Pure Paradise (15 page)

A
faint smile appeared on her lips at the sight of Hilton waiting outside the Rolls, looking sexy in his spiffy uniform which, despite its cut, couldn’t conceal his muscles. When he noticed her approaching, he scrunched his marvelous lips together and nodded, a signal that he liked the way she looked. She turned her head slightly as she felt her smile widening into a big grin. Oh, fuck it! She was delighted to see him. She waved and hastened her steps. Her thumping heart prompted her to run to him, to fly if she could, but common sense and her bad experience with Gerard cautioned her to calm down and slow her stride.

While most girls were chasing boys and getting their hearts broken—learning through trial and error all the complicated rules that were required when dealing with boys—Milan’s head was buried in books, worrying about her grades and summer learning camps, all the necessary activities that would lead to a successful future. Well, she’d achieved success and now she had to make up for lost time, read a book or find a DVD that taught the rules of dealing with the opposite sex.

“Greetings, Ms. Walden,” he said courteously.

Though she felt slightly stung by his formal tone, she couldn’t
complain. After all, she’d set the regulations. Feeling slightly off kilter, she slid into the backseat of the Rolls. As Hilton strolled around to the driver’s side of the car, Milan quickly spritzed her wrists with Kimochi and then waved her wrists around, filling the luxury vehicle with her wonderful signature scent, which would hopefully be a reminder to cut out the dutiful chauffeur routine.

Once situated in his seat, he turned around. “Hey, baby. How was your day?”

Her heart did a quick flip. A couple squirts of Kimochi and he had switched from referring to her as Ms. Walden to calling her baby!

“My day was typical,” she lied. “I’m just doing my best to keep the women in Philly women looking and feeling as if they’ve been pampered at one of the top salons in Paris,” she answered with a chuckle.

“The way they flock to Pure Paradise, I’d say you’re handling your business; you got the pamper business on lock,” he assured her and then turned around and started the ignition.

Hilton had no idea about the Specialty menu or the Couples Fantasy rooms on the lower level and he never would. She didn’t know very much about the inner workings of a man’s mind, but she had more than just a hunch that her unconventional involvement with Maxwell stood in the way of furthering her relationship with Hilton: Why give him even more information that questioned her sanity, her ability to participate in a normal relationship, and most important, her capacity to love?

As they cruised in silence, Milan wondered how she’d let Hilton know that she really wanted to take their “thing” to the next level. Last night, she’d tried to show him that she had sin
cere feelings but it seemed he was comfortable keeping things as they were.

Milan frowned. She wanted more. What did she have to do to get him to commit? Her thoughts traveled back to her childhood when she used to routinely hand-deliver love notes from her sister, Sweetie, to the current boy of her dreams. Sweetie’s notes were always the same:
I go with you. Do you go with me? Circle yes or no
. The penciled notes were written in block print, followed by her poorly scrawled signature. The boys always circled
yes!
Sweetie had a body; she’d developed early. Thick legs, fat tits, and a plump ass were important assets, and her pretty face was an extra bonus. Milan, however, was a long, tall, lanky mess, with no redeeming qualities as far as boys were concerned.

Well, it was a new day and she was now the bright star of the family. She rolled her eyes in remembrance of Sweetie’s successful love notes. She’d come up with something more adult, more clever and sophisticated.

“Baby?” Hilton said when he stopped at a red light, craning his neck to make eye contact.

She absolutely and unequivocally loved the way he called her baby. “Yes?” she purred the word.

The grim set of his jaw, gave him a look that bespoke the coming of bad news. “I had a meeting today with some of the hot shots in the Eagles camp. I’m, uh, I have to go out of town for a week.”

Milan felt kicked in the stomach. No, worse. His words jammed into her abdomen with the brutality of a dagger, leaving her breathless and feeling completely gutted.

“Why?” The word came out in a much higher pitch than
she’d intended, but what the hell, she couldn’t stuff it back in her mouth so she went for broke. “Why do you have to leave at a time like this?”

“Training camp.”

“Your knee isn’t completely healed. Why would you risk further injury to chase after a dream? Your football playing days are over, Hilton. When are you going to face that fact?”

Hilton winced, visibly taken aback by the blast of insults that erupted from her mouth like a violent explosion.

She covered her mouth, shocked as well by the hurtful words she’d hurled.

They drove to her estate in silence. The tension inside the car was thick enough to cut with a knife.
Oh, Jesus
. Any hope of a romantic relationship between her and Hilton had been ruined by her big mouth. Her mind raced. She needed to remedy the situation, send him off with well wishes.

She leaned forward, rested her arm on the back of the driver’s seat. Then she gently touched his neck. “I’m sorry for that—”

“Sit back, Ms. Walden,” he cut her off. “You should have your seatbelt fastened,” he said, using a formal tone that altered their relationship and reduced the dynamics back to employer and employee.

As they entered the gate and coasted down the long driveway that led to her estate, Milan was in a panic. Other than falling on her knees and begging his forgiveness, Milan didn’t know what else she could do to express her apology.

He came to a stop at her front door. “I’m going to arrange for Mr. Torrance’s chauffeur to drive you until you can find a replacement.”

“Are you quitting? You can’t be serious. Isn’t this Eagles
thing…like a tryout or something?” She spoke in a voice that was deliberately hushed. Raising the volume might release the hysteria that pushed at the edge of her throat.

“No, it’s not a tryout,” he said, his voice icy. His coldness effectively put chills down her spine. Unhappiness furrowed her brow, revealing her deep discomfort.

Her obvious distress put a glint of tenderness in his eye, but that look was quickly replaced with a gaze that was cold and unreadable.

“Yes, Milan. I’m quitting,” he said firmly. “I was going to tell you tonight, over champagne. I thought it was a reason to celebrate.”

“It is. I was just shocked that you—”

He held up a stiff hand, silencing her. “You’re good, you know that? Really had me fooled last night, made me believe that inside that mixed-up, scattered brain, maybe there was hope for you.” He swallowed. “Hope for you and me—together.”

“Hilton, there is. I’m really sorry.”

“Me, too. But I have to admit, I’m glad your anger allowed you to be honest and express your true feelings. Dealing with you was going to require a lot of work. You’re into some stuff that I don’t agree with and as long as we kept our relationship strictly sex, I could close my eyes and not think about your weird, BDSM lifestyle.” His lips turned down in repugnance. “But you started changing the script, acting like you needed me to give you something real.” He gave a sardonic laugh. “Guess I was wrong. But a word to the wise, that shit you’re into is not healthy for your mind. Be careful. All right?”

“No, it’s not all right.” This was her final opportunity to turn things around. “I have true feelings for you. It’s just…” She looked down, her face flushed.

“It’s just what?”

“The way you have your heart set on football. I thought you were reaching for something that was out of your reach. I can help you…” She fiddled with her fingers, nervously twisted a newly acquired diamond and pearl ring around. “I can help you rebuild your life.”

“Football is my life! Beside, how could someone as screwed up in the head as you help me? Huh? You enjoy controlling people. All you do is play head games.” He gave a harsh snort that made Milan squirm and gnaw on her bottom lip. “I wanted to help
you
. I thought I saw something soft, a confused young woman who had flipped love around to something that resembled hate. I thought you were misguided. A simple statement, just asking me about my day, had my heart doing cartwheels for you, baby. I thought we had finally made a connection and I was ready to call what I was feeling love.” He gave a head shake at his own stupidity.

“I…” she stammered.

“You were messing with my head, that’s what you were doing.” He gave a little shrug. “I played myself. I’ve been around you long enough to realize that the only person you care about is
you!
But it’s cool, though. Go ahead. Keep on doing you. I’m about to get back into my favorite sport.” He beamed a sincere wide grin that explicitly told her he had already moved on with his life. Then his expression dimmed a little. “It’s not the way I planned to get my game on—but like I said, football is my life.”

Not the way he planned? Milan had no idea what he meant by that. She was near tears and her breaking heart was so painful, she was not in a position to try to decipher the meaning behind
his words. Hilton was hitting below the belt, slamming her with one low blow after another. She needed to get her thoughts together quickly and change the discussion back to mending their relationship.

“Give me another chance?” she pleaded, her remorse thickly coating every word.

“You’re high maintenance. You have issues. You’re selfish. I don’t want, and I damn sure don’t need, a woman like you.” He let out a harsh breath. “Milan, would you get out of the car so I can park. I have to go home and start packing.”

Taking one last look, her eyes, teary and forlorn, raked over him. But the finality in his tone forced her out of the Rolls. She walked away from him and did not allow her shoulders to slump from the weight of defeat. But once inside, her knees gave out. Curled in a knot on the floor, she allowed her tears to spill. How could she have been so incredibly dimwitted to allow some thoughtless words to throw her life into a complete upheaval? Carelessly, she’d tossed away her only chance of obtaining that mysterious and extremely hard to acquire thing called love. Now, she was left with a hole in her heart.

S
he was dressed and ready for work as usual, but the sight of Maxwell’s limo and his driver put a newly formed lump in her throat. Hilton! She missed him already. Where was he? What was he doing? Had he moved seamlessly into his new life and forgotten her already? The ache in her heart was unrelenting. She doubted that she could keep it together at the salon. Undoubtedly, in her current state, she’d either fire someone undeservedly or whip the shit out of Royce—whether he’d been late for work or not.

The driver held her hand and helped her inside the limousine. His professional courtesy didn’t help; it made her yearn for Hilton even more. No, she couldn’t bear going to the salon today. At times like this, she really needed a hug.

“Take me to Willow Grove,” she said and then gave the driver her sister’s address.

Milan called Sweetie. “Wanna do lunch?” She glanced at her watch. “I mean breakfast?” She chuckled, trying to sound bubbly.

“This must be a crank call or somebody has a wrong number,” Sweetie retorted. “I know this can’t be my sister—the sister who promised to get back to me three days ago.”

Milan forced another tinkling sound that mimicked laughter.
“I know, I should have called, but you wouldn’t believe how busy I’ve been. I’m sorry. Okay?” Her voice suddenly became low and heavy with the unhappiness that she could no longer conceal.

“Oh, Lawd,” Sweetie said, sighing, after hearing Milan’s sorrowful tone. “What has happened now? Is your world caving in again? Because you only call or come visit when you’re going through a personal disaster.”

“That’s not true. I call and talk to the boys every now and then.”

“Um-hmm,” Sweetie said skeptically. “You only call Dominic and Diamante on their birthdays and holidays.”

“But I always send them nice gifts.”

“They’d like to see you sometimes, Milan. Spend a little time with you. You’re not a very good aunt.”

Milan sighed. She’d put her sister and family in a wonderful neighborhood, set her stupid husband up in a stupid business—a crappy take-out restaurant—and Sweetie still wanted more. She wanted Milan to pick up her brats and take them on outings—to the zoo or Hershey Park or wherever people took kids. Milan was supposed to spend quality time with them but it would never happen. She loved her nephews but she refused to devote precious time to breaking up fights and squabbles between the two little hellions. Ugh! If she wanted that kind of a headache, she’d be married with kids.

Ouch! The thought brought back the pain. It suddenly occurred to her that she’d marry Hilton without reservation and have at least one kid. Wow! Where was all this coming from? She needed Sweetie’s advice quickly before she lost all her good sense.

“How come you didn’t get back to me when I told you Mommy needs some help with that house?” Sweetie asked and Milan could imagine her sister’s lips poked out.

Milan shrugged as if her sister could see her.

“So what’s wrong? Did something bad happen? Oh my goodness…” Sweetie said in a complaining tone as if Milan had already told her something disastrous that would affect the cushy life she lived in Willow Grove. “I’m sweating over here, Milan. What’s going on? Please don’t tell me you’re losing your business. Mommy is depending on you to start giving her a bigger monthly allowance.”

Fuck her!
Milan wanted to say, but Sweetie and their mother were very close, and Sweetie would have felt personally offended had Milan spoken of their mother with such blatant disrespect. So Milan kept her sentiments to herself.

“Actually I have an appointment with my accountant. I’ll get back to you in a couple of days regarding a bigger allowance for the upkeep of Mommy’s house,” she said, lying through her teeth. She had no intention of giving her greedy, ungrateful mother another red cent. She didn’t give a shit if her mother’s yard started looking like a damn forest. It would serve her right for treating Milan like a stepchild her entire life.

“I don’t feel like putting on any clothes, Milan. I’m comfortable in my sweats and I like chillin’ in my own home. So if you want to talk over breakfast, we’re going to eat right here. I’m not in the mood for dining in any of those high-class places you like to go to.”

“Not a problem.” Milan was eager to accommodate her sister.

Thirty minutes later, Sweetie swung her front door open and spread her arms to embrace her sister, but dropped her
arms when she noticed the limo. “Why’d you come in a damn stretch limo? Always puttin’ on airs. It’s bad enough when you come through in your Rolls. This is a regular, middle-class neighborhood, Milan. Damn! Now the whole neighborhood gon’ be gawking over here, swearing Beyonce or somebody done come through.” She eyed Milan up and down critically, taking in her exquisite teal-colored caped suit. “On second thought, you’re not blond and you don’t have enough bootie for anyone to mistake you for Bey.” She ushered Milan inside. “You look more like that model—the one who’s always cussing out cops at the airport and knocking her assistants upside the head with her cell phone.” Sweetie fell out laughing. Milan didn’t join in. “I guarantee you, the word is gonna spread quick. Whoever saw you stepping out that limo is gon’ be calling up folks, talkin’ ’bout Sweetie hangin’ with that British supermodel, uh-huh, that’s her limo outside the crib.”

Sweetie was funny enough to do a stand-up routine. She was known to have her friends doubled over in laughter when she got started with her biting wit. Milan, however, was too sad to even force her lips into a sliver of a smile.

Milan made an impatient sound, which prompted Sweetie to cut out the comedy act and head for the kitchen. “Whatchu wanna eat? Eggs and bacon?”

“I’m not hungry. Just coffee.”

“Just coffee?”

Milan nodded, her expression miserable.

“All right. Suit yourself, but I need a real breakfast. I only had instant oatmeal after I got the kids off to school.”

Milan was relieved to hear that it was a school day and that Sweetie’s two little hellions wouldn’t be racing around from
room to room. While Sweetie took her time measuring coffee and gathering up ingredients for a breakfast large enough to feed an army, Milan paced the kitchen, fretting and wringing her hands. Her troubled expression pleaded for attention.

“Milan, please sit yourself down. You’re making me nervous. We’re gon’ talk about your problem—give me a minute. Please,” she added irritably as she cracked open an egg.

A short time later Milan sipped Sweetie’s horribly bitter coffee while her sister dug into a pile of fluffy scrambled eggs.

“Okay, whassup?” Sweetie asked, chomping down on a piece of bacon while already chewing eggs. Only Sweetie, with her girlish face, could pull off such gluttonous behavior.

“Oh, Sweetie…” Milan began weeping and covered her face with her hands, muffling her words, and making them inaudible.

“Pull yourself together, Milan. I can’t understand what you’re saying.” Shaking her head and frowning, Sweetie chewed her food more intensely, preparing herself for whatever crisis Milan was about to unburden on her.

“My driver quit,” Milan sobbed.

Sweetie scowled and set down a forkful of hashed brown potatoes. “You’re kidding me, right?”

Sniffling, Milan shook her head.

“You hired a limo to bring you all the way over here to cry on my shoulder because your driver quit? Milan, you are not in Beverly Hills somewhere, so stop acting like you’re so fragile that every little thing that happens to you is a reason to fall apart. So what if your damn driver quit. You got bank; hire another one.”

“Sweetie, you don’t understand.”

“I truly don’t. I could be relaxing and watching
Maury
right
about now. Why did you come over here, bothering me with some bullshit?”

“We were in a relationship.”

“You were in a relationship with your driver?” Stunned, Sweetie held a half-bitten slice of bacon in mid-air.

“You never met him, Sweetie. He’s not your average driver. Big, muscular, and gorgeous. He’s a former NFL player and—”

“Oh, yeah? What’s his name?”

“Hilton Dorsey.”

“Sounds familiar. What team did he play for?”

“I don’t know. I never asked. What difference does that make?”

“Quantez is a football fanatic. He would love to meet—”

“Why do all conversations lead to Quantez? This is not about your husband. I’m in the midst of a crisis.”

“Okay, calm down. Let me guess—you and your driver were twisting up the sheets and he started hitting you up for a bigger salary?”

“No…I mean, yes, we were involved, but he wasn’t after my money.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Sweetie, is it so hard to believe that a man couldn’t just love me for me?”

“So, why’d he quit? What excuse did he give you?”

“He’s trying to get a contract with the Eagles and I think he’s at their training camp, trying out or whatever football players do.”

“So, why are you crying over that? He’s playing with our home team, so he’ll be close by. Girl, see if you can get Quantez and the boys some free tickets to the games…and some good seats. My husband and kids are not tryna be up in the nose bleed section.” Sweetie grinned and then excitedly rubbed her hands
together. “Quantez is gonna be so shocked when I tell him my baby sister is hooked up with a member of the Eagles.”

“That’s the problem, Sweetie. We’re not hooked up. We were on the verge of getting closer, maybe committing to a long-term relationship, but I ruined it.” Milan’s voice cracked.

Sweetie slammed her glass of orange juice down. “What did you do to ruin it? Damn, Milan, why you fuck up everybody’s free seats? Quantez probably could have gotten some of the players to stop by his restaurant. It would be real good publicity for the restaurant if he could post up some autographed photos of the team.” Sweetie narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed at Milan for robbing Quantez of free publicity.

Quantez’s take-out joint didn’t even have a place for customers to sit, yet Sweetie was envisioning framed and autographed photos of the Eagles’ top players on the walls. Milan ignored the fact that Sweetie didn’t seem concerned about her heartache. She was hopeful that she’d get some good advice now that Sweetie had a vested interest in helping her get Hilton back.

“I said something insensitive…something really stupid…”

Sweetie screwed up her lips. “What did you say?”

“Uh…he’s been working out for quite a while, trying to get his busted knee back in shape and I told him that his football days were probably over.”

“Well, are they?” Sweetie glared at Milan.

“I don’t know. He didn’t say what he was going to do at the training camp.”

“Whatchu think he’s gonna do at camp—
train
, dumb ass!” Sweetie blurted.

Only Sweetie could get away with calling Milan derogatory names. Milan took the insult without a flinch.

“He could be trying out—trying to get on the team. And with the bad injury he incurred, he’s probably not going to make the cut.”

“Sounds like you don’t want him to make the cut.”

“I don’t. I can support both of us. Why should he be running around with a football team, warming the bench while others play, when he could be home with me?”

“You are about as selfish as they come,” Sweetie said, shaking her head. “Milan, if you ever plan on finding the kind of true love like me and Quantez have, you’re going to have to stop putting yourself first. Now, I don’t know who Hilton Dorsey is. Quantez is the football expert, he knows all the players and their stats from high school, college, and in the NFL, so I know he’ll be able to give up some info on this dude. But in the meantime, I need to tell you something for your own good.” Sweetie took a deep breath.

Milan put her mug of nasty coffee down and met her sister’s eyes.

“You can’t be stepping on a man’s dreams. Athletes live and breathe their sport. They don’t ever want to get out of the game. If you were trying to take that relationship to the next level, you sure fucked that shit up. You, of all people, should be holding him up, keeping him motivated. Even if you truly believe that his career is over, you needed to co-sign with him every step of the way. Milan, that’s the kind of thing women do for their men. It doesn’t hurt to co-sign on his dream. If his dream falls apart, he’ll come back to you for comfort. But you done went and practically told the man that he wasn’t nothing but a bum.”

“I did not!”

“Might as well have.”

Milan’s shoulders sagged. “So, what can I do?”

“I don’t know. I’m gon’ ask Quantez to do some digging and find out if this Hilton Dorsey is training with the Eagles. If he is, I don’t think it would be a good time to bring the man any more drama. You’re gon’ have to give him some space and let him focus on training.”

“I can’t. I want to talk to him; tell him that I’m sorry—”

“If you bother him right now, all you’re going to do is mess up any chance you might have had to get him back.” Sweetie looked off in thought. “Look, go back to the salon—”

“I can’t. I don’t feel like looking at the clients or my staff. I’m in a foul mood, Sweetie.”

Sweetie shrugged. “Well take your ass shopping in Paris. Isn’t that the type of shit you’re into?”

Normally, a trip to Paris and a private showing of the Chanel collection would put her in a wonderful state of mind. But not today. She was frustrated, angry with herself, and furious with Hilton for not understanding that she was ill-equipped to show love.

Milan left Sweetie’s with a wicked plan in mind. She needed to lash out at someone. Why not Maxwell? He claimed to enjoy pain. Pain that she was only too happy to assign to someone else. As usual, her role would be to direct, prompt, and make sure the punishment was executed to her exact specifications.

Back in the limo, she called BodySlam and set up a very special appointment for Maxwell. It didn’t take much convincing. She made him a monetary offer that only a fool would refuse. Besides, she knew BodySlam held bitter resentment against Maxwell for putting his girlfriend, the ex-mistress Veronique, out of business.