Jahleel (17 page)

I moved into her space and her face, levelling eye to eye with her. In that moment, she was Jahleel Kingston to me as I barked out, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I. Hate. You!!!”

“Okay,” she crooned in a calm, quiet voice, understanding. “You should.”

Stepping around her, I stomped out of the kitchen and bumped into Ferbie, who wore a concerned expression on his face. “Aye, Ma—”

“Sod off, Ferbie!” I screamed at him. “And you might want to stop saying ‘Aye’ like a darn pirate if you want to become a part of the bloody Hot Pack!”

Sidestepping him, I bolted upstairs, shut myself in my bedroom, sank to floor, and bawled.

I was so weak.

After acting like a complete nutter earlier that morning, I wiped my pathetic tears away some hours later and got ready for the day. I had far too much to do to be acting a fool.

Refreshed and revived, I headed downstairs, reading through a load of emails my assistant forwarded to me for approvals or rejections.

My team was all ready and waiting for me, except Amanda who was sitting at the glass coffee table that happened to be covered in diamond jewelleries. A stumpy man with receding hairline, dressed in a black suit, was standing over her, hands gentlemanly clasped behind his back.

“What’s all this?” I asked, sauntering into the living room.

With a throaty laugh that had nothing to do with humour, she answered, “One word:
Zane
.”

“Blimey!” I cheered, clapping my hands together and grinning with excitement.

“Kia!” she berated. “I haven’t even agreed to be his girlfriend or anything. All I agreed on was to go on
one
date with him. Next thing I know, this fella shows up telling me I’m supposed to pick whatever I want from this collection?”

“Well,” I considered, plopping down in the sofa-chair across from her. “Diamonds are a girl’s best friend, no?”

“It’s overwhelming,” she stared bedazzled at the glitz on the table.

Were I a diamond girl, I would’ve been all over that collection. I wore that kind of jewellery only when I had to, but in my opinion, they’re pointless fripperies. With the exception of custom made thumb rings, I only wore leather cuffs and chokers.

Snapping my fingers at her, “Oh, you tosser! Just pick something quick before the giggly sluts get here,” I said. “Better yet, pick some
things
in case you decide not to go on a second date. That way, it won’t be a complete waste. You’ll have diamond
s
for your effort.”

With a shrug, she laughed humorously this time and began making her selections.

This was Zane’s manner, he wanted Amanda, and he wasn’t a man easily deterred. He was going to buy, force, charm his way right to her heart.

My cellphone pinged on my lap. A text message from the thief:

C u 2day?

I didn’t even bother entertaining the possibility. One, because I hated him, and at the moment, the last thing I wanted was to see him so he could shred me to pieces again and steal more from me.

Two, due to spending the majority of the morning shedding unnecessary tears, my day was now squeezed tight with no breaks, so I couldn’t see him even if I wanted.

And three, I knew better than to place myself in the path of the wrecking ball named Jahleel Kingston.

Busy.

I turned my attention back to Amanda who’d chosen over six pieces of jewellery, a wicked grin now dancing on her lips.

“I think I get what he’s trying to convey,” I commented, speaking in favour of Zane this time. Both of them are cherished mates, and I wanted them to be together.

“What?” she asked, slipping a dazzling cuff around her wrist.

“Diamonds are forever…”

At that, she glanced up at me, understanding. “So he’s two feet in,” she concluded. “Head and heart.”

“Exactly.”

Now, if only Jahleel would…

I ended that thought as soon as it began. Saskia Day was too fly to be daydreaming anymore.

The day ended in a crash after consuming too much guarana. Couldn’t go a mile further, but had too much energy to sleep.

Amanda wasn’t there for me to annoy, as she was out on her date with Zane. Ferbie was in his room snoring. And I couldn’t smoke another Davidoff, because I had to cut down to burning one cigarette per day due to the upcoming tour.

Unbelievably so, I resorted to ringing Timberly for conversation’s sake, but after thirty-minutes of her non-stop babbling about world facts no one gives a crap about, I decided I wasn’t
that
bored and ended the call—while she was still talking.

Amy and Jamie giggled as much as Timberly talked, so I could care less for their company.

As a result, I landed up on the kitchen counter with a whole chocolate cake in front of me, digging in with a fork. Yesterday I had a craving and asked Sylvie to bake me one, but looked at it with disgust when I returned home this evening, wondering what the hell had I been thinking. With the tour coming up, I needed to stay in shape more than anything else. Plus my fitness trainer would strangle me.

But Sylvie knew my moods better than I did, so instead of binning the cake, she left it where it was.

Now with nothing to do, I was indulging. Baked just the way I loved chocolate cakes: extra moist and slathered with too much melted chocolate.

As I forked another chunk of carbs, sugar and all that’s forbidden into my mouth, my cell pinged and vibrated across the counter top, declaring a text message.

Up?

Oh Jesus. This chap.

The sensible part of me cautioned me not to respond, but I couldn’t help myself. I blame it on the chocolate and guarana.

Yes

__Ping__

Gate

He was outside?

This guy’s no joke.
He arrived first, asked questions later.

Pushing up from my stool, I glanced down at myself to inspect my attire. I was in white Long Jane pyjamas and red socks. A blotch of chocolate stained my bosom area, looking like a new-born did a number two on me. I contemplated changing but decided it didn’t matter what I looked like since we weren’t intimate.

On the monitor by the door, I pressed the button for the gate and once it started its slow open, I left the front door open and went back to sitting in the kitchen, schooling my features and posture into a semblance of indifference.

But on the real, I was hypersensitive, ears perked up like a watch dog’s as I listened to the turbulent roar of his bike…the silence after the engine was shut off…the click of the front door closing …the mild thuds of hefty Timberlands against marble tiles…

The kitchen was the first turn off on the left after entering the house, so I figured he wouldn’t miss me sitting at the counter, as the archway was high and grand. But he walked past the opening, and I listened as his footsteps stopped abruptly, then re-directed to the kitchen, after he registered he’d glimpsed me in passing.

When the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my skin prickled with a million sharp stings, I knew he was standing in the archway, watching me.

Refusing to acknowledge his presence—outwardly, of course—I kept my back turned, forking too much cake into my suddenly dry mouth. The silence was so loud and unnerving, I wished he’d just say something and stop boring holes into my back.

Then I heard his footsteps moving across the tiles again, until he was next to me, easing down on a stool.

“I was expectin’ a warmer welcome than this,” he commented in a quiet voice.

“Maybe if you hadn’t already stole in last night, you would’ve gotten one—a tour even.”

Okay, so indifference was a major failure, and out came irritation, annoyance and anger.

“Fair enough.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see his gaze transfixed on my face, while my attention was transfixed on the cake sitting on the counter. Searing heat crawled up my neck and settled into my cheeks, burning, and I knew without a doubt they were crimson red.

Did he enjoy flustering women with his intensity? Sheesh.

After a minute of ignoring while he stared me down, he stood up. I breathed a relieved sigh in anticipation of his imminent departure. A mere minute of him, and here I was, a weak mess.

But then I heard cabinets opening and closing, and soon he was back beside me with a plate, a cake knife and a fork. Reaching over, he sliced a chunk of my cake and scooped it onto his plate. Casual as you please:
Oh, never mind me, I do this all the time. Enter celebrities’ houses, locate their utensils with easy grace, and help myself to huge chunks of their chocolate cakes.

With a cocked brow, I watched as he took out a small box of Sun-Maid Raisins from his pocket and sprinkled a couple onto his cake, then proceeded to shove a forkful into his mouth.

So far, I’ve concluded two things about Jahleel: he was addicted to raisins, and his favourite colour was red.

“Do you just walk around with a box of raisins in your pocket all the time?” I inquired.

“Yep.” He forked more cake in. “You baked this?”

“Pfft,” I scoffed. “I’m crap at baking. I love to cook, though. Give me any recipe and I’ll cook it to perfection, but baking pastries is always a cock up for me.”

“It’s not that hard.”

“Says who?”

Smirking at me, he shrugged.

“You cook?” I asked doubtfully, disinclined to believe him.

“Krissy and the kitchen are vicious enemies…So, yeah.”

Why the hell did he have to bring her name up?
Gah!
I wanted to scream. Hating that he ruined the moment with her pestilence of a name, I said nothing else.

He must’ve sensed the change in my mood, because he cleared his throat and made an effort in changing the subject. “We spoke briefly about your parents once, but you’re usually evasive with conversations about your life before now in your interviews. Why’s that?”

Feeling full and little queasy from eating too much cake, I set my fork down and pushed the cake in Jahleel’s direction.

It was true, I never speak of my parents or my life back home to anyone. The only reason I released that bit to Jahleel about my parents being drunks was because I was blinded by lust and rat arsed with alcohol.

“You watch my interviews?”

Expressionless, he watched me for a beat, then took up the cake cover and lowered it over the half-eaten chocolate pastry on the cake dish, before he stood and walked to the refrigerator. My eyes followed him as he scanned the contents in the fridge and came back with two bottles of Perrier water, handing me one as he sat back down.

“So, you gonna let me in or what?” he prodded.

He did all of that moving to the refrigerator and back to avoid answering
my
question. To evade admitting he watched my interviews.

“My life before now was nothing beautiful, JK.
Now
is beautiful. Even this very moment. Right here. That’s why I live in the now and forget the past.”

Jahleel swiveled around on his stool so his back is against the counter. He stretched out his feet, crossing them at the ankles as he drank his water. Waiting.

Simplistic as usual, he wore seriously faded jeans and a plain white tee. Hair perfect, eyes a mesmerizing shade of gold. His facial hair trimmed, but not shaved off. Maybe he was trying a new look?

Shaved or unshaved, he was devastatingly hot.

Fighting to understand what was going on here between us, I watched him wordlessly for a moment. What was his game? What did he want? He was willing to give
none
of himself, but he wanted me to give him more of me, on top of all he’d already stolen. Could he not see how unfair this was?

Fool that I was—for him—I gave him more. “I grew up on a small farm…”

We talked for close to two hours as I told him all about my hard-knock life before now. He had a crap ton of questions, like he was a fucking reporter or something, and I answered them all, because even if he was an undercover reporter, I didn’t mind if it was
him
putting my laundry out there.