Betrayal (12 page)

Dominic met Tamia as she stepped off the elevator, sleek bob bouncing against her cheekbones, leather briefcase swinging at her side.

“Good morning.” Dominic looked her over and grinned broadly. “You look amazing. Red is definitely your color.”

“Think so?” Catching her reflection in the lobby's mirrored wall, Tamia smiled. She was rocking a fitted skirt suit that accentuated her curves and hinted at her plump cleavage. She looked damn good, but more important, she
felt
good—about herself and her future.

“Are Mr. and Mrs. Ehrlich here?”

Dominic nodded. “They're waiting in the conference room.”

Tamia smiled. “Lead the way.”

It was Thursday morning, and she was meeting her potential new clients at the downtown offices of Archer Foods International.

As she and Dominic stepped through the double glass doors leading into his company's reception area, the receptionist stared at Tamia in openmouthed shock.

“I take it you haven't told your employees about our partnership,” Tamia muttered to Dominic.

He chuckled. “Not yet.”

As they passed the reception desk, he said to the stunned woman, “Melody, please bring Miss Luke some coffee.”

“Um, that's okay,” Tamia interjected. “I've already had my morning caffeine fix.”

Dominic glanced at her. “You sure?”

“Positive.” The way the receptionist was frowning at her, she didn't trust the heffa not to spit in her drink.

“All right.”

Dominic guided Tamia to a spacious conference room that overlooked the downtown skyline. Seated at the long table was an attractive, middle-aged white couple talking quietly and sipping coffee.

As Tamia and Dominic entered the room, the man and woman set down their cups and stood.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ehrlich, I'd like you to meet Tamia Luke.”

Tamia smiled, striding forward with an outstretched hand. “Pleasure to meet you both.”

They smiled affably as they shook her hand.

“Thank you for meeting with us,” Grace Ehrlich said. “Mr. Archer hasn't stopped singing your praises.”

“Is that right?”

Dominic gave Tamia a lazy smile. “I've only been speaking the truth.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Tamia saw Buddy and Grace Ehrlich exchange knowing smiles. She wondered whether they, like most Houstonians, had followed her criminal trial. Though Tamia had been acquitted of Isabel Archer's murder, she hadn't exactly come away smelling like roses. Her scandalous affair with Dominic—a married man—had undoubtedly left a bad taste in many people's mouths. But if the Ehrlichs had a problem with her, they wouldn't be here, right?

Tamia briskly cleared her throat. “Shall we get started?”

She was surprised—and slightly annoyed—when Dominic sat at the end of the table instead of leaving. Just because he was funding her business didn't mean she needed handholding.

When she arched a brow at him, he drawled, “Don't mind me. I'm just killing time before I have to attend another meeting. Pretend I'm not even here.”

Tamia eyed him a moment longer, then cleared her throat and turned her attention to the Ehrlichs.

“I had an opportunity to review your Web site,” she began, removing her iPad from her briefcase. She powered it on, then propped up the portable device so that everyone had a clear view of the screen.

“The good news is that your bed-and-breakfast is gorgeous with scenic views, and the location is perfect. Being ninety minutes outside of Houston, you're far enough away to provide a welcome break from the city and make couples feel like they're on a real vacation. At the same time, they're close enough to home to be able to rush back in case of an emergency involving their kids.”

The Ehrlichs nodded, absorbing her feedback.

“What's the bad news?” Buddy asked cautiously.

“Your Web site isn't as functional and inviting as it should be. The design is somewhat sterile, and it takes too much clicking around to access basic information.” Tamia demonstrated on the iPad. “You're in the hospitality business, so your Web site needs to reflect that.”

Grace nodded grimly. “We both retired from corporate America, so it's hard to break that corporate mentality.”

“I understand,” Tamia soothed. “It doesn't happen overnight. That's why I'm here—to see how I can help you. Redesigning your Web site should be one of our top priorities. But that's only one component of your business. We also need to build your presence on social media. I've worked with several companies that have successfully leveraged the power of social networking to reach their target customers. There's no reason you can't do the same.”

The Ehrlichs traded hopeful glances, which further boosted Tamia's confidence. She was in her element again, doing what she loved, and it felt good.

Grace smiled ruefully. “Since Buddy and I were both successful in our careers, we underestimated how hard it would be to run our own business. When we retired and decided to open a B and B, we mistakenly subscribed to the notion ‘If you build it they will come.' But that hasn't been the reality.”

“It seldom is,” Tamia remarked sympathetically. “Not without some help. How have reservations been this month?”

“Slow,” Grace admitted with a grimace. “We figured since it's the holidays—”

Tamia shook her head. “The holidays are the busiest time of year in the hospitality industry. With Christmas right around the corner, you should be booked solid by now.”

Grace sighed. “I wish.”

Tamia pursed her lips, tapping her manicured nails on top of the iPad. “Since cruise ships sail out of Galveston, most Houstonians naturally think of going on cruises during the winter holidays. But what about those who can't afford one, or who only need a few days of relaxation somewhere close to home? Those are the people you want to target.”

The Ehrlichs nodded in agreement.

“You can advertise on local radio and TV stations and hold contests to give away complimentary stays. It'd be great if you could also get a celebrity endorsement.”

“A celebrity endorsement?” Grace repeated.

“Yes. If you had a famous couple who stayed at the B and B, they could be featured in promo ads. That would do wonders for publicity.”

“I'm sure it would.” Grace exchanged wistful glances with her husband. “But we don't know any celebrities.”

Tamia couldn't help thinking of Brandon's friendship with Beyoncé and Jay-Z. A glowing endorsement from the powerhouse couple would have people flocking to the Ehrlichs' B and B, turning the rustic retreat into a status symbol—except regular folks would actually be able to afford it.

If Tamia and Brandon had still been dating, she might have asked him to hook her up. But that wasn't an option anymore.

Pushing the thought aside, she said to the Ehrlichs, “I'll think of something. Anyway, do you conduct guest surveys?”

“We do.” Buddy grimaced. “But we've found that some people aren't completely honest with us.”

Grace elaborated, “One couple gushed about what a great time they'd had and how they were going to recommend our B and B to their family and friends. Imagine our surprise when we found a scathing review from that same couple on Travelocity.”

Tamia winced. “Ouch.”

Grace laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“I have an idea.”

Everyone turned to stare at Dominic. He was leaning back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face as he tapped one long finger against his lips.

Tamia narrowed her eyes. It was bad enough that he'd hung around for the meeting. Now he wanted to offer suggestions?

“I'm just thinking out loud here.... What if Tamia and I spent the weekend as guests at the bed-and-breakfast?”

Tamia raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

Dominic smiled at her. “We could pose as an engaged couple, which would give us an opportunity to interact with other couples who are there. We all know that guests will say things to other guests that they probably wouldn't say to their hosts. If they have any complaints—big or small—we could pass them along to Buddy and Grace.”

Tamia frowned as the Ehrlichs exchanged considering glances.

“You know,” Buddy mused, “that's not a bad idea.”

“And it'd be a great way for Tamia to personally experience the B and B,” Grace added.

Tamia's frown deepened. She had no desire to spend the weekend holed up with Dominic at some romantic retreat. They'd have to share the same room . . . and the same bed.

When three pairs of eyes swung toward her, she nervously wondered if she'd uttered the objection aloud.

“So what do you think, Tamia?” Dominic prompted.

“I don't know,” she hedged, trying to be diplomatic. “Going undercover as a couple to befriend the other guests is a bit . . . unconventional.”

“Come on,” Dominic cajoled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Where's your sense of adventure?”

Tamia glared at him. If he'd been sitting closer to her, she would have kicked him under the table with the pointy toe of her pumps. Damn him for putting her on the spot like this.

“I don't think we'd be able to pull it off,” she asserted. “Anyone who'd followed the trial would recognize us.”

“That's what disguises are for.” Dominic winked. “Come on, Tamia. It'll be fun.”

She pursed her lips, darting a glance at the Ehrlichs. They were watching her expectantly. She couldn't believe she was the only one who thought this was a horrible idea.

“I'll think about it,” she reluctantly conceded.

Dominic smiled, looking satisfied.

“Well, we'd better head back to the ranch,” Grace announced, rising from the table. “We left our eldest daughter in charge, but we want to be there to greet the guests who are arriving later this afternoon. But before we leave”—she removed a check from her purse and passed it across the table to Tamia—“here's a retainer for your services.”

Tamia wanted to do cartwheels. “Does this mean I'm hired?”

“Absolutely,” Grace said warmly. “We look forward to working with you.”

 

After the meeting, Tamia and Dominic escorted the Ehrlichs to the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Tamia squealed and stomped her feet in excitement.

Dominic laughed. “Congratulations on landing your first client. Looks like you're officially in business.”

“Looks that way.” Tamia beamed with pleasure. “This is amazing.”

“
You
were amazing,” Dominic told her. “The way you commanded the room, the things you were telling them. You really know your stuff, Tamia. I was very impressed.”

Tamia smiled, not immune to his praise. “Thank you, Dominic. For the money, for the client referral—”

He waved off her gratitude. “You don't have to keep thanking me. I wanted to do this for you, Tamia. I believe in you.”

Her smile softened. “I appreciate that.”

They were standing close together, closer than she'd realized. Dominic wore one of his tailored dark suits with a pinstriped shirt and a silk twill tie. The precise trim of his goatee drew her gaze to his full, juicy lips. She found herself wishing—for the millionth time—that he wasn't so damn
foine
.

“Let me take you out to dinner to celebrate.”

Tamia lifted her eyes to Dominic's. “I can't. Not tonight.”

“Why not?”

“I have plans,” she lied.

“Cancel them.”

Tamia laughed. “I don't think so,” she said, pressing the elevator call button. “And I'm not spending the weekend with you, either. Nice try, though.”

Dominic chuckled. “I thought it was a good idea. So did the Ehrlichs.”

“Guess you all thought wrong.”

“I'm sorry you feel that way.” Dominic watched as she backed into the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby. “If you change your mind about dinner, you know how to reach me.”

“I do,” Tamia drawled. “But I won't need to.”

Dominic smiled, holding her gaze. “You never know.”

As the elevator doors closed, Tamia found herself smiling.

For the first time ever, she wondered what would have happened if she and Dominic had met under different circumstances. If he hadn't been married, and if he hadn't blackmailed her for sex, could things have worked out between them?

Could she have fallen in love with him?

The lunch crowd was in full swing when Brandon sauntered through the doors of Stogie's that afternoon. The mahogany bar and tables were occupied by men in shirtsleeves trading raucous banter while Sinatra crooned “I'll Be Home for Christmas” in the background. The atmosphere was jovial and relaxed . . . except at the corner booth, where Dre sat brooding over a glass of cognac.

Brandon slid into the plush leather seat across from him. “Wassup.”

“Yo,” Dre mumbled, lifting his troubled gaze from his drink. “I was starting to think you weren't coming.”

“I was with a client when you called. Our meeting ran over.”

Dre regarded him suspiciously. “You sure about that?”

Brandon frowned. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“I don't know, man. Seems like you've been avoiding me lately. The other night you left Ma's house before I even got there—”

“I told you something came up with Cynthia,” Brandon lied.

“You told my voice mail,” Dre corrected. “And you left the message the next day when you knew I'd be at football practice, like you didn't wanna talk to me directly. Since then you've been ignoring my calls—”

Brandon forced out a laugh. “Dude, you sound like my bitch or something.”

Dre scowled. “I'm just saying. Where'd you disappear to?”

“Nowhere, man, so quit girlin'. I have no reason to avoid you.”
Other than the fact that your mother tried to seduce me, which fucked up my mind for a few days.

Dre silently assessed him another moment, then shook his head and gulped down some of his drink.

Brandon was more than relieved when the waiter materialized, grinning broadly as he greeted Brandon by name and took his order: a neat scotch and a rib-eye steak with mashed potatoes.

“Nothing for me,” Dre told the waiter, drawing a surprised look from Brandon.

“What's up with you?” he demanded as soon as the server left. “You call and ask me to meet you downstairs for lunch, but you're not eating?”

“I'm not hungry,” Dre muttered.

Brandon narrowed his eyes, studying his friend across the table. Suddenly remembering that Dre had wanted to ask his advice about something, he felt a sharp stab of guilt. He'd been so caught up in his own problems—with Tamia, Cynthia, and Renay Portis—that he'd left his best friend out in the cold.

Feeling like a selfish asshole, Brandon did the only thing he could: apologize.

“I'm sorry for not getting back to you sooner, bruh. I've been dealing with a lot of shit lately, but that's no excuse for ghosting on you. I'm really sorry for that, but I'm here now. So what did you want to talk to me about?”

Dre scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed out a heavy breath. “I don't even know how to say it. I'm still in shock.”

Brandon felt himself leaning forward intently. “What's going on, man?”

“It's Fiona.” Dre paused, swallowing visibly. “She's pregnant.”

Brandon's jaw dropped. “You're kidding.”

Dre scowled. “You think I'd kid about something like this?”

Brandon stared at him. “You got Fiona
pregnant
?”

“Apparently so.”

Brandon leaned back slowly against the seat, shaking his head in stunned disbelief. “How did you find out?”

“Tamia came to see me on Monday.” Dre's lips twisted grimly. “She threatened to come after my ass if I don't get in touch with Fiona by the end of the week.”

Just then the waiter appeared, bringing Brandon's drink.

He downed the scotch in one burning swallow, then ordered another one before returning his attention to Dre. “So what're you gonna do?”

“I don't know, man,” Dre mumbled, passing a trembling hand over his head. “This is the
last
fucking thing I need. Fiona's a psychotic killer facing life in prison. I can't be having no damn kids with her crazy ass. And there's no way in hell Leah will take me back if she finds out about this.”

Brandon grimaced. “That's probably a safe assumption.”

Dre shook his head. “Fiona can't have that baby.”

“Are you gonna ask her to get an abortion?”

“Hell, yeah.” Dre stared anxiously at Brandon. “She can do that, right? Inmates can get abortions, can't they?”

“Legally, yes. But the judge might want to have Fiona evaluated to determine whether she's mentally stable enough to make the decision to end her pregnancy.”

“
What?
She ain't mentally stable enough to be
having
a baby!”

“Maybe not,” Brandon grimly agreed. “But just remember that we're in Texas, which is full of pro-life judges who'd force a woman to have a baby but wouldn't bat an eye at sending a man to the death chamber.”

Dre looked stricken. “So what you're telling me is that Fiona might have to keep the baby?”

“It's possible.”

“
Shit!
” Dre covered his face with his hands and groaned. “I can't believe this is happening.”

A grim smile curved Brandon's mouth. “Looks like we're both gonna be fathers.”

Dre snorted bitterly. “At least your baby mama isn't a homicidal maniac. At least you can marry her and have a normal life with her.”

Normalcy is overrated
, Brandon thought morosely.

Sipping from his second glass of scotch, he glanced around the crowded restaurant. He spied one of his colleagues sitting at the bar with a group of guys who worked for an investment firm located three floors below Chernoff, Dewitt & Strathmore. Addison Vassar was one of the few female attorneys who enjoyed hanging out at the former cigar club, and it was no secret why. She was always on the prowl for fresh meat—what better hunting ground than a man cave like Stogie's?

Brandon absently watched as the guy seated next to Addison leaned over to whisper something in her ear. She tossed back her dark hair and laughed—a wicked, bawdy laugh that turned several heads.

Catching Brandon's eye, Addison winked and smiled flirtatiously.

He nodded briefly before returning his attention to Dre, who looked more miserable by the minute as he bemoaned his fate.

“This wasn't supposed to go down like this. I mean, this is the kinda shit that happens to Shavar, not me.”

Dre's half brother, Shavar Portis, was a maintenance worker who had more baby mamas than Brandon could count. He was only a few months younger than Dre because their father had been messing around with their mothers at the same time, continuing the affair even after he'd married Renay. While Shavar saw nothing wrong with spreading his seed, Dre had vowed to break the cycle of breeding illegitimate children.

So much for that.

“I don't know how I'm gonna break this news to my mom,” Dre fretted. “She wants grandkids but
not
like this. She's gonna lose her damn mind over this shit.”

Based on her recent behavior, Brandon was convinced that Renay Portis had
already
lost her mind. But of course he kept that thought to himself.

“How the hell am I supposed to raise a child on my own?” Dre wondered aloud. “I've got a busy career. I'm on the road all the time with the team—”

“You wouldn't be the first single parent that ever lived,” Brandon wryly pointed out.

“I know that,” Dre snapped. “But this isn't how I envisioned becoming a father.”

Brandon lost his patience. “Look, man, I'm hearing a lot of anger, blame, and self-pity, and I feel for you. Really, I do. But the bottom line is that you fucked up. Not only did you cheat on your girlfriend, but you apparently had unprotected sex with Fiona. If you didn't wanna take any risks, you shoulda wrapped that shit up. But you didn't, so now you gotta deal with the consequences.”

Dre scowled. “I know
you
ain't sitting over there lecturing nobody about practicing safe sex.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” Brandon scoffed derisively. “At least
I
was in a relationship with the woman I got pregnant, and the one and only time I didn't wear a condom was after she started taking the pill. And last I checked, bruh, I'm handling
my
business. So I suggest you man up and do the same.”

Dre dropped his eyes to the table, looking sullen and shamefaced.

Several tense moments passed.

“I guess I had that coming,” Dre grumbled. “I've never pulled punches with you, so why should I expect to be treated any differently when
I've
fucked up?”

“You know how we do, man. Straight talk, no chaser.”

Dre nodded slowly, glancing around the restaurant as if he'd forgotten where he was. After another moment, he heaved a resigned breath and scrubbed his hands over his face. “I need to talk to Fiona, work this out with her.”

“You do that.”

Dre nodded again, looking like he had something else on his mind.

Brandon waited.

“I've been meaning to ask. . . Has Cynthia talked to Leah recently? I figure since they're friends, Cynthia would know what's going on with her. Has she mentioned anything to you?”

“No, but I wouldn't expect her to,” Brandon admitted. “You're my best friend, so Cynthia probably assumes I'd take your side.”

Dre snorted. “Little does
she
know.” He drained the rest of his cognac, then signaled for the waiter. “I'ma get something to eat.”

“Good,” Brandon retorted, “ 'cause I ain't sharing none of my food with your greedy black ass.”

They both laughed.