Betrayal (8 page)

“Look how tight and tense you are,” a voice murmured soothingly. “You poor baby.”

Brandon sipped his beer, feeling some of the knotted tension ease from his body.

Warm lips brushed his ear. “Let mama take care of you.”

Brandon froze, then shot up from the sofa and whipped around. Beer spewed out of his mouth when he saw Dre's mother standing there in a black lace negligee that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

His eyes widened in shock as he dropped the bottle, spilling more beer on the floor. “What the f—”

“Shhh,” Renay whispered, putting a finger to her lips. “There's no need for you to be alarmed, Brandon.”

“The hell there ain't! Yo, what are you doing, Ms. Portis? Why are you dressed like that?”

“Why do you think?” she purred, seductively running one finger along the strap of the negligee, which barely contained her large breasts. “Don't you like it?”

Brandon groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes. “Please put some damn clothes on, Ms. Portis.
Please!
”

She chuckled softly. “You don't have to worry about Dre coming home and catching us. I called him and told him to stop by the store to pick up a few things I need for dinner. So we've got plenty of time—”

“For what?” Brandon demanded, staring at her like she'd lost her mind. Which she most definitely had.

“Come on, baby.” She started around the sofa, moving slowly and provocatively. “You've been wasting your time with these trifling little girls who don't know the first thing about how to treat a man. You need a real woman—”

“
A real woman?
” Brandon exclaimed, backing away from her. “You're like a second mother to me! You've known me since I was eleven years old!”

“I have,” she agreed. “And I've watched you grow into a fine specimen of a man. Oh, you were always a handsome boy, but there's no way I could have known just how
scrumptious
you'd turn out to be—so sexy and virile. So much
swag
.” She licked her lips. “I've been trying to ignore my feelings for you, Brandon, but I just can't resist anymore.”

Brandon shook his head, torn between incredulity and disgust. “You're out of your mind, Ms. Portis. There's no way I'm sleeping with you.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?” Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “Come on, baby boy. No one has to know. It'll be our little secret.”

He scowled. “Hell, nah.”

As she lunged toward him, Brandon retreated around the sofa and bolted for the front door.

“Don't go, Brandon! I'm sorry. Wait—”

Brandon threw open the door and rushed out into the cool night.

Dre's mother hurried after him, calling his name.

Without a backward glance, Brandon hopped into his car, jammed his key into the ignition, and floored the gas pedal.

As he sped away from the house, he glared up at the dark sky, expecting to see a full moon.

Not even close.

It was now official.

Every woman he knew had lost her ever-fucking-lasting mind!

“I
have
lost him, Mama. He's marrying Cynthia.”

“There's nothing I
can
do. She's having his baby—I'm not.” Hearing the bitterness in her voice, Tamia heaved a deep breath. “You know what, Mama? I'm tired of putting my life on hold for Brandon. I love him, but it's time for me to stop acting like he's the only thing that matters. He's not.”

 

Tamia awoke with a start.

Her heart stuck in her throat, she sat up quickly and swept a glance around her dark bedroom.

She'd been dreaming about her grandmother.

Over the past several months, Mama Esther had often appeared in Tamia's dreams to deliver an exhortation or warning about the future. Tamia had spent the past two weeks wondering when—or if—she'd ever see her grandmother again. Now that she had, she didn't know what to make of Mama Esther's parting words.

Tamia shivered, goose bumps pricking her skin. She wondered what her grandmother could have meant.

She wasn't naive. She knew she had enemies, people who hated her and wanted her to drop off the face of the earth. People like Cynthia. And Brandon's parents.

For all she knew, Dominic was still plotting against her. And the verdict was still out on Lester McCray's motives for lying to her.

Tamia frowned, wrapping her arms around her chilled body.

What were you trying to tell me, Mama Esther?
She whispered into the darkness.

But there was only silence.

Dominic was waiting for Tamia when she arrived at the upscale downtown restaurant that afternoon. He stepped outside to meet her as she relinquished her Honda Accord to the valet.

“Hello, Tamia,” he drawled, his gaze sweeping over her.

She'd slicked her hair back into a tight bun and donned a tailored black pantsuit with tall black heels—an ensemble that made her look cool, confident, and professional. Though she'd agreed to accept Dominic's money, she wanted to establish up front that their partnership would be strictly business this time.

“Hello, Dominic,” she said smoothly.

He smiled. “I'm glad you could make it. Shall we?”

Tamia hesitated, then tucked her hand through his proffered arm.

As they walked into the restaurant together, the woman behind the hostess station smiled graciously at Dominic.

“Are you ready to be seated now, Mr. Archer?”

“Absolutely. Lead the way.”

As Tamia and Dominic followed the hostess toward their table, Tamia felt a sudden tingling awareness that made her glance around.

Her heart lurched at the sight of Brandon seated at a table with two suit-clad businessmen. Sipping from a glass of scotch, he nodded in response to whatever his lunch companions were saying, but Tamia could tell that he was distracted.

As she watched, he suddenly turned his head and looked right at her. When he saw Dominic, his eyes widened in surprise before narrowing with cold fury.

Tamia's knees went weak.

She quickly averted her gaze, tightening her grip on Dominic's arm as they continued through the crowded restaurant. She was relieved when the hostess led them to a table on the opposite side of the room.

As soon as they were seated, Tamia shot an accusing look at Dominic. “Did you know he'd be here?”

“Who? Brandon?”

“Who else?”

Dominic's eyes glinted with amusement. “How could I have known where he was having lunch today?”

“I don't know. Maybe the same way you knew I'd be at Da Marco on Friday.”

Dominic chuckled, shaking his head at her. “I told you I was meeting with a client that evening.”

Tamia smirked. “The client who conveniently had to cancel?”

Dominic gave her a lazy smile. “What are you suggesting, love? That I've been following you
and
Brandon? That I've bugged your phones? Secretly installed GPS tracking devices on your cars?”

Tamia frowned, draping her linen napkin across her lap. “You have an uncanny way of showing up where you're least expected, Dominic, and it can't always be a coincidence.”

Before he could respond, the waiter appeared to fill their water glasses and take their order.

Too agitated to peruse the menu, Tamia allowed Dominic to order for both of them. Her nerves were strung so tight she couldn't relax enough to rest her back against the chair. She swore she could feel Brandon's enraged gaze boring into her from across the room.

She didn't dare turn around.

After the waiter departed, Dominic eyed Tamia speculatively. “Why does it bother you that Brandon's here? Isn't that part of the plan? To make him jealous by letting him think we're involved?”

Tamia frowned. “That's not why I agreed to this . . . this partnership.”

Dominic arched a brow at her. “It's not?”

“No. Not anymore.”

“I don't understand.”

Tamia gave him a level look. “I don't have the time or energy to keep chasing after something that wasn't meant to be. I need to move on with my life, and the first step is reclaiming the career that I loved. Serving five months in prison and going on trial for murder all but ruined my job prospects and wiped out my savings. I need a lifeline right now, and unfortunately, you're it. That, and that alone, is the reason why I'm sitting here. So whenever you're ready to talk business, let me know. Otherwise, let's not waste each other's time.”

Dominic leaned back slowly and stared at her, his eyes gleaming with respect and admiration. “You're quite a force to be reckoned with, Tamia Luke.”

She smiled narrowly. “And don't you forget it.”

Dominic threw back his head and laughed, turning the heads of several female patrons who smiled and eyed him appreciatively. Tamia couldn't fault any of them for staring. Dominic was fine as hell, and he rocked Italian suits like he'd been born in one.

It wouldn't be easy for Tamia to resist her attraction to him. But that's exactly what she intended to do.

“All right, Miss Luke,” he drawled. “Let's talk business.”

“Thought you'd never ask.” Reaching down beside her chair, Tamia retrieved her leather attaché case and removed a professionally bound document, which she passed to Dominic. “This is a copy of my five-year business plan. It's the same thing I would present to a bank if I were applying for a small business loan. Based on extensive research I've done, as well as my own knowledge of the advertising industry, I was able to calculate my startup costs, which include funds needed for stationery, brochures, marketing campaigns, computer equipment, as well as insurance and legal matters. Since I'm starting out solo, I don't have to worry about hiring and paying employees, and I don't plan to collect a salary until the agency is consistently turning a healthy profit—as outlined on page ten.”

Dominic looked impressed as he perused the charts, graphs, and detailed summaries she'd included in the report. “This is very thorough, Tamia. When did you prepare all this?”

She smiled sardonically. “Let's just say I made good use of the time that I was incarcerated.”

Dominic glanced up, meeting her gaze. Something like sympathy shone in his eyes as he set down the document. “I'm glad you have an opportunity to put your business plan into action.”

“So am I,” Tamia said quietly.

They stared at each other, the connection interrupted by the return of their waiter. He settled their plates on the table and filled their glasses from the bottle of white wine Dominic had ordered.

Once he left, Dominic picked up his glass and raised it to Tamia. “To a successful partnership.”

Tamia smiled. “And second chances.”

“Second chances,” Dominic murmured. “I like the sound of that.”

They clinked glasses and sipped their wine, watching each other across the table.

“I'll write you a check after we eat,” Dominic said.

“Really?” Tamia couldn't suppress a thrill of excitement. “Don't you want to read my business plan first to make sure I'm a good investment?”

“I already know you are,” Dominic drawled, reaching for his fork. “You're smart, talented, ambitious, and you work hard. I have no doubt that I'll get a return on my investment.”

For the first time in weeks, Tamia felt hopeful about the future. “I'm going to pay you back as soon as I can.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“Yes, I do. I don't like being indebted to anyone, Dominic.”

He held her steady gaze for a moment, then smiled indulgently. “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, let's just enjoy our lunch and each other's company.”

Tamia picked up her fork. “I think I can manage the first part.”

Dominic laughed. “You don't think you can enjoy my company? Not even for an hour?”

Tamia's lips twitched. “I can try, but I make no promises.”

“Fair enough.” Dominic watched as she cut into her blackened mahi mahi and took a bite. “How is it?”

“Delicious.”

“I knew you'd like it.” Dominic smiled, cutting into his own grilled fish. “We can have lunch at my restaurant next time.”

Tamia arched a brow at him. “Next time?”

“Yeah.” He met her gaze. “If we're going to be business partners, we need to meet regularly to keep each other up to date on what's going on.”

It sounded reasonable enough, but . . .

“Define ‘regularly.' ”

“At least twice a month,” Dominic replied.

Tamia considered him for a moment. She'd prefer not to deal with him at all, but since he was financing her new business, avoiding him wasn't an option.

“Okay,” she reluctantly agreed. “Twice a month is fine.”

Dominic smiled, his eyes glinting with approval. “I may have already secured your first client. His name's Buddy Ehrlich. He and his wife own a bed-and-breakfast on a ranch outside of Houston. It's a beautiful place, but business has been slow because no one knows they're out there. I told them about you, and they were impressed with your track record. They'd like to meet with you as soon as possible.”

“Really?” Tamia said excitedly. “That's wonderful, Dominic. If you give me their contact information, I'll get in touch—”

“Tamia.”

She whipped her head around to find Brandon standing at the table, his dark eyes glittering with leashed violence.

Her heart slammed against her rib cage. “Brandon,” she croaked.

His jaw hardened. “I need to talk to you.”

Dominic scowled, rising from his chair. “Hold up—”

“Sit the fuck down.” Brandon's words were growled low—a deadly warning that made Dominic hesitate.

Tamia glanced around the restaurant, meeting the blatantly curious stares of several other diners. She had an unpleasant flashback to the day she'd gotten into a fistfight with Dominic's wife at a coffee shop. Now that she was trying to rehabilitate her image, getting banned from another establishment was the last thing she wanted or needed.

“It's okay,” she mumbled to Dominic.

He frowned. “Tamia—”

“No, really. I don't want to cause a scene.”

Glaring at Brandon, Dominic reluctantly sat back down.

Tamia had barely wiped her mouth on her napkin before Brandon grasped her upper arm and helped her from her chair. Her face burned with embarrassment as he steered her through the crowded restaurant. Once they were outside, he wordlessly handed his ticket to the parking attendant.

Tamia swallowed hard. “Brandon—”

He rounded furiously on her. “What the hell are you doing?”

She stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“What the hell are you doing here with that muthafucka?”

She lifted a defiant chin. “Not that it's any of your business—”

“What?
WHAT?
”

Tamia darted a nervous glance at the parking attendant, who was pretending not to watch them.

She shook her head at Brandon. “This really isn't the time or place—”

Grabbing her hand, he dragged her to the farthest end of the canopied entrance.

As they turned to face each other, Tamia couldn't help admiring the delicious perfection of his dark skin . . . the succulent fullness of his lips caressed by a manicured goatee . . . the broad expanse of his shoulders and strong chest. He looked absolutely amazing in his bespoke charcoal suit, one of five he'd had custom-tailored during their trip to Italy.

God, how she wished they could go back there and never leave.

“For the last time,” Brandon growled, cold fury lacing his tone, “what are you doing here with Dominic?”

“We're having lunch,” Tamia said evenly.

“Why?”

“I don't owe you an explana—”

“
Goddamn it, Tamia!
” Brandon exploded, pushing his face into hers. “After everything that lowlife muthafucka did to you, do you honestly think you can trust him? Can't you see he's just trying to come between us again?”

Tamia stared at him. “There
is
no us.”

Brandon flinched, pain darkening his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he rubbed a shaky hand over his clenched jaw.

Tamia wanted to cry. Her throat ached from the effort of holding back the tears.

Shaking his head at her, Brandon whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what, Brandon? Moving on with my life? What else am I supposed to do? Huh? What else am I supposed to do?”

“Not with him, Tamia.
Not with him
.”

She sneered. “Is that all you care about? Not losing me to your hated rival? Is that all I am to you—a fucking pawn on some chessboard?”

“
NO!
” Brandon roared, urgently grabbing her face between his hands. “You know good and damn well you mean more to me than that!”

“What I
know
, Brandon, is that you're marrying another woman and having a child with her!”

“But
you're
the one I want, damn it!”

At that moment his shiny black Maybach rolled to the curb, rims gleaming. As the valet climbed out of the vehicle, Brandon marched over, yanked open the passenger door, and glared at Tamia.

“Get in the car,” he commanded.

“What?” she sputtered. “Why?”

“We need to go for a ride and talk.”

Tamia shook her head. “We have nothing to talk about.”

“The hell we don't,” Brandon growled. “Get in the car.”

“No.”

“
GET IN THE FUCKING CAR, TAMIA!
”

She gaped at him. “What part of ‘no' did you not understand? I'm not going anywhere with you! I was in the middle of having lunch when you interrupted, so if you don't mind—”

“I do mind,” Brandon snarled, slamming the car door and stalking back toward her. “I mind very much.”