Love Redeemed, Book 4 (16 page)

Rayna

My morning
is moving along well. I just walked out from giving Mrs. Ginn a clean bill of health. Though her constant complaints of who
irked her nerve
won’t be missed, I know I’ll miss her warm and jovial energy. En route to my office from the exam room, I meet Sharon in the hall as she appears to be directing an olive-toned gentleman in a sloppy suit, dragging a carrycase on wheels.

Sharon’s eyes widen when they land on me as though she
had hoped to run into me. “Ms. Brimm, Bertha McDowell is in your office, waiting on you. I escorted her in there just as I’m taking Mr. Miller here to our records room,” she finishes as they approach me in the hall.

“Okay on
Bertha. Who’s Mr. Miller?” I ask with my brows furrowed. I’m not aware of anybody being granted access to the records room.

The older man moves forward with his
hand extended, “Ms. Brimm, I’m Paul Miller, the interim counselor for
Smith, Katz & Adams Sports Medicine Center
. I know it may come to some surprise to you. I was just given the contract less than forty-eight hours ago.”

With
palpable hesitance, I take his hand on a firm shake. “Then you should expect my shock and slight annoyance at learning about it in this moment,” I try controlling my tone.

“I got the call less than an hour ago from Wilma that Mr. Miller
would be here to look into a handful of pertinent files that Mr. Thompson and his team was in the middle of before his departure from the practice,” Sharon attempts to explain. Wilma is Dan Smith’s executive secretary, one of very few who could authorize access outside of the partners. Sharon understands that would have been my next question.

“Okay…
” I give myself a minute to recall his name as I’m still jarred from the news and even more bemused by Brian’s Thompson’s unexpected exodus.
What in the…!
“Mr. Miller, Sharon here will give you the access authorized by the partners. I’m sure I will be contacted by someone today about the switch in law firms. In fact, I’ll initiate it myself.”

He gi
ves me a courteous nod before I continue my way to my office, reeling from this bizarre piece of news. As I enter my office, I see a tall and robust woman, sporting a long denim skirt that opens in the front on a high split. Her wool overcoat provides too many layers for December in Southern California. She dons a denim fisherman’s hat, oversized glasses and plastic rain boots; odd for a dry day. I can now, after speaking to her over the past few days on the phone, confirm that Bertha is a middle-aged woman with a fashion crisis of her own.

She turn
s in my direction and immediately makes her way over to me. “Ms. Brimm!” she speaks excitedly. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, officially.”

Snapping out of my stupor
, I accept her enthusiastic handshake that nearly yanks my arm off.

“I’m so excited about this opportunity
! I haven’t styled in nearly fifteen years. I was over the moon when I got the referral!”

Really?

I point to the seat that’s vacant as I glance over the clothing that occupies the other chair across from my desk. I don’t want to be rude, so I attempt to maintain a conversation with her as I inspect the god-awful pieces she’s brought.

“So, how did you get my referral?” I ask as I h
old up a long, royal blue mother-of-the-bride gown. It’s heavy with petals around the waist.

“Well, my nephew called me up, saying his friend, Dawn, had a client for me—”
 

“Potential,” I cut her off to clarify this extremely important fact.

“Well, of course. No contracts have been signed yet.” Bertha lets out a nervous chuckle.

I go back to scanning the
pieces. The next is a sleeveless, maroon, sequined gown. I can swear to seeing my grandmother in decades ago.

“What details did Dawn give,
Bertha?” I have to keep her talking because I quickly pick up that when she speaks, she looks away from me. I don’t want her reading my reactions—that I may not be controlling very well while inspecting the pieces.

“Well, she said that though you are young, your elegance is well pronounced…more traditional than trendy,” Bertha explains with her hands clasped together at her chest.

“Hmmmm…tha
t Dawn knows me that well, huhn,” I mutter as I go to the next piece, a brown polyester pantsuit with off-white stitching at the cuffs of the jacket. “Did she tell you about the event?”

“Yes,”
Bertha’s head pops back over to me. “She said that you’re the escort of a friend of hers…a client, I believe.”

“Ah-huhn,” I murmur as I decide I’
ve had enough. I don’t believe even Yazmine would wear any of these antiquated pieces.

She smiles
politely and I watch as her eyes drift down to my hand. “Oh! You’re engaged? The impression I got was that you escorted, as an occupation perhaps?”

I
s she serious?

Or Dawn is that damn conniving!

“Yes…happily. In fact, it’s my fiancé’s event that I’m being outfitted for.” I don’t want to be offended by this woman’s oblivion. It’s perfectly clear to me that she’s been sent here as a ruse and not in genuine intent to assist. “Well, thanks for your time. I have another designer to screen, but will get back to you with my conclusion,” I say as I go for my phone that’s in my top desk drawer and bring it back out to the chairs. “If you don’t mind, I’ll just take a few flicks of these to keep all ideas in mind.”

On a shaky breath, Bertha concede
s, “Sure. I’ll look forward to your call.”

I’m
sure I knocked out the little confidence she’s been able to summons after being out of the “business” for so long. After taking the pictures, just in case I need evidence of Dawn’s tomfoolery, I see Bertha out the door. I then cross my office with my mind racing.

So, Dawn’
s still vying for Azmir’s attention
—
or bed, huhn?
The next contemplation is, ‘
Do I tell Azmir or don’t I?
’ I don’t want any more secrets between us than what’s been kept, but I have to be careful of my grievances regarding the woman who almost broke us.
The one he’s decided to keep around.

Sprawled out on
one of the guest chairs facing my desk, I take a deep breath and blow it out, finally deciding to eat this one. I need to be strategic with my handling of Ms. Taylor, calculating, even. I need to think and respond as Azmir would.

However, what need
s to be handled is the sudden disappearance of Brian Thompson. I recall seeing him at the meeting Chesney and his team called with
Smith, Katz & Adams Sports Medicine Center
after the fellatio tape that everyone believes is starring me—or more appropriately, Divine’s girl—went viral. He didn’t seem himself there. I remember how his face was still healing and he barely gave me a glance. I was so stressed that day that I was more concerned with the meeting concluding than clearing the air with Thompson. But something isn’t right; I feel it in my gut.

I walk over to my desk and open my center drawer. Flipping through
While You Were Away
slips, receipts, and non-pertinent business cards for one in particular. Brian Thompson’s isn’t the easiest to find, but it’s the most distinctive, as it’s a metallic blue stationary with a velvety texture in the front. Using the information on there, I try his office first just to be told by his secretary that he’s been on leave and isn’t due to return for a few weeks. She offers to put me through to his second in command. I have to think and think fast.

“Ummmmm…thi
s is more of a personal call…well, kind of. See, he inquired about enrollment for his niece, Brandy, at dance school last summer, and I told him that I’d contact him if there were any openings. The slots fill up quickly.” I quickly realize that as my lie is growing, so is the volume of my voice. I take it down a notch, not wanting any ear hustlers to pick up on my charade. “…and I remember how disappointed she was when we told them we were booked. He left his card, but—”

“Oh, I’m sure his work cell hasn’t been tended to,” she quickly offer
s. “This sounds timely, though he never approved your access to his other mobile line. I’ll give it to you anyway, seeing all his niece seemed to talk about when she was here was dancing and some show Mr. Thompson took her.” I wonder if she’s referring to my show. “You got a pen and paper handy?”

She
gives me Thompson’s personal cell and I call immediately from my office phone. His voice mail picks up after three rings and I leave a message after the beep.

“Hi…Brian,” I clear my throat in a fortifying move. “It’s Rayna. Rayna Brimm.” Pause. “Look, Brian, I know I’m the last person you’d expect to hear from, and I’m not entirely sure that you’d want to hear from me at all. It’s just that I was just told you were no longer representing the firm and we never got a chance to talk.” Another pause. “I’d like t
o meet…maybe just for coffee…no pressure. I’ll be at the
Starbucks
at the Marina Pacifica mall.” I scramble to search my desk calendar for availability.  “…next Tuesday around noon. If you’re up to it, we can meet for coffee.” I sigh inaudibly and say goodbye.

I kn
ow this won’t fly well with Azmir, which is why he won’t know. I would have to somehow ditch John, my security. I still can’t believe how easily that rolls off my tongue. Never in a million years did I think I’d need, much less have, a bodyguard. I don’t know how it’ll be done, but I’m going to Marina Pacifica, alone. I want to feel bad for making the decision, but my life does not belong to Azmir. It’s easy for him to have me in on a meeting with his ex; I haven’t beat the crap out of her as Azmir has done to Brian. He’ll just have to allow me the opportunity to say my goodbye and offer my apologies for making myself seem available to him when I knew I was tied to another man.

And besides, as Tara warned, there
are lots of things that I don’t know about my fiancé. One thing that comes quickly to mind is
why in the hell do I need a bodyguard in the first place?!

Rayna

The next evening I
’m in full swing, orchestrating this soirée for Azmir and his friends. Chef Boyd has assisted as best as he can, considering he can’t be with me. I’ve contracted several of his wait staff at the insistence of A.D., who doesn’t want me overwhelmed. I relented because I have a few tricks up my sleeve and don’t want him believing I need his assistance.

I
’m dressed in a
Tom Ford
ivory sheath, long sleeve dress that opens up in the back, fully exposing my skin, all the way down to the top of my bottom. The back is accentuated with a gold zipper that curves around my derriere and into a lip at the small of my back. It’s risqué at best and I fought my resistance when Azmir asked me to wear it tonight. I contemplated it for two days before relinquishing to his will—once again. I settled on him knowing his friends and the atmosphere he wants to create this evening. That won out against my own ignorance of not knowing how to present myself for a house party with Azmir and his friends whom I’ve never met. And in true A.D. fashion, he included a pair of gold
Celine
sandals.

I
’m in the kitchen with the wait staff, Karl and LaSean, setting the appetizer trays when I hear Azmir yell from the foyer, “Yo, Brimm, I’m home!”

Wanting him to head straight to the back and not discover one of my surprises for the evening, I return, “Okay…almost ready. Just go get dressed!”

“A’ight,” he calls out, letting me know he won’t go beyond the vestibule.

Next
, I go into the dining room where an impeccably gorgeous table top is set. I chose a rich green, ivory, and gold as my colors. The china pieces are square and ivory and the cutlery is gold. Azmir has no idea that he has some of this stuff—elegant dinnerware. Others I purchased as I planned this. I watched loads of HGTV and clipped many pictures out of magazine that pieced together the motif I’ve had in mind for this party.

“Napkins!”
I whisper to myself, remembering to get them from the kitchen counter. I washed them to release the wrinkles from its packaging. I make my way into the busy kitchen to grab them. As I’m placing them at each setting, I hear the doorbell ring. Nervousness sets in as I become aware that it’s show time.

  I know Azmir is likely still dressing, so I travel from the dining room, through the great room and to the door, hearing the bell sound again before I make it there. I quickly pull the door open to find a handsome couple, both dressed well. The man is tall, cinnamon, and with a close Caesar cut like Azmir’s. He’s nicely dressed in dark blue slacks and a black dress shirt opened at the top with a matching jacket and oxfords. The woman is wearing a fitted red midi dress underneath a brown fur shawl. She’s much shorter than he is—and remarkably older. I can’t help my eyes getting caught in her red-stained lips as she chumps down on gum, smacking with each chew.

Finding my voice and deciding to stop gawking at Azmir’s guests, I greet, “Hi…and welcome.”

A handsome smile slowly curves onto the man’s face, causing him to instantly appear much younger than his former placid expression did. He extends his hand. “You must be Rayna,” he murmurs.

“Yes,” I answer as I
shake his hand. “Please…come in,” I offer as I withdraw my arm behind me, following it up with a gesture.

The couple
saunters in. I can’t ignore the popping of the gum that the woman does though I tell myself to ignore the discomfit of the sounds. They stop midway of the foyer to allow me to gain a lead. I do and walk them to the great room.

O
ffering them to have a seat, the doorbell rings again, alerting me of the next set of guests.
Boy, are they prompt!

“Excuse me…I gotta grab that. Make yourselves comfortable,” I b
id before leaving for the front door. I notice both of their nods as I turn on my heels.

On my way there
, I notice my heart rate increasing. For the life of me, I can’t pinpoint the reason for my nervousness. I must calm down. A part of the new Rayna is confidence in this man’s world. I belong here, there’s no need to feel out of place or like the novice I am.
He loves me
I quote to myself before opening the door.

This time
, what awaits me is an intriguing man with chestnut skin who immediately leans into the frame of the door, resting his shoulder there. There are two things that I pick up right away, one being he’s alone. I’m expecting another couple. The second thing is his squinty eyes underneath his thick eyebrows. They’re somewhat bushy, but not unkempt. In fact, though he isn’t drop dead gorgeous, in my opinion, I can see what his female admirers find attractive in him are those eyes that narrows in a way that carries a lure to him.

As he ogle
s me, I take inventory of him as well, only I’m not checking for goods, just his angle. His coquetry is well practiced and emits into the atmosphere, strangling me. I don’t know what to do.

Great
! Azmir’s friend is flirting with me without opening his mouth!
How do I respond to that? This is why I’m nervous!

“Damn, Divine,” the guy
groans.

Whether I like it or not, I ha
ve to repel his lascivious vibes. I can’t kick the soiree off this way. How would I get through the evening? Trying to call on my brain that has been frozen by his audacity, I feel my back warm up at a speed that causes me to shiver. Then I smell him.

“I know, right?” Azmir
hums into my ear. I can’t decipher if that response is directed at me or his buddy. “And that’s what I’m saying to myself in the rear view.”

I
gaze up at my handsome, big guy who smells just as good as he looks in his all black. He’s wearing a cashmere sweater rolled up at the sleeves, dress pants and leather dress shoes. I could lick him. Abruptly, I become aware of my mouth opening.

I close it quickly when I hear
, “Well, damn! I ain’t know you were working with all this, D.”

That’
s his friend who’s still standing outside of the threshold, gawking at me in the most inappropriate way.

“And trust me when I say, you will never know,” Azmir growl
s in my ear, but is loud enough to be heard by his friend.

I swear I c
an feel the priapic heat radiating from Azmir’s friend in front of me and that of Azmir’s behind me, it’s that palpable. Only, I respond to one man’s scent. One man’s heat. And that’s proven by the trembling of my spine underneath him. Having my back bare also doesn’t help.

Azmir brushe
s against me as he rounds me to greet the man who’s
still
standing in the doorframe. “Get yo’ ass in here, man!” he jostles as he goes to give him dap. The guy laughs as he reciprocates.

“Glad to see you, D,” the friend return
s. “Your digs is fancy as shit! My man!” I can hear the compliment in his words. He has a strong Brooklyn twang as well, provoking Azmir’s.

“Yeah…well…” Azmir humbly replie
s. The place really
is
immaculate. Even I haven’t gotten used to the immensity of it after living here for nearly four months. “Where’s your date? I thought you were bringing your ol’ lady?”

“I had a meeting with
Def Jam
before coming here, so she’s headed from home.”

“Cool,” Azmir mutter
s. “Glad you could make it.”

We move
from the door and I instinctively start my way back into living room, but I can still hear their banter from behind me. I want to get to the other guests as to not be rude.

“So, how long have you been here, D? I thought you were still at
the ranch out in Pasad—” is all I heard from his friend before he squeals, “Daaaaaaamn!” At a pitch that sounds as if he’s in pain.

Thinking something has happened to him,
I turn to see what’s going on and then notice him hunched over, using the wall table to hold himself up.
Has he hurt himself?
I turn to Azmir who gives it away as he stands, holding the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed and shaking his head.

“C’mon, man
. Is it gonna be that type of evening?” Azmir lightly chides.

The guy peer
s up to me, still appearing injured. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my man right here didn’t forewarn me about your beauty…your package!”

My eyebrows quickly furrow, but
smooth out as I’m able to muster a polite smile. These are some dynamics between Azmir and his friend. I don’t know if I can endure an evening of his overt ogling. My eyes dart over to Azmir for help.

“This is her home, too, man. Seriously? Are we going to do this?” Azmir
growls protectively like a lion, though his equanimity still seems to be intact. I don’t know what to say.

His friend recoil
s. Attempting poise, he turns to me, “No disrespect, ma’am. I’ll get myself together before the big guy throws me out.”

I nod and then continue my gait into the great room.

As we all gather in there, the first guests to arrive stands. I can tell the guys are all intimately familiar with each other. They greet one another with broad smiles and lingering hugs.

The first guy
that arrived initiates the introductions. I purposely didn’t do it at the door, wanting Azmir to do the honors. It’s his party after all.

“Divine, Lenny,
you all remember Evelyn,” the guy first to arrive says before turning to his date, Evelyn. “Eve, as you recall, these are my uncles slash brothers. When they’re behaved, they can be more like uncles. But when they wild out, it’s brothers they become.” Everyone laughs in unison. The bell rings and Azmir taps me dulcetly at the small of my back, saying he’ll get it.

As I turn my attention
back to the cypher, I consider how there’s something strange in the pairing of this guy who’s with Evelyn. He’s fairly tall, just a few inches shorter than Azmir, but taller than the second guy who arrived. He has a sophomoric air to his appearance even with his composed and mature presentation, unlike Evelyn who can easily be assumed to be as old as my mother—too old for her date tonight; he could be my age. I’m interested to learn more about these two.         

Within a beat, Azmir resumes our circle
with a tall, café au lait beauty with dark brown curls, nearly down to her back. She wears a wide and bright smile as she holds up two bottles of champagne festively. Her excitable energy is infectious.

“Heeeeeey, everybody!” she
sings. I can’t help but return her warm smile. “I brought
Ace of Spades
. I know that’s what Divine likes!” I then pick up on her rich accent.
She’s a gorgeous Latina!

From behind me—or more descriptively, over me—Azmir replie
s, “Thanks, Mia. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

“Man, fuck that! Divine and Jay can hate on
Crystal
all they want to now because ol’ dude was hatin’ on blacks sippin’ it, but y’all ran through cases of that shit back in the day!” Azmir’s ogling friend hisses.

In true A.D. fashion, he
equably replies, “Times have certainly changed.” Not giving in to the fight his friend is trying to ensue.

“What th
e fuck ever,” his friend snort in response.

“Anyway,” Azmir
swiftly changes the subject. “I have to introduce my lady to you knuckleheads. You…” he looks at his ogling friend now and says, “…coming into her home, fuckin’ acting like you just came home from a ten year bid, threw me.” He turns me towards the first guy that arrived.

He then takes me at the back
, affectionately again, “Brimm, this fine young man here is a long-term friend of mine, Jackson. He can call me brother or uncle, just as long as his elusive ass calls,” Azmir conspicuously chastens in his introduction while giving Jackson a tentative gaze.

Then he
turn me and announces, “And this prick right here, Lenny, is like a brother to me.” I give Lenny a nod, still feeling uneasy about him. He returns it, but in a much more graceful manner than earlier.

Azmir
shifts to the Latina, “And this is Lenny’s saving grace, Mia. I’ve known Mia for…has it been three years?” Azmir asks Mia with furrowed brows.

“Hmmmm,” Mia contemplates on a heavy tongue. “Try four and a half,” she answer
s with a blushing smile.

“Wow! It’s been that long, huhn?” Azmir poses to Lenny. “I’m surprised little Liz isn’t planning your wedding yet,”
he teases, and seemingly to Lenny’s dismay because his face dwarfs into a grimace. It’s comical. I try to stifle my laughter.

“And everyone, this is the fierce Rayna Brimm
—soon to be Jacobs, as she will be my wife in about…” Azmir glances down at his watch. “…two months and three weeks?” He glances over to me with glint in his eyes for an answer. And with a heavy blush, I nod in assent. I guess I’m a nodder so far this evening because I’ve done more of that than speaking.

I hear the ladies
awwwww
under Azmir’s announcement. Not liking much attention, I announce, “Food’s ready. I hope you all are hungry.” I extend my hand toward the dining room, hoping Azmir is too distracted to see the addition to his great room. “This way.”