Love After War (2 page)

Two days had passed since the blackout at Starbucks, and Adrian couldn't get Dana off his mind. He'd been so distracted that he'd almost missed the reason why he'd come back to LA—the opening of Crawford Towers and his chance to confront his absentee father, Elliot Crawford.

Elliot and his son Solomon Crawford were opening the chain's first hotel on the West Coast. Adrian had followed the construction of the project, smiling at the stumbling blocks that cropped up, like the zoning dispute between the city and the contractor. Then there was the Sierra Club's opposition to the project, which made Crawford Hotels spend an additional forty million dollars on LEED certification for the project. But the most interesting part of the project had been the public sparring between Richmond—Elliot's oldest son—Solomon, and Elliot, which made the building of the towers more dramatic than
General Hospital.
And this was his “family.” Whatever. Why had this man, with two overgrown spoiled sons, turned his back on him and his mother?

Adrian hated that the last conversation he had with his mother was about that man. That piece of shit who donated sperm, because he was not a father in Adrian's eyes.

The more he'd looked into the Crawford family, the more he wondered if his mother had dodged a bullet by not being involved with that family. Still, as he remembered reading the journal that his mother kept about the love she felt for Elliot, he knew that he had to bring that man down for stringing his mother along for all of those years. The words that poured from Pamela's heart had only worked to anger Adrian more and more. Why hadn't Elliot Crawford seen that his denial of their relationship and being away from him had taken a toll on his mother? While he hid Pamela away on the West Coast, she'd watched and kept heartbreaking notes about what he was up to and how his family grew. She'd even talked about how his visits to LA stopped after Adrian was born.

Every time he thought about his father's cowardly actions, he wanted to light a fire to the Crawford Towers construction site. He'd even had an alleged arsonist on his speed dial. The plan would be perfect: the hotel would burn and no one would suspect Elliot's bastard son—because no one knew about him in the first place.

He knew the element of surprise would work in his favor, and he planned to use it to his advantage. Adrian had already gotten to Richmond, since he figured he was the weakest link. The men were scheduled to meet about a club in the hotel. His goal was to get his foot in the door so that he could have direct access to the hotel and create a lot of scandals. He had already decided to drop a nugget to any madame looking for a new hotel for client meetings. Then he'd call in the police, FBI, hell, even the CIA to make this story explode. Adrian knew there was a book in the works about the family, and he wanted to turn the tender family book into a tell-all exposé.

But since seeing Dana, he'd rethought the arson part of his plan. He knew she wouldn't approve of his scheme, especially the idea of setting anything on fire. After being apart for over two years, he was surprised that her opinion would still mean so much to him. Yes, he wanted her back and had plans to win her love again. But he'd pushed her away with the mission of bringing the Crawford family down. He didn't want her touched by his pain and anger and need for revenge. But he did want her.

Glancing down at his watch, Adrian realized that he had to leave now if he was going to make it to the press conference in enough time to make his presence known.

The weather was perfect for snapping pictures, and though Dana had completed her work with the studio, she decided to drive around the city to take some shots for her personal collection. People knew of Dana's work in glossy magazines and fashion pictorials, but her real love was to capture real people. Sort of like the work of Gordon Parks and his images of migrant workers. She'd hoped to find a buyer for her photography book. Imani was on her bandwagon and working her contacts to help Dana get a deal. Unfortunately, everyone wanted the glamour and celebrity shots.

The deals had been lucrative, but money wasn't everything to Dana. She wanted to publish pictures of real people living real lives. Sadly, publishers weren't feeling that idea. But as her mother, Whitney Singleton, always told her, there will be hundreds of nos before you get that one yes. Thinking of her mother, she smiled. Whitney had been her biggest cheerleader when Dana decided she wanted to be a photographer. She'd taken Dana to the Art Institute of New York City and told her that if this was her dream, she'd have to stick to it. When Dana had told her mother that this was what she was born to do, Whitney purchased her an old camera and twelve rolls of film and told her to trust her eye.

Dana hated that her mother never got to see her dream come true, and she hated that she'd wasted her time with Adrian.

Where did that come from? She pulled into the parking lot of a Starbucks, grabbed her camera from the passenger seat, and walked toward the entrance. Immediately her mind returned to the last time she'd stopped for coffee and ended up with a mouthful of Adrian.

“Stop it,” she whispered. “He threw you away when you'd been there for him and that's how he repaid you.”

“Damn it,” a voice behind her muttered.

Dana turned and saw a comely woman dressed in an ivory pantsuit kicking off a shoe with a broken heel.

“Are you okay?” Dana asked, wanting to snap a picture but refraining.

The woman smiled at Dana and she shook her head. “Unless you have a pair of shoes on you, I'm pretty much out of luck.”

Dana held up her camera and asked, “Do you mind?”

The woman eyed her as if she'd asked her for a million dollars. “Why?”

“Because the typical Hollywood woman would be whining and you have a broken expensive shoe in your hand and a slight smile on your face,” Dana said.

“That's because I'm a New York Southerner,” she said, then held up her shoe while Dana took a couple of shots.

“A New York Southerner in California?” she asked when she put her camera down. “Interesting.”

The woman frowned. “No, it really isn't.”

Dana held the door open as she and her subject entered the coffee shop. “So, are you from LA?” she asked Dana.

“No, I'm a New Yorker working for Universal.”

“I'm Kandace,” the woman said as she extended her hand to Dana.

“Dana Singleton,” she replied. The women took a seat near the front window after they ordered a couple of lattes and slices of banana bread.

“People in LA love Starbucks more than New Yorkers, for sure,” Kandace said. “I think I know you or at least your work. Didn't you shoot a spread in
Elle
?”

“I did.” Dana smiled, excited that someone noticed her work.

“Black girl in Paris. I'm keeping that magazine for my daughter. The layout was so tastefully done and I'm now a fan of Imani Thomas.”

“She's good people,” Dana said as she sipped her drink.

“Not one of those Hollywood types? Since my husband and I have been here, I've met more phony people than the law should allow.” Kandace broke off a piece of her bread and popped it into her mouth.

“And no one around here eats,” Dana laughed. Then she glanced down at her latte. She remembered the first time she and Adrian had met for Starbucks and how he'd told her that he knew she wasn't from LA when she had ordered a pastry with her coffee. Why did that man keep creeping into her thoughts? That kiss. She knew better than to think she could've been unaffected by having his lips pressed against hers and tasting the tongue that had brought her so much pleasure.

“Dana?” Kandace asked. “Are you all right?”

“I'm sorry, just a little preoccupied. That's why I decided to get out and shoot some photos.”

Kandace nodded. “I had to get away from my husband and his family. I've never met three men who are so pigheaded and have to be right all the time.”

Dana snorted. “I can relate to that.” Shaking her head, she wondered why pigheaded men always captured seemingly smart women by the heart and never let go.

“Honey,” Kandace said, exposing her Southern roots, “these people have more issues than
Ebony, Jet,
and
Essence
. But I love them anyway. I hope there isn't another family out there like these guys.”

Dana shrugged, thinking that Adrian could probably give them a run for their money. “Thanks for letting me shoot you,” Dana said, then reached into her bag and handed Kandace one of her business cards. “Send me an e-mail and I'll send you a copy of the picture. One day a publisher will understand that women want to see something other than high fashion and glamour shots.”

“If my broken shoe makes it into your book, I'd be so honored,” Kandace said. “And I'll throw you a hell of a party in Charlotte and New York.”

“Charlotte? Oh, right, New York Southerner.”

“My friends and I own a restaurant down there, Hometown Delights.”

“Wait, not the restaurant where Emerson Bradford tried to kill his ex?” Dana bit down on her bottom lip.

“One in the same. Sometimes I wonder if it's better to be famous or infamous. When people think of Hometown Delights, no one ever thinks of the world-class chef who created our menu.”