tell him it would be alright.
But I couldn’t lie to him. The truth was …
The entire situation was fucked up. I knew it. He knew it.
Finally, he let out a slow, uneven breath and looked at me. “I need to—” His jaw clenched. “—I need to make a call.”
“Okay.”
He kissed my brow and left the room. As I removed the pictures from my wall, I thought about the ramifications of my discovery. Grandma and Granny Joyce had deliberately embarked on a mission to … what?
Social media was lucrative. Earnings varied depending on the type of content and number of followers. Ms. Tea had become a macro-influencer in a brief time, clocking three hundred thousand followers. That number grew every day because of her consistent posts about hot topics.
But …
I found it hard to believe they’d done this for the money or the clout. Neither of them needed it. Both had successful businesses that brought in millions in revenue. While some content creators earned up to thousands of dollars for each post, that money was a drop in the bucket for them.
Granny Joyce made that type of money in her sleep as the CEO of one of the biggest Black media companies in the world.
Before that, she’d built a fortune as a radio personality, the host of a popular morning talk show, and even acting in a few movies.
Her speaking engagements alone could support a family of five in this area.
So … why?
When I started my investigation, I assumed Ms. Tea was someone with an axe to grind against Wes. An obsessed woman. A business rival. People like Samira, who wanted attention, or John, who simply disliked him. But Granny loved Wes. She’d supported him. Why would she do this?
Sighing, I texted Grandma: Are you busy today?
Before I walked into Batchelor Corp to present my findings, I had to talk to Grandma.
It was baffling that she could be involved.
I knew firsthand that she was vindictive and very protective of me.
But she was Granny’s best friend. She was Bri to me.
Yet, she allowed sensitive information about my sealed divorce to go public.
I needed answers.
My phone vibrated. The familiar rhythm that indicated there was a new Ms. Tea post. Opening the app, I went directly to the page, bracing myself for more mess.
The Tea Whisperer buckles under pressure & shuts down her page. This is who y’all thought would dethrone me? #PutSomeRespeckOnMyName
The pic accompanying the post was a screenshot of Samira’s live video apologizing to the Batchelor family for everything.
On second thought, Ms. Tea did good work sometimes. I still didn’t understand her motive, though. But I’d find out.
A text notification appeared as I scrolled my timeline, watching silly videos of people slipping on ice.
Grandma: I’m home. Come by anytime.
I gathered the pictures, stuffed them into a folder and filed it. After I cleaned my desk, I shut down my computer and walked out of the office in search of Wes.
I found him on the balcony, staring out at the Canadian shoreline. Windsor, Ontario, was a short drive via bridge or tunnel. It was a quiet town with breathtaking views of the Detroit skyline and good pizza. Bri and I crossed the border quite a few times to eat and shop.
Leaning against the door, I watched him.
The sculpted muscles of his broad back flexed as he bowed his head.
He was so beautiful. Last night, we crossed a line that I’d once vowed to never step over again.
But the sincerity in his voice, the raw need in his eyes, and the desperation behind his words when he asked me if I was sure made it impossible for me to deny him. To deny my own heart.
He told me he loved me.
Those three words had healed the part of me that I thought was dead forever. In that moment, I realized I wasn’t scared anymore. I wanted to move forward with him. Which meant I needed to close the tired threads of the past, put the pain and the hurt behind me so that I could embrace the light.
“Wes?”
His body stiffened, and he glanced back at me over his shoulder.
He smiled. “Hi.” He stood to his full height and closed the distance between us.
Searching my eyes, he caressed my face, trailed his thumb down my neck, and kissed me.
It wasn’t a demanding kiss, it wasn’t a prelude to me bent over the couch as he made fast love to me.
It was sweet, gentle—so endearing that tears filled my eyes and spilled down my cheek.
The soft touch of his fingers to my face, brushing my tears away, made me want to weep. There was a tenderness to Wes that he showed only me. And that had always made me feel special, treasured.
“You’re crying,” he whispered.
I nodded slowly. “Yeah, I am.”
He tilted his head, searching my eyes. “Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, I held his gaze. “I should be asking you that.”
He flashed a lopsided smirk. “I’m not the one crying.”
I reached up, running my fingers along the sharp line of his jaw. “I just … never thought we’d end up here again.”
“Any regrets?” he asked, his voice low.
I shook my head. “None.”
Then, his hands were on me, like balm over dry skin. Everywhere. Brushing across my neck, over my shoulders, down my back. On my ass. He hooked his hands under my knees and lifted me into his arms, pinning me against the window.
“I need something,” he murmured against my mouth.
“What?”
I felt him, hard against my core through his boxer briefs.
He rubbed his thick erection against me, stealing my breath as my nerve endings sparked to life.
The fabric against my sensitive skin provided a delicious friction.
He moved slowly, fucking me but not actually fucking me.
But it was so hot, so intense, so … Oh God.
Wes raked his finger through my hair and licked my face as he pressed into me.
His low rumble vibrated against my breasts, and I almost begged him to take his shirt off of me so that I could feel him against me, skin to skin.
But I didn’t have to, because seconds later, his shirt was open and hanging off my shoulders. And his mouth …
Shit.
He sucked a nipple into his mouth, teasing me, winding me up as he continued his lazy movements. An orgasm started low in my belly, building into a crescendo that threatened to shatter my mind, my heart. It felt good. He felt good.
Warmth bloomed through me, spread out to every inch of my body. I was close. So close. “Right there,” I whispered.
“That’s right. Let go.” He kissed me. Still soft. Still sweet. “Remember who makes you feel this way.”
I groaned. “You.”
“Only me.”
Then I felt the pad of his thumb against my clit, and I was gone, climaxing so long, so hard that I nearly blacked out.
Seconds later, my body still trembled from that orgasm. And it still wasn’t enough. I wanted him inside me for real, but then he set me down and pulled the shirt up.
Slowly, he buttoned me up, his knuckles grazing my nipples. “Wes,” I breathed, peering up at him through hooded eyes. “What are you doing?”
A soft smile formed on his lips. “Covering you up.”
“Why?”
He chuckled. “Because we have things to do today. Jeanette mentioned Granny has some free time on her schedule in about an hour. And I know you want to talk to Grandma Liv.”
Shit, he’s right. Folding my arms over my chest, I muttered, “Fine.”
“We can finish this later”—he kissed my brow—“when I have more time.” He smacked my butt. “Get dressed. I’ll make some breakfast.”