Authors: Cheris Hodges
Recipe for Desire (16 page)
Tears sprang into Marie’s eyes, and her heart broke for him. It all made sense, his fierce loyalty to the women at the shelter, the way he’d run after Bria, and his anger when he’d thought Marie had done something to the young girl. “Devon,” she whispered.
He pressed his finger against his lips and shook his head. “I’m going to get breakfast started.”
Marie hopped out of the bed and grabbed his elbow. “You like to drop bombs and walk away,” she said. “Devon, you need to make peace with your father.”
“This is something I don’t want to talk about right now,” he said.
“The anger inside you, you can’t keep hiding that behind your work at the shelter,” Marie said.
“And what makes you the expert? You stay in the papers acting out because you had everything handed to you. You have no idea what’s going on inside me or what it was like growing up ...”
“Forget breakfast; why not just take me home,” she said. “I’m not going to be your wh—”
“Marie, look,” Devon said, throwing his hands up. “This doesn’t have anything to do with us and what we’re building here. It’s basically none of your business.”
She shook her head from side to side. “Maybe you’re right. I guess if I’m just someone you’re only sleeping with, I shouldn’t give a damn about what’s going on in your life. Should I call a cab or do you plan to take me home?”
Sighing, Devon felt like he should say something, but what? Why were they even having this disagreement? “I’ll call you a cab,” he said, wanting to avoid further conflict.
She narrowed her eyes at him and reached for her clothes. “To hell with you, Devon. I should’ve known this was a mistake.”
Chapter 16
Later that afternoon, Devon’s mood went from bad to worse following his argument with Marie and her unscheduled cab ride home. He’d called her three times, but she hadn’t bothered to answer the phone. Since it was Saturday, he knew he wouldn’t see her at the shelter. He wondered, would he see her at all outside of their arranged relationship through the state? But as soon as he’d put Marie on the back burner and started to focus on the dinner at Hometown Delights, his cell phone started buzzing in his pocket and Alicia burst into the kitchen.
“Devon, what in the hell is going on? The dining room is crawling with reporters looking for you and Miss Party Girl Marie Charles,” she said as he glanced at the text messages coming through on his phone.
“Damn it,” he groaned as he saw the picture his producer forwarded to him. The blogger who saw them leaving last night had posted the picture under the headline C
HARLOTTE’S
N
EW
I
T
C
OUPLE
?
HARLOTTE’S
N
EW
I
T
C
OUPLE
?
Alicia looked over his shoulder and burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? I knew it.”
“Knew what?”
“That there was more going on with you and Marie Charles than you were saying,” Alicia said, then smacked Devon on the shoulder. “What are you going to tell the reporters?”
“There’s nothing to tell because we’re not a couple, and even if we were, I wouldn’t talk about it in the press.”
“But that’s how she gets down. From what I understand, she lets the photographers know her every move so ...”
“Alicia, shut up,” he barked. “You don’t know her; you know what you’ve read about her.”
She leaned back, shocked by his tone and his defense of Marie. If they weren’t a couple now, she knew they would be soon. Devon was fiercely protective of people he cared about. “Do you want me to get rid of the reporters?” she asked.
“Yes. And I’m going to take off. I need to talk to Marie about this.”
“So,” Alicia said, “there is something more here, huh?”
“Mind your business—for a change.”
“Whatever,” she said, then headed into the dining room to clear away the reporters. Devon turned to his sous-chef and put her in charge for dinner service. The menu was simple enough for her to handle, and since he didn’t plan to be at Marie’s place long, he’d be back to prepare something for dessert if he felt like it.
Marie stepped out of the town car and walked into My Sister’s Keeper because she needed to do something worthwhile to get her mind off Devon and their fight. She’d already rearranged her closet, loaded up some clothes that she wanted to donate to the shelter, changed her bed sheets, moved the bed three times, and gotten together some shoes to donate as well. Marie had even tried her hand at cooking herself something for lunch, which turned out to be a steaming, burnt pile of couscous and half-baked chicken. She’d ended up tossing it out and ordering Chinese from her favorite restaurant.
After eating, she decided that staying inside wasn’t going to do anything but drive her nuts. Adriana was out of town with a client and Marie wasn’t in the mood to party anyway.
Somehow, going to the shelter seemed like the right thing to do. When she walked in with two big suitcases and a rollaway bag filled with shoes, Elaine Harper looked at her with a puzzled face.
“Marie, what are you doing here on a Saturday?” she asked as she walked from behind the reception desk.
“Well,” she said. “I did some cleaning and decided that I wanted to donate some clothes and shoes to the ladies here.”
“All of this?” Elaine asked.
“Yes, and all of the clothes are clean and the shoes are mostly new,” Marie said. Elaine pulled Marie into her arms and hugged her tightly.
“This is so amazing of you, although, I’m not sure how many of the ladies will be able to wear these outfits. Would you mind if we sold them in our store, the things that the ladies can’t use?”
“That’s fine,” Marie said. “Do you need any help around here today?”
“Well,” she said. “Saturday is usually a free day for the ladies. Some of them work at our store for credit so that they can shop later. A few have real jobs that help with their savings so that they can get back on their feet.”
“How’s Bria doing?” Marie asked.
Elaine nodded. “Better. She’s in the kitchen. We have different chores we take care of around here. Maybe Bria might need some help in the kitchen.”
“I will go and check,” Marie said with a smile, remembering that she had to give Bria those shoes she wanted. She reached into the bag with the shoes and pulled out the sneakers, then bounded into the kitchen. Bria turned around quickly when she heard the door open.
“It’s just me,” Marie said, then held up the bag. “I brought you these shoes.”
“Are you serious?” Bria said as she dried her hands and crossed over to Marie. “Wow, thank you.”
“I’m a woman of my word, at least I try to be,” she replied as she handed over the shoes.
“These shoes are amazing. Are you sure you want to give them up?” Bria asked as she examined the sneakers.
“Trust me, I’m not a sneaker chick,” Marie joked. “So, what are you doing in here?”
“Just finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes, and then I was going to go chill in my room and read a book,” she replied. Marie noticed that Bria seemed a lot calmer than normal, relaxed and acting her age. One thing she was sure of was that spending a beautiful afternoon reading was not something she wanted to do.
“Since you’re finished in here, what do you say to a little retail therapy? You have this fund-raiser coming up at Devon’s restaurant and you’ve been through a lot.”
Bria ran her fingers through her cropped hair and smiled. “You know, yesterday when you were here and I took off, you and Mr. Devon showed me that people do care about you. Just one session with my counselor has helped me. I kept so much bottled up and I needed to release it.”
“Sounds like a reason to shop to me,” Marie said. “Do you have to sign out or anything?”
“I just have to be back by six,” Bria said.
Marie looked at her watch, it was six after three. “Then we’d better get a move on. The car is outside.”
When Devon pulled in to the parking garage attached to Marie’s building, he wondered how he was supposed to handle this, not just the picture and the story, but the awkward way they’d left things that morning. Part of him wondered if she didn’t have a Google alert that had already told her what the blogs said. Hell, Devon knew he wasn’t there to simply tell her the press was sniffing around. He wanted to know if he still had a chance to be a part of her life. To explain the anger he felt toward his father and let her know that Devon Sr. was a nonfactor in their lives. Would she listen? Was he ready to tell the whole story? His thoughts raced back and forth as he headed up to Marie’s place on the elevator. When the car stopped on Marie’s floor, Devon saw a guy knocking on her door, and a tidal wave of jealousy washed over him. Who was this clown and why was he at his woman’s door.
My woman? What am I thinking? How do I know she wants anything else to do with me?
The man, who had a notepad in his hand, turned to Devon and smiled. “Mr. Harris, are the rumors true? Are you and Marie Charles dating?” he fired.
My woman? What am I thinking? How do I know she wants anything else to do with me?
The man, who had a notepad in his hand, turned to Devon and smiled. “Mr. Harris, are the rumors true? Are you and Marie Charles dating?” he fired.
“Who are you and why would I answer your rude questions?” Devon snapped.
“Wilson Luther, pop culture writer for the
Charlotte Observer
,” he said, then extended his free hand to Devon. Devon ignored it and glared at him. Had Marie called him? How did he know where she lived? “So, are you dating Charlotte’s it girl?”
Charlotte Observer
,” he said, then extended his free hand to Devon. Devon ignored it and glared at him. Had Marie called him? How did he know where she lived? “So, are you dating Charlotte’s it girl?”
“No comment.”
“She’s not home,” he said. “I’ve been knocking on her door for about an hour.”
Devon shook his head and started to ask the reporter a few questions of his own—specifically, how he got past security—but he didn’t want anything he said to be quoted in the story. Instead, he simply walked away, pulling his cell phone from his pocket to call Marie. Just as he started to dial, the phone rang. It was his father, again. Marie’s voice echoed in his head.
You have to make peace with your father.
He answered the call. “Hello?”
You have to make peace with your father.
He answered the call. “Hello?”
“Son,” Devon Sr. said. “I’m hoping we can have a civil conversation.”
“What do you want?” he asked, looking over his shoulder to ensure the reporter wasn’t on his heels.
“I want to see you, before it’s too late,” he said. “I know you won’t come to Atlanta, but I’d like to come to Charlotte. Maybe even have dinner at your restaurant.”
Devon snorted as he pressed the button for the elevator. “What’s killing you?” he asked as he waited for the car.
“Iron overload in my body. The doctors call it hemochromatosis. I’ve been undergoing treatment for the last two years and there’s nothing left for them to do.”
“Umm,” Devon said, not knowing exactly what to say to his father or if he should show sympathy for his father when all his life, all his father had ever done was cause pain and make his life hell. But he couldn’t make himself say a word.
“This is a very rare disorder and disease. I’m guessing that this is the Lord’s way of making me pay for the mistakes that I’ve made. Especially when it comes to you and ...”
“So, what do you want from me? I hope you don’t think this talk of Jesus and forgiveness is supposed to make me forget the hell you put me and my mother through. Or how, when you finally accepted that I wasn’t going to be your little clone, you wanted to give me a send-off to Paris.”
“I thought I was doing what was right for you. I didn’t think Kandace was right for you, and obviously, my theory was right. She’s a fortune hunter, which is probably why she married Solomon Crawford.”
“This is why I don’t talk to you,” Devon snapped. “Kandace has never been after my money or anyone else’s.”
“I was trying to protect you the best way that I knew how,” he said.
“You’ve never known how to protect anyone other than yourself,” Devon snapped.
“I’ll be in Charlotte next week and I hope that we can get together,” Devon Sr. said.
“Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t see how that’s a good idea, since even though you’re on the brink of death, you’re still an asshole.” Devon clicked off his cell phone and stepped into the elevator.
Marie and Bria walked across the parking lot to the awaiting car, trying to figure out where they would eat dinner before heading back to My Sister’s Keeper. Bria held her Nordstrom bags tightly and smiled. “I haven’t shopped like this since my mother died.”
“How old were you when you lost your mom?” Marie asked as she shifted her purse to her left hand.
“Fifteen. Feels like yesterday,” she said wistfully.
Marie placed her hand on Bria’s shoulder. “I know how you feel. I lost my mom, too. I was ten when she died. I always wonder what life would’ve been like if she was still here.”
Bria nodded. “We were so close, since it was just the two of us. When she died, I went to live with my aunt Michelle. Had I known she just looked at me as a paycheck, I would’ve done something else. I know my life would’ve been different.”
“Where was you father?” Marie asked.
Bria shrugged. “Never met him.”
Marie’s heart broke as Bria told her that while she lived with her aunt in Charlotte, she met Patrick Hargro—the man she was now running from. Patrick had been the person Bria had turned to when being with her aunt had become unbearable. At first, he’d been sweet, loving, and supportive. A lonely and naïve Bria had fallen hard and fast for Patrick. But the moment she’d moved in with him, he’d changed into a monster. The beatings began shortly after she’d moved in. Then there had been the incident that forced her to leave. Patrick had decided to pass her around to his friends as a living, breathing sex toy. She’d run away and lived on the street for about three months, hiding from Patrick and the men he associated with. Then she’d found out about My Sister’s Keeper and decided to stay there.
“He told me that I would never be free of him,” Bria said quietly. “In six months, my trust kicks in and I’ll be able to take care of myself.”
“What are you going to do then?” Marie asked. Bria didn’t reply, she simply stopped walking and dropped her bags at her feet. Marie turned to her and saw a look of sheer terror on her face.
“Bria?” Marie asked as she followed the girl’s stare. A man was running in their direction.
“Patrick,” Bria breathed. Marie pushed Bria toward the car.
“Go get in the car,” Marie said.
“Yo, bitch!” Patrick yelled. “I knew I’d find your ass.” He charged toward Marie and Bria. Marie reached in her purse and grabbed her container of pepper spray and flushed Patrick’s face with the hot spray. He mumbled more profanities and reached out to grab Marie. With her good foot, Marie kicked Patrick in the center of his family jewels. He moaned like a wounded dog. “You like hitting women?” she spat. “Well, I hit back!” She kicked him again, even harder. He reached blindly for Marie’s other ankle, but before he could grab her, the burly driver rushed over to them and clutched Patrick’s neck. “Miss Charles, I called nine-one-one.”
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