Any Man I Want (14 page)

Spaulding nodded. “You all are way too young to even remember my professional football career. It lasted six months. I got knocked out in a play-off game and suffered permanent nerve damage to my spine. I was lucky. I can walk, I can talk, and I am fully functional. I stayed in college my full four years and got my degree so I had something to fall back on. I have a computer animation company that creates sports-simulation games and CGI for movie special effects. But again, I'm one of the lucky ones.”

Chris came forward. “I've probably been the luckiest one here. I had both a grandfather who demanded the best from me and an older brother to clear the path for me. My road has been easy. All I've ever had to do is show up and put in the work. But even with that being said, I understand that in the long run it's my brain and not all this brawn you see me working with that's going to take me the farthest.” The boys laughed as Chris flexed his muscles.

I nudged him out of the way and motioned to Gramps to start setting out the food. “Education is absolutely critical for whatever you want to do in life. But in case you're wondering what it has to do with football, here are some more statistics for you: Players with a degree earn between twenty to thirty percent more than those without one and their careers last about fifty percent longer. No one is sure why—probably a combination of factors like intelligence, determination, concentration, and discipline. But for whatever reasons, facts are facts. Mo' school equals mo' money.”

“Put it on a T-shirt, Sexy!” Kendrick joked. “Mo' school equals mo' money.”

Katrina came up from behind me. “Mo' brains is mo' sexy. And mo' money means mo' ladies. I'm just saying.” Everybody laughed.

“I hope you all listened tonight.” I cautioned. “If you have questions, these guys are here for the rest of the evening. They'll play it straight and tell you what's real. Now, I don't know about you boys, but I smell some fried catfish and there's dirty rice calling my name. Let's eat!”

Gramps nodded in approval as he started dishing up plates. I overheard one of the kids asking Spaulding what kind of classes he took to learn computer animation. This is why I did this. If I had one young man more interested in books than balls, the evening was a win. Not that I was against athletics. Hell, it got me to where I was today, but I wanted the world to be a wide-open place for these kids, where they had choices and options and still saw the sky as the limit.

“You know, seeing you here with these kids and watching your face as you spoke . . .” Katrina murmured in my ear as we headed toward the food... “makes me even hotter than in the garage. You've built something here. You're changing lives.”

“Thanks, Kit-Kat.” I kissed her forehead.

“Makes me wonder if Belle, Beau, and I shouldn't do some sort of program for the models that wash out at age nineteen and twenty. Those that don't make it.” Her head tilted as she thought about it and then she smiled on me. “Look at you being both a bad and good influence on me all in the same night.”

I chuckled. “Well, pile your plate high, Kitty. I plan to be all sorts of bad influence later on tonight.” We exchanged a look and took our places in line.

Katrina—Sunday, July 4—2:00 p.m.

 

 

I
stirred the Cajun chicken salad one last time before sprinkling paprika on the top, closing the lid, and sliding the container into the fridge for later. Turning back to the large island, I took a quick inventory. Green salad, baked beans, potato salad, corn, and biscuits . . . all done. I turned down the temperature on the pot of barbecue sauce simmering on the back burner. The patio door slid open and Carter stuck his head in. “Can you hand me a platter, Kitty? The burgers and ribs are ready to come off.”

Holding back the desire to ask why he hadn't taken one with him when he went out as I suggested, I picked two up and walked them over. Beau was standing by the grill flipping pieces of chicken. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, babe.” He brushed his lips across my brow and headed back outside.

The doorbell rang before I could get back to the kitchen. No one was expected until three o'clock. I glanced out at my sauce-splattered T-shirt and baggy cotton shorts and shrugged. Whoever it was would have to take me as I was. I swung open the front door and beamed at the tall woman wearing skinny capris in mint green and a sequined tank top in teal.

“Yaz! You're early.” I greeted my friend. Yazlyn stood six feet tall in flats with a curly Afro that added another three or four inches to her stature. She was dark-skinned with a flawless complexion and slim, willowy body. Raised in Arkansas by Kenyan parents, she was about the realest person you'd ever want to know. Known as much for her rapier wit as her distinctive prowl on the catwalk, she was one of the most business-savvy people I knew and a natural pick when Belle and I needed someone to run our office in New York.

She flashed a wide grin. “I got in last night and was just sitting around your empty condo so I decided to come on over.” She handed me a huge bottle of rum and hugged me before stepping in and looking around. “This is how you're living, huh? Not bad. Not bad at all. This is not what I expected from Carter Parks.”

“I know, right?”

“I would have pegged him as more of a glass, steel, leather kind of guy, all sleek and contemporary. Muted grays and black.”

“Me too, but Mr. Parks is quite a traditionalist,” I explained.

She walked to the sliding glass doors and looked out at Carter and Beau. “Hmmm . . . he's a man who cooks, is smart, interesting, and hot, and has you lit up like the noonday sun. What are you going to do about that?”

I smirked. “Oh, I'm doing plenty, believe that.”

“Quit bragging. I mean, long-term and serious-like. If he's as traditional as you say, he's going to want to wife you up and get started on some kids.”

Every time someone talked along those lines, I got more than a little bit nervous. “I don't know, we're just enjoying each other's company right now. He hasn't mentioned anything more than that right now.”

“And what are you all of a sudden, a shrinking violet? Ask him what he's thinking.”

“Not sure I'm ready to hear it,” I admitted.

“Girl, I'm gonna have to request that you put your big-girl drawers on.”

I was saved by having to respond by the ringing of the doorbell. I found Tara, my assistant, standing on the front porch with Shawn. They'd been reviewing the information on Renee's laptop. From the looks on their faces, it looked like they'd found something. “Tell me you've got something.” I waved them inside.

“We've got something!” they announced together.

“Awesome. Let's see it,” Yazlyn said.

Shawn connected his iPad to the big-screen TV in the living area and pressed a few buttons. An image of Renee's loft came up on the screen.

“Whoa! How did we get this? I did not plant any cameras.” The patio door slid open and Beau and Carter walked in carrying platters of meat.

“What's up?” Carter asked.

Shawn looked at me uncertainly and I nodded at him reassuringly. “We'll explain all in a second. Shawn?”

“After you put the tracking and cloning software on Renee's laptop—”

“You did
what?
” Carter asked, smacking the ribs down on the countertop.

“Babe, seriously. One second.” I motioned for Shawn to continue.

“When Tara and I started looking at it, we realized that Renee has a smart house.”

“A what?” Yaz asked.

“A smart house,” Tara explained. “Everything can be controlled by a computer or cell phone.”

Beau started smiling. “How much of her life is connected through that?”

“Damn near all of it,” Shawn offered, “Her phone numbers, both home and cell, are digital numbers so every call and text both in and out are tracked through her e-mail. She has cameras set up outside her door and in her living room to guard against intruders, but she either she doesn't want to or she forgets to turn them off, so we can see and hear everything that goes on near that area. She gets her work e-mail on her cell phone, which backs up onto her laptop. As do her calendar and her contact lists.”

“We got access to this how exactly?” Carter questioned, sliding me a look.

The doorbell rang and I motioned for Beau to answer. Belle and Jewel walked in.

“
Ou est mon frère
?” Beau asked where Roman was.

“Roman went over to pick up Chase and Madere and Pops,” Jewel answered, looking at the food first and the TV second. “Uh-oh, I recognize that living room.” She looked at me with wide eyes.

Carter folded his arms across his broad chest and quirked a brow.

“Fine!” I caved. “We did a little breaking-and-entering. I got some software from Shawn to clone Renee's laptop so we could go in and look at what she was up to. We were just trying to see her e-mails. Who knew she was such a control freak that her whole life is on there for just anyone to see?”

“Anyone who broke into her place and hacked her computer, you mean,” Carter snorted.

“We had good intentions,” Belle mumbled.

“You were driving the damn getaway car, weren't you?” Beau said, glowering at Belle.

“My car. Driven for felonious purposes,” Carter groused.

“More like a misdemeanor. We didn't really
break
and enter. We had the key, so we just entered,” I hedged.

Carter's head tilted. “How exactly did you get a key?”

Shawn shuffled his feet and looked off into the distance.

I cleared my throat. “We're off topic. I felt and still feel that the ends justify the means.”

“The criminal means?” Beau argued.

“Isn't it only a crime if you get caught?” Jewel wondered as she plunked down on a bar stool and gnawed on a rib.

Yazlyn clapped her hands together. “People, people! Focus. However this was obtained; let's see what it is before we decide if it was worth catching a case.”

Beau sat down in one of the armchairs and tugged Belle down next to him. Carter and I perched on the other two bar stools.

Tara glanced around the room nervously, waiting to see if any more fireworks were forthcoming. When they weren't, she continued. “Anyway, check this out.” She slid her finger across the iPad's touchscreen and the video started to play. We watched an older man standing outside of Renee's apartment for a minute before she let him in. Renee had kept herself in shape. She was a size eight chocolate-skinned cute girl with a shoulder-length bob and a tendency to wear clothes that were stylish but a little too tight, particularly across her generous hind parts. I'd never seen her when her face was not flawlessly made up, her hair not perfectly coiffed, and nails not perfectly done. Even answering her door, she was in a tight red sweat suit that was studded with crystals with matching five-inch cherry-red pumps. It was one of my pet peeves: Women who wore sweats with heels. It looked like they were either trying too hard or couldn't make up their minds. Are you casual or dressed up? Your outfit said one thing and your feet another. But maybe it was just me.

“Why is that woman wearing evening pumps with a velour sweat suit?” Belle said, frowning. Okay, it wasn't just me.

“Because she belongs to the ‘Doing the Most and I Don't Care Who Knows It' club,” Jewel said with her fork hovering over the potato salad.

The view switched to Renee's living room and still the man had his profile to the camera. Something about him was familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. In the next frame, Renee took two steps and pointed a remote. A slow, sultry Brian McKnight song started playing. My eyebrows skyrocketed. That was “it's about to go down” music.

“Wait a minute, is this about to get freaky?” Jewel asked. “Because you know, I'm not trying to see that and my stomach is delicate.”

Shawn nodded and looked embarrassed. “You might want to push the plate away for a second, ma'am.”

Jewel set her fork down with a snap. “Did he just call me
ma'am
?”

“Shh!” I scolded as Renee did an impromptu, but surprisingly skilled, striptease to the completely appropriate strains of “What We Do Here.” “Whoa. She's got some moves.”

“This bringing back any fond memories for you?” Belle slid Beau a sardonic glance.

“Ah
chère
, you know I forgot every other woman once I had you.” He patted her arm.

“Um-hmm. Good answer, sugar,” she drawled.

When Renee stood in see-through lingerie and pumps, the man reached for her and drew her close. He slid his hands down to her rear and squeezed.

“I'm so not trying to see this.” Jewel grimaced.

The couple spun around, groping each other, and I was able to get a clear look at the man's face. “Pause it right there!” Belle, Beau, and Yazlyn all gasped.

Shawn nodded. “See that?”

“What are we looking at?” Carter asked.

“We are looking at Madison Archeneaux, the CEO of Royal Mahogany, getting his swerve on with Renee Nightingale, his former PR director,” Yaz announced.

Jewel's jaw dropped. “I guess we should have seen that coming, but this is kind of a skank move, even for Renee.”

“It's actually kind of smart in a smarmy, adulterous, ambition-at-all-costs way.” I shrugged. “How better to entangle him? If you want influence over a man, if you want to really control him? You have to know his weakness and make him need you. Either for money, love, sex, or survival. Once a man feels that he needs a woman, that woman owns him. He'll do or say anything for her.”

“Is that right?” Carter said silkily, in a quiet and dangerous voice.

Oops. Yaz, Jewel, Belle, and Tara looked at me in disbelief. I was over-sharing. There were certain things that women knew that men didn't need to hear about. Sometimes when I was thinking out loud, I forgot to filter. I spun toward him. “You don't count. I've already learned not to try and manipulate my way around you. You're your own man and fairly immovable once you have your mind made up.”

“Uh-huh. Nice save, Kitty.” He patted my hand.

Whew. “Anyway, anything else we need to know?” I looked toward Shawn and Tara.

“We've found a lot in her e-mail. She really has no love for all things Montgomery. We're going to summarize and get it to you next week. As far as video goes, there is quite a bit of activity, mostly of Renee with this guy and some other guy we haven't identified yet,” Shawn shared.

“Send it over to Captain Calvin and let him take a look,” Beau said.

“Who is Captain Calvin?” Belle asked.

“A former military friend of Gramps who is looking into Delancey for us,” Beau answered.

“He's the big gun?” I asked Carter.

“He's the big gun.” Carter nodded.

Beau nodded too. “Let's see what the big gun has and compare notes before we decide when and how to use this. What do you think, C?”

“I agree. If we have opportunity to take them both down and can do it in the grandest, most public way possible, we should go for it.”

The doorbell rang and I glanced at the clock on the microwave. “I've still got to change. Can you get that?” I headed for the staircase.

“I got it,” Beau said. “Carter needs to get some water up next to his musty parts too.”

“This is the thanks I get for slaving over a hot grill for you?” Carter smacked Beau on the back of the head as he walked by.

“I'll set the rest of the food out,” Belle offered.

“I'll start mixing drinks,” Yaz added.

“Make yourselves at home!” I called out and hit the stairs at a run.

 

 

I ran into the closet and started tossing my dirty clothes toward the hamper. Carter strode in and paused at the sight of me naked.

“Don't even think it, C. Pops will come up here and check on us. Like, walk right in.”

“Yeah, so would Gramps. Chris too for that matter.” With a sigh, he stripped and stepped into the large walk-in shower.

I used a washcloth to freshen up before slipping on lingerie, pulling my hair up with a clip, and dragging a simple sundress over my head. Carter was stepping out of the shower as I buckled woven metallic sandals onto my feet. I eyed him in the mirror as I threaded dangly silver earrings through my lobes. For some reason, the strangest thought popped into my head.

“Would you ever make a sex tape?” I asked.

“Haven't you had enough of being a film star?” he teased.

“Not for public consumption. Just . . . you know . . . to see what we'd look like.”

“That's what mirrors are for,” he said drolly. “And they can't be hacked.”

“Good point.”

“What made you ask?” he wondered.

I gestured to him. “You looking like you look. Us doing what we do. I wondered if it looks as hot as it feels.” Then right after I said it, I wanted to take it back.