I Heard A Rumor (22 page)

“Neither am I, and I'm not going to let her hurt you.”

“I don't need your protection,” Chante snapped. “I'm sick and tired of everyone looking at me as if I need a champion. I can take care of myself!”

Zach backed away from her and shook his head. “Did I say that? I want to protect the woman I love—not because I think you can't!”

She looked down at the pavement. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'm sorry. I just . . . There is so much riding on my success or failure. I don't want to let anyone down, especially my clients. So many women have been victimized just because they're women. Sexual harassment claims, work discrimination, and bad divorces.”

Closing the space between them, he took Chante's face in his hands. “I love how you have taken control of your life. Love how you want to be every woman's champion. I want that for you, but you aren't Superwoman, and you're going to need a shoulder to lean on.”

“And you're giving me yours?” she asked with a smile.

“Both of them.” Zach brought his mouth down on top of hers and kissed her slow and deep. Soft moans escaped her as Zach cupped her bottom. She pressed her body closer to his, feeling every muscle in his body harden. She wanted him right there. Pulling back, she looked at him and smiled.

“I know we were supposed to have dinner, but I want to skip straight to dessert,” she said.

“Sounds good to me. But I have plans for you,” he said, then scooped her up in his arms. “Let's get out of here.”

Across the street, a photographer snapped pictures of Chante and Zach's passionate embrace and the license plate of the car they'd sped off in. “Got them,” the man said into the phone. “I'll upload the pictures now.”

Zach nearly broke the sound barrier to get to the Westin. Chante couldn't help but laugh at him. “Slow down, Zach. We're not in a Mustang or in Charleston.”

“But I'm in need. I need to be inside you,” he said as he pulled into the parking deck. “And I don't think I can wait to get into my room.” Leaning over, Zach lowered the back of Chante's seat. “I want you right now.”

She placed the palm of her hand against his chest. “Slow down, cowboy. There are way too many cameras around. I'm sure the walk to your room is only going to make it better.” She opened the door, and he smirked.

“You're no fun,” he quipped.

“Umm-huh,” she said as she exited the car. “I'm going to show you fun.”

Zach got out of the car and caught up with Chante as she headed for the elevator. “I know you will, sexy.” Kissing her on the back of her neck, Zach wrapped his arm around her waist. “I'm really proud of you.”

“Thank you.” She pressed the button for the elevator. When they stepped on, Zach pressed her against the wall and smiled at her. “You're an amazing woman.”

“Zach.”

“No, listen. When I went to Charleston, all I wanted was a break from the madness going on in my life. And then you walked into the room. You took my breath away, even if you wanted to pretend you didn't feel that spark. Since I've been back in New York, I can't keep my mind off you.”

“Zach.”

“Chante, I love you.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “You don't have to say that. I know that . . .”

“I know I don't have to say anything I don't mean. And I don't go around telling women I love them if I don't mean it.”

She wanted to tell him that she loved him too, but fear froze her tongue. She couldn't take the risk of telling him how she felt. What if she told him and it blew up in her face? “Zach,” she whispered, “your life is in New York. Can we be honest for a minute? Neither one of us has plans to move.”

“What does distance have to do with anything?”

“A lot. Who's to say that on a lonely night, you won't reach out to someone else? You're a man; you have needs.”

“I'm a man who wants to love one woman. You're right: I have needs. I need you.”

“Now, while I'm standing here in front of you.”

“Baby, your baggage has nothing to do with me. You can't paint me with the same brush that you used with anyone who hurt you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not doing that,” she said unconvincingly. “I don't want you to be tied to me when you can find someone in New York.”

“If I was going to find someone in New York, then I would've done it already. Not to brag, but I can have any woman I want.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because the only woman I want is you. You just have to believe that.”

The elevator doors opened into the lobby. “I want to,” she whispered. “But I can't. Maybe I should call a cab and go home. I don't want to hurt you, but I'm just not ready for this.” Chante dashed to the front desk, and Zach stood there in disbelief.

As she headed out the door, Zach followed her. “Chante,” he called out. “I'm confused. What just happened?”

“I gave you an out. I gave you the chance to do you without feeling guilty about it.”

“Or are you trying to ease your conscience?”

“What?”

“Do you want me to walk away so that you can keep up the illusion that you have about men who love you? That every man who walks into your life is somehow trying to take advantage of you? I'm not going to let you do that.”

“Let me? Zach, I'm going to go.”

“Yeah, you're going upstairs, and we're going to talk like two rational adults.” He touched her elbow and guided her to the elevator. They rode to his room in silence. This was not the reunion he'd planned.

When they stepped off the elevator and he opened the door to his room, the flickering flames of the candles and the heart-shaped rose petals in the middle of the bed reminded him what this night was supposed to have been.

“Wow,” Chante said. “You did all of this for us?”

“I had other plans for this evening, but right now I think we need to talk.” He flipped the lights on and pointed toward the bed.

“What's left to say? I'm just not . . .”

“Chante, I think your problem is you're trying so hard to prove people wrong that you don't know how to live your life. You've tried to cut off the part of your heart that we all have. People need to be loved, and you're not any different.”

“I'm realistic. At some point this isn't going to be enough. You're going to get tired of . . .”

“Now you can read my mind?”

“Zach, I'm scared,” Chante admitted. “I just don't think I can handle getting disappointed again.”

“Why do you expect the worst?”

Chante rose from the bed and paced back and forth. “Because that's what I've experienced.”

“The past is the past. I'm offering you a future,” he said as he crossed over to her.

“Zach,” she said, then turned around and faced him. His eyes seemed to bore into her soul, made her believe that there would be a future for them and that happiness was within reach. But the voice of doubt whispered loudly in her ear.
This isn't going to work.
“How are we going to make this work?” she asked.

“Easy. Anything worth having is worth putting in the work, right?”

Chante nodded in agreement, then leaned against his chest. “I guess I screwed up what was supposed to be a beautiful night.” She looked around the room. “When did you have time to do all of this?”

“I had some help. And the night isn't ruined. We're here and . . .”

A knock at the door interrupted him.

“Room service.”

“Dinner is here, so the night is saved,” he said as he crossed over to the door. When he opened the door, flashbulbs went off, and a man started barking out questions.

“Mr. Harrington, what is your relationship with Chante Britt now that she's representing your ex-wife?”

“Get out of here!” Zach exclaimed as he pushed the man back and slammed the door.

“What in the hell!” Chante said. “I am not representing that woman!”

“I know you aren't. I guess this is Natalie causing trouble.”

Chante's cell phone rang at the same time that Zach's did. She looked down and saw it was Liza calling. “What's up?” Chante said as she walked to one side of the room to take her call and Zach headed for the other side of the room.

“That's what I want to know. You're representing Natalie ‘Harlem Madame' Harrington and sleeping with her ex-husband?”

“I'm not representing her, and how does anyone know about my personal relationship with Zach?”

“I guess you haven't seen the pictures of you two in front of your office? Hot and heavy. It's gone viral.”

“Oh. My. God. I can't believe this.”

“Then don't watch the news.”

“Why?”

“Trust me. Don't do it, okay?”

“You can't say that and expect me not to turn on the television.” Chante walked over to the set and pressed the
POWER
button. Then she flipped to News Fourteen.

“Coming up,” the anchor said, “a local attorney finds herself in the middle of a sex scandal—again. Next on News Channel Fourteen.”

“Let me guess,” Chante said. “They interviewed Robert.”

“You know it, and you don't need to see it. What we need to do is make sure none of your real clients are affected by this.”

Chante ran her hand across her forehead. As much as she didn't want to see the coverage of this latest rumor about her, she hung up so she could watch the report.

“Charlotte attorney Chante Britt isn't a stranger to sex scandals. She was engaged to North Carolina senate candidate Robert Montgomery, who was allegedly sleeping with a prostitute while running for the seat won by Jackson Franklin. Montgomery attempted to run for mayor of Charlotte but dropped out of the race last week. Britt, who just started her own law firm and is handling the case of former judge Harlan Chavis's ex-wife, has allegedly taken on another controversial client—the ‘Harlem Madame,' Natalie Harrington. Harrington was recently cleared of charges of running a call-girl ring in New York, as well as tax evasion. Harrington is trying to rehabilitate her image, and allegedly Britt is helping her. But photos surfaced of Britt and Zachary Harrington, Natalie's ex-husband, in a very compromising position.”

A photograph of Chante and Zach kissing in the parking lot flashed on the screen. “Shit,” Chante muttered. Zach looked over his shoulder at her, then told whoever he was talking to that he'd call them back.

“What's going on?” he asked.

“Now this is a thing,” she said as her phone began ringing. “Chante Britt.”

“Chante, this is Amanda. What is all of this on the news?”

“A bunch of lies,” she replied.

“But this looks so bad,” Amanda said. “I mean, your credibility is going to come into question, and I don't want to be mentioned every time . . .”

“Amanda, this will pass. Just let me talk to Liza about running some interference.”

“I don't know if that's going to be enough. I think I want to drop my case and just take a settlement. I don't need or want this kind of publicity. Thank you for everything you've done, but I'm going to let Taiwon Myrick handle things from here on out.”

“Amanda, don't do this. Hello?” The line was dead, and Chante was pissed. “This is some bullshit!”

“What's going on?” Zach asked.

“Amanda believes what she sees on TV. And she went to Taiwon Myrick, of all people, to settle her case. A case that I could win for her! Damn it!”

“If you need to talk to her, go ahead. I have to head to the airport and meet Zoe.”

“Don't tell me your sister believes this mess too.”

“That's not important. You go save your client.” Zach leaned in and kissed Chante gently. “We'll get this straightened out.”

She nodded, then pulled out her phone and called a car service to pick her up. Zach opened the door and peeked around the corner to see if there were any reporters or photographers roaming the halls. When he saw that the coast was clear, he and Chante headed downstairs.

“I could take you back to your office,” he said when they made it to the lobby.

“Maybe we shouldn't be seen together,” she said. “I don't want the media attention right now.”

He nodded, then leaned in and kissed her cheek. “We're going to get past this,” he said. “None of these rumors change anything.”

She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. She knew how rumors could change everything. Just as she walked outside, the car she'd ordered pulled up, and she ducked inside it before the media could descend on her. She watched Zach dash to his car, and tears welled up in her eyes. She knew the future they'd planned for wasn't going to happen. A soft sob escaped her throat as she turned around and decided that she had to let Zachary Harrington go.

Charlotte Douglas International Airport wasn't as big as JFK, but it was busy as hell, Zach thought, as he slowly inched along, part of a long line of cars. He wondered about Zoe's purpose for coming to Charlotte. If she was going to hit him with a chorus of “I told you so,” he'd drop her off at the first bus stop he came across and let her find her way around the city on her own.

Spotting his sister standing near the taxi stand, he put his blinkers on and blew the car horn at her. She crossed over to his car and hopped in. “You just can't stay out of trouble,” she said.

“Hello to you too.”

“I should've shot Natalie when I had the chance.”

“And when was that?”

“The day you brought her home. What she's doing is beyond words.”

“So you're here to do what?”

“Get her arrested.” Zoe patted the black briefcase that rested on her lap. “I know she wants money, so I just need to . . .”

“She's already done her blackmail thing. Chante and I told her to go to hell. She went to the press.”

“I know. Saw the coverage. She's a criminal, and she belongs in jail. I'm sure she doesn't have a southern judge in her little black book.”

“How do you know that?”

“I have friends in high places.”

“Like the FBI?”