Playing for Keeps (9 page)

“How could you do this to me?” Veronica shook her head in disbelief. “To your father. We've given you a great life. Haven't we?” she asked, grasping Avery by the shoulders.

She lowered her lashes. “Well, yes, but…”

“We're your parents,” Veronica cried. “Not them. Where was this Leah person when you were crying? Or teething? Where was she when you skinned your knee?”

Avery could feel her mother's anguish and it caused hot tears to roll down her cheeks. She'd known it would hurt, but she hadn't realized just how deep the cut would go. It was as if she had just sliced open a newly healed wound.

“We're the ones that clothed you. Fed you. Loved you.”

“Veronica, stop it,” her father said and stepped in between the two women, but her mother was relentless.

“Was Leah at your first recital? Or your graduation? Why did you do this?” her mother shouted at her.

“Because I had to,” Avery wailed, defending herself from her mother's tirade. “I didn't do this to hurt you.” Avery choked back the tears. “But I need to know where I came from.”

“Then go.” Her mother flung out her hand toward the door.

“Mother, please,” Avery said, “please, don't be upset with me.”

“Just go.” Her mother swept past her to the doorway, but not before giving one final blow. “Go find your
birth
parents, but I promise you it will not bring you any peace. It will bring you nothing but pain. Just like the pain you've caused me.” She ran up the stairs.

“What have I done?” Avery asked, lowering herself to the couch.

“You're doing what you have to,” her father replied matter-of-factly. He'd known this would hurt Veronica, but Avery had her mind made up. “Your mother is hurt, but in time, she'll understand.”

“I don't know if she'll ever forgive me for this, Dad,” Avery said, shaking her head. “You saw her.”

“In time, she will.” Her father came to her side and squeezed her shoulder. “You'll see. She's just hurt now, but give her time, she'll come around.”

Avery could only hope that was the case.

 

As Quentin walked up Fifth Avenue toward Fifty-third Street and the King Tower the next afternoon, he saw that the building was as impressive as the man himself. After his meeting with Jason earlier in the week, Quentin had done a little research on Richard King. He was a prominent businessman with over five million square feet of prime Manhattan real estate, as well as properties throughout Florida and the West Coast. He was an up-and-coming entrepreneur who could easily surpass Donald Trump if given the opportunity. Quentin wanted to meet in person the man who symbolized the establishment and everything Malik despised.

The inside of the bronze-tinted, fifty-story glass tower was every bit as magnificent as the outside. The use of marble, granite and brass throughout the complex and inside the four-level atrium that housed shops and cafés only added to its appeal.

As the elevator climbed, Quentin put on his game face. He would be professional and cordial. He didn't want Richard King to see that he had a hidden agenda. When the elevator stopped on the fiftieth floor, Quentin exited and walked up to the circular front desk.

“May I help you?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes, I'm here to see Richard King,” Quentin replied. “We have a one o'clock meeting.”

“Certainly, just a moment, please.” She buzzed King and while he waited she brought him a bottle of mineral water. He hadn't asked for it, but he said thank you nonetheless.

After several minutes, she said, “Follow me,” and led him through the King Corporation's swanky offices with plush carpeting and into Richard King's private suite. He was on the phone and motioned to Quentin to sit down.

He took a seat and placed his photography bag on the floor. Richard King was not what he'd expected. Sure, he'd seen pictures, but in person he was much shorter and didn't appear as looming a presence as the media made him out to be. In fact, from a physical standpoint, he looked rather ordinary. He was about five foot nine, medium build with dark brown hair and wearing an Italian double-breasted suit.

“Mr. Davis, sorry about that,” Richard King said as he hung up the phone. “I'm sorry to have kept you waiting.” He rose from behind his desk and came forward to shake Quentin's hand.

“Not a problem, Mr. King,” Quentin said. “I understand you're a busy man.” Once he was closer, however, Quentin noted that Richard had striking green eyes, kind of like Avery's. If Quentin were to take this assignment, he'd definitely want to get a close-up.

“When my PR person told me about you shadowing me for an interview in
Capitalist
, I told him he must be mad. I have a huge development deal going right now,” Richard said, leaning against the front of his desk. “But some good PR never hurt, right?”

“Right.” Quentin went along.

“Why don't you join me for lunch?” Richard asked, standing straight and buttoning his Armani jacket. “I have a business meeting that I must attend and you'll get to see me in action.”

“Actually, I think that would be great.” Quentin expected King to be ruthless, which would confirm his suspicions about the man. “If it's not a problem for you?”

“Not at all,” Richard returned. “I have nothing to hide.”

Twenty minutes later, they were seated at the tower's restaurant while Richard met with a business associate. Throughout the hour-long lunch, Quentin watched Richard negotiate a deal. He was reasonable yet shrewd. Quentin entirely expected King to intimidate the lesser man, but by the end, Richard had his opponent thinking that he'd suggested the deal to begin with and not the other way around. Afterward, Quentin had to admire King's tenacity.

When the associate had left, Richard turned to Quentin. “So, what do you think?”

“I think you played your hand very well,” Quentin replied. He was intrigued by the wealthy and shrewd businessman. He wasn't nearly as ruthless as he'd thought.

“Well, it's all a matter of knowing your opponent.” Richard looked him dead in the eye. “I knew he couldn't hold out for long. Getting what I wanted was inevitable.”

“You're a very confident man.”

“I wouldn't be where I am today if I weren't.” Richard rose to his feet. “So, how long do you think this exposé is going to take?”

“That depends on your schedule.” As soon as he said the words, Quentin realized there was no backing out—he'd committed himself to this project. Malik was not going to be happy.

O
n his way to Dante's later that evening to deliver the bad news, Quentin decided he needed something pleasant to offset the dreaded task that lay ahead of him. So he dialed Avery's cell and she answered on the third ring.

“How are you, beautiful?” Quentin asked. He'd purposely waited several days before calling after their date. He didn't want to appear overzealous. If he came on too strong, Avery would bolt. If he wanted to win the bet, she had to be handled just right. And if he was lucky, those lithe limbs would soon be entangled in bed with his as he took them both over the edge.

“Hello yourself.” Avery smiled on the other end of the phone. Quentin Davis was exactly the pick-me-up she needed after an emotional week.

“How's your week been?”

“Exhausting.”

“How does dinner at my loft sound tomorrow night?” Quentin wanted to get Avery on his turf and then maybe, just maybe he could break through that armor of hers. What better way than a home-cooked meal prepared by his own hands to soften her up?

“Dinner at your place?” Avery wondered aloud. Was he trying to get her over to his place so he could seduce her?
Maybe you need a little seducing,
an inner voice said back. It sure had been a long time since she'd had that particular itch scratched.

“What do you say?”

“I don't know,” Avery hesitated.

“I make the moistest lemon-dill salmon you'll ever taste in your life.”

Avery could just hear the little devil on her shoulder, saying go ahead, live a little. Enjoy Quentin Davis. She was sure he'd be fantastic in bed. That firm, chiseled body, that luscious mouth. She licked her lips. “Okay, okay. You don't have to convince me. What time should I arrive?”

“Seven?”

“Perfect. I'll bring the wine,” she said, hanging up.

Quentin smiled as he closed his phone. He had Avery Roberts exactly where he wanted her. It was too bad the same could not be said for Richard King. Quentin hated to admit it, but King had impressed him with his negotiating skills and business prowess. He doubted Malik would see it that way. There had to be a happy medium, where he could do the job he'd been paid for and help his friend.

Quentin found the gang gathered at the bar, nibbling on several of Dante's tapas.

“Q, join us,” Dante said. “I've made some great new tapas that you'll love. How does some scallops in saffron cream, chicken croquettes, sautéed porto-bello mushrooms and some fried calamari with garlic mayonnaise sound to you?”

“Sounds wonderful as always,” Quentin said, sitting down at the bar. Dante was an excellent cook and should have had his own restaurant a long time ago. Quentin focused on him and avoided looking at Malik. “Dante, can I get a Corona?”

“Sure thing.” Dante pulled out a bottle from underneath the bar, popped off the top and handed it to Quentin.

“Thanks,” he said, hanging his head low.

“What's up?” Sage asked, eyeing him strangely as she bit into a croquette. “You look uneasy. Is this about your date with that upper-crust chick? How'd that go by the way?”

“Ah yes.” Malik turned toward Quentin. “We've all been dying to hear the details. Or maybe you're keeping mum because you struck out?” he teased.

Quentin couldn't help but smile. Now, here was a topic he was comfortable with. “Now, you should know me better than that, Malik. A smooth player like myself never strikes out.”

“So you hit a home run?” Malik asked, raising an eyebrow.

Quentin paused for effect while his friends waited for his answer. “Please, Malik. You should know me better than that.”

“Than what?” Malik asked.

“I knocked it out of the ballpark,” Quentin boasted.

“You're still the man!” Malik raised his hand and Quentin high-fived him.

“I knew it,” Sage said and shook her head. “You are still every bit the playa you were when you left five years ago. So did you sleep with her?”

“I am too much of a gentleman to answer that question,” Quentin replied. He had to keep some facts to himself. Despite her judgmental tendencies, Avery was a classy lady and didn't deserve to be bashed.

Dante surveyed Quentin's expression. “I just bet you did.”

Quentin shrugged.

“All right, well, on to the next topic,” Malik said. “What are we going to do about the King Corporation? I was thinking of having a neighborhood meeting to gear up the community. You know, get them excited.”

“I think that's a great idea,” Dante said.

“What do you think, Q?” Malik asked.

Quentin had been dreading this topic, but it was unavoidable. He was going to have to tell them about his new assignment.

When Quentin didn't answer right away, Malik became suspicious. “Q, I asked you what you thought.”

“Um, that sounds great,” Quentin said distractedly. He was trying to figure out how he was going to spin this news, but there was no easy way around it. He was just going to have to spit it out.

“Well…?” Malik was fast becoming annoyed at Quentin's lack of response. He was depending on him to bring some of his contacts to the meeting.

Quentin took a deep breath. “Malik, there's something I have to tell you.” He saw the worried look Sage gave him. For some reason, she'd always been able to read him better than Malik or Dante ever could. If he was lying, she always knew. “You see…when I got back, my agent booked me an assignment and I gave him the go-ahead, so he signed the deal on my behalf.”

“And? What does this have to do with the King Corporation?”

“Yeah, Q. What's going on?” Dante asked, though he had a feeling he wasn't about to like the answer.

“The assignment is Richard King.”

“Holy…” Sage uttered under her breath.

“You're joking?” Malik asked, glaring at him. Was this a cosmic joke? Surely the universe couldn't be that cruel?

“Afraid not, Malik,” Quentin responded. “You have to know I had no idea who or what the assignment was or I would never have given Jason the go-ahead.”

“Can't you tell Jason you've changed your mind?” Malik asked, exasperated. “He is your agent after all. He's supposed to get you out of sticky situations, especially since he's the one that created this one.”

“I can't do that,” Quentin said. “I wish I could, but that would be completely unprofessional. Plus, it's not his fault. I should have asked before committing myself.”

“But you can betray me?” Malik asked, folding his arms across his chest.

“Malik,” Sage intervened and touched his arm. “Quentin said he had no idea. It's not like he set out to hurt you.”

“No, but his keeping the assignment hurts not just me, but the center. A center that supported us—” Malik pointed to the three of them “—our entire youth. But what, now that you're famous you can't help the little people?” He shook his head in dismay. “I thought better of you.”

“That's not fair, Malik,” Quentin said. “You know I care about the center and I will do what I can from the sidelines.”

“Fair? None of this is fair,” Malik hissed at Quentin. “You know something, Q, you're nothing but a sellout!”

“Sellout!” Now Quentin was offended and stepped toward Malik. “How dare you call me that, Malik, after everything we've been through together? We're family, for God's sake.”

“That's right. You've sold out to the establishment,” Malik yelled at Quentin, and several patrons looked over at them.

“Malik,” Dante pleaded. “You need to lower your voice. You're making a scene.” He didn't want to lose the few customers he had, but Malik didn't care and continued to rage on.

“And now that you've gotten your piece of the pie, you don't care about anyone else. Well, thanks for nothing.” Malik walked behind the bar, snatched his knapsack from underneath and headed to the door. “I'll handle this myself. I don't need you.”

“Malik!” Dante grabbed his arm. “Don't leave like this, man. Let's just squash this.”

“Dante's right.” Sage came toward them. “I know you're angry, but we're all family.” She looked at Malik and back at Quentin. Her eyes pleaded with them both to reconsider. “A dysfunctional one, but a family nonetheless. Don't let business come between us.”

“Let him leave if he wants,” Quentin said, slamming his fist on the bar. “If you think so lowly of me, Malik, then you should leave before you say something that can't be taken back.”

“Are you defending him?” Malik asked Sage. “Because there's right and there's wrong and I would think you knew the difference.”

Sage was taken aback at Malik's harsh tone. “Now, you listen here, Malik Williams.” Sage poked him in the chest. “I'm not taking anyone's side. You're both my friends. I love you both.”

“Then fine,” Malik replied. “If you're not with me, you're against me.” He wasn't surprised Sage would take Quentin's side. He'd always been her favorite. “And you, Dante? Where do you stand?”

Dante was furious that he was being put in this position. He looked at both his longtime friends. “I'm with Sage on this. It's his job, Malik. I'm sure Quentin will do everything in his power to help. Won't you, Q?”

“Of course I will,” Quentin replied. “That goes without saying.”

“Hmmm,” Malik rubbed his chin. “For some reason, I don't believe you, because lo and behold, your word, Quentin Davis, is worth squat.” And with that said, Malik stormed out of the bar.

“Wow!” Dante turned to Quentin and Sage. “He sure is pissed at you, Quentin.”

“I know.”

“Well, what are you going to do to fix this?” Sage asked, walking toward him. She was torn between a desire to smack some sense into Malik and support Quentin at the same time. “You've got to fix this, Q. We can't let discord fracture our family.”

“I wish I knew, Sage,” Quentin said, sagging onto a bar stool. He had the sinking feeling that he'd made a huge mistake and destroyed a long friendship for money and his reputation.

 

Avery didn't realize she was nervous about dinner at Quentin's loft until she felt her pulse beating at the base of her throat as the elevator made its way up to the fourth floor of Quentin's building on Friday night. It was just dinner after all, but as she knocked on the door, she couldn't will her jittery stomach to calm down. Quentin answered, looking as sexy and handsome as ever in a Sean John T-shirt and jeans. Avery's stomach somersaulted.

“Looks like you've been busy,” she said, nodding to the apron wrapped around his middle.

“I've been preparing a great meal for you,” Quentin said. “C'mon in.” He stepped aside to allow her to enter and shut the door behind her. While Avery perused the loft, Quentin immediately went back to the kitchen to check on the tapas he'd picked up from Dante's which were warming in the oven.

Avery loved Quentin's spacious and well-lit loft. The large windows facing the street, exposed brick and ductwork, stainless-steel kitchen and state-of-the-art entertainment center made for a remarkable environment. There was a gigantic living area and kitchen on the first floor, and stairs leading to what she presumed housed the master suite on the second floor. Framed photographs of his travels abroad in Iraq,
Life
and
Time
covers, and various celebrity photographs lined the walls. It was no secret that Quentin had talent, and the photographs and awards were a testament to his amazing eye.

“What made you choose photography?” Avery asked when she finally made her way to the kitchen. She found him opening a bottle of Riesling.

“I hope you like white,” Quentin said, twisting open the cork, “because it will go perfectly with our fish.” He poured generously and handed her a glass.

“White's fine,” Avery said, accepting the wine-glass.

“I had a great teacher,” Quentin finally answered her question. “Someone kind and patient, who took a knucklehead like me under his wing. Mr. Webster taught me not only the mechanics of cameras, but what to look for.”

Avery smiled. “Sounds like he was a good influence.”

“More than that,” Quentin said seriously. “He was a father figure.” He watched her with a critical squint. Avery Roberts was a beautiful woman who clearly had no idea just how beautiful she was. She didn't dress sexily to show off her assets even though she had the figure for it. Instead, she dressed conservatively, albeit in the best designer fashion, as she did tonight. She wore a white tunic tied at the waist and navy-blue ankle pants. She was like a butterfly that was still trapped in the cocoon and needed to be let loose so she could be free and fly. Quentin wanted to be the person to release her of her inhibitions. There was a sexual being lying dormant underneath that smooth, polished exterior and carefully applied makeup. And Quentin intended to find her. But first, he would feed her and allow her to get comfortable before making his move.