Rich Girl Problems (22 page)

L
isten. You're going to have to calm down.

I don't believe he did that.

I just can't believe it.

“The motherfucker sent me the ring . . . along with the video. . . .” Chaunci did her best to shake Emory's voice.

Dear God.

Calm down.

Don't worry, he'll be here and you'll be able to serve his ass.

Chaunci tapped her stilettos as she sat in the wing chair facing Grant's desk. She'd been sitting at his desk since six a.m. doing her all to erase the thoughts that told her to slice his throat.

It wasn't that she regretted sleeping with him. The regret was him ruining her life with the shit. She'd already settled on marrying Emory. Fucking Grant was to be a one-time event. An affair that she was set to carry to her grave, not have played for her fiancé.

You can't kill him.

“Now isn't this something?” came from the doorway.

Chaunci's heart dropped. Xavier.

I should've locked the damn door.

Xavier stood before her dressed in a black suit, flicking his chin.

“What are you doing here?!”

He walked over and pointed into her face. “You know what the fuck I'm doing here! It's been over a month and I want my money or I will own this company of yours!”

“Actually, you can have the son of a bitch!” She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled, ‘Co-owner of Preston Publishing formerly known as Morgan Enterprises.' “All yours! I no longer want it! I'm finished.”

“Don't fuck with me, Chaunci! Trust me, you're not finished, but you will be if you don't get me my money by the end of the day!” He turned toward the door and roughly brushed past Grant, who was now standing there.

“What was that lowlife doing here again?” Grant squinted.

“He wants to be your new business partner,” Chaunci snapped as Grant walked over and kissed her on the forehead.

“You look lovely as usual.” He smiled as he removed his cell phone from his pocket, dialed a number, and a few seconds later spoke into the phone, “Mr. Mayor, how are you this morning?” He paused. “Great. Great. Great. Of course I know you're running for governor. You know my father and I will contribute greatly to your campaign. I'm calling because I want to remind you about that favor you owe me. Yeah. Xavier Dupree. I need you to do that for me today. A routine traffic stop will be perfect. Have a great day.” Grant hung up the phone and looked back over at Chaunci. He tilted his head to the side. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you pissed off at me? You're far too beautiful to be so mad. I just helped you out.”

“No, you just ruined my life!”

“Ruined your life? I just did you a favor. A big damn favor.”

“I didn't need you to do a damn thing for me!”

“Sweetie, are we talking about the same thing?”

“I'm not your damn sweetie and you know what the fuck I'm talking about!”

A smile ran across Grant's face. “My package.” He laughed. “I take it your janitor received it.”

I should slap the shit out of him.
”You think this is funny?! You're laughing! Are you crazy?! How could you do something like that?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“Look. I should've told you I was videoing you. Forgive me,” he said nonchalantly.

“Not only did you video me without my permission, you took my damn ring and sent it back to my fiancé. How dare you do some shit like that?!”

“I'm a selfish bastard and sharing is not my forte.” He shrugged. “What do you want me to do? Apologize to Emory? Well, I won't. As you can see, I don't give a damn about him.” He paused. “Actually, he got off easy, because I could've called his loan officer, especially since my family's bank finances his business, and had his damn loan taken away. But I didn't. I figured taking you was enough.”

“What the hell?!” She pounded a fist on his desk. “I don't belong to you.”

“So you say.”

Tears glimmered in Chaunci's eyes. “This is a fuckin' game to you! You ruined my life because you wanted to enter a pissing contest with Emory and measure dicks! I can't believe you did this to me!”

“Oh, please, knock off the victim shit. You're much too smart for that. You were a willing participant. I didn't have a gun to your head and I told you that you were free to leave at any moment. You made a choice, which was my bed. You wanted me and you wanted to be there. Now whatever the hell you're trying to prove to me is not working. You don't love Emory. He doesn't even turn you on. And you know it. When you got your ass on that plane, it was because you wanted to be there. So don't game me with the bullshit. Be real with me because I've always been that with you.”

“Really?” came from the doorway. “So then what have you been with me?”

Chaunci and Grant looked over at a tall, thin, white woman, with flawless peach-colored skin and brunette hair that hung over her shoulders.

Chaunci could tell by the look in Grant's emerald eyes that he'd been caught by surprise.

The woman walked into the office and over to Chaunci. “I'm Marissa. Grant's wife. And you are?”

A smile spread across Chaunci's face as her eyes landed on Grant.

I could kill this bastard
.

She held out her hand and looked back to the woman. “I'm Chaunci. Grant's mistress.”

J
ournee wore a long, black, fitted dress with a low, scoop neck. On her head she wore a black hat with a veil that hung to her chin and every few minutes, one of her black satin-gloved hands would ease beneath her veil and dab dry tears.

Xavier walked into the attorney's office and sat next to her. He looked up at the attorney and said, “My daddy's gone!!” He cried and his shoulders shook. “My daddy! He's gone! Why didn't he take me! My daddy was a good man. We used to talk all the time at dinner. Stay up late nights . . . and the stories he used to tell.” He shuddered. “I don't know how I'll go on. I just don't know!”

Journee squeezed his hand as hard as she could. “That. Is. Not. Needed,” she mumbled, as the lawyer looked at the two of them in amazement.

“Umm, perhaps we should do this in a few days,” Chad, the attorney said. “I'm thinking this may be too soon for you two. If you need a little time to collect yourselves, that'll be fine.”

Xavier sat up straight. “Nawl, we don't need any more time. I got a plane to catch.” He cleared his throat. “I meant I'll be okay.”

“Umm-hmm,” Journee mumbled, shaking her head.
I promise you I can't stand this goddamn idiot. A fierce dick and a snake for a tongue is all he has. But when he opens his mouth . . .

Relax.

You've got this.

“Let's just get down to business,” Xavier said. “My dearly departed daddy's business, of course. God bless the dead.”

Journee shot him a look that clearly said, “Shut the fuck up.”

“If you insist,” Chad said. “I just want you to know that Zachary changed his will and did one by way of video.” He walked over to the flat screen television that hung on the wall and pushed in a DVD.

“He did what?” Journee asked, her heart dropping out of her chest. She closed her eyes.

You have to keep it together.

Ten . . .

Nine . . .

Eight . . .

That no good motherfucker!

“Of course,” Journee said, opening her eyes. “Granddaddy told me about that.”

The attorney pressed play and Zachary's face filled the television screen. “If you are seeing this video, that has to mean I have already met my . . . demise.”

“Oh, Daddeeeeee!” Xavier screamed, looking up toward the heavens. “Why did you have to take him, Lord?! You were wrong for that, José—”

“It's Jesus.”

“That's what I said.”

Journee was completely disgusted.

The DVD played. “My dearest Journee. I was so happy when I married you. To have a woman so young and so beautiful was amazing.”

Journee smiled.
Too bad I couldn't stand your greasy old ass.

The video continued, “My son. My dear, dear son. I always regretted missing so much of your life. I'm glad that in the end we were able to get close and be a family.”

“Oh, Daddy!” Xavier cried.

“Shut the fuck up!” Journee pounded her fist on the coffee table. “Just shut your ass up! I'm tired of you now!”

Chad paused the DVD. “Is everything okay?”

“I'm sorry,” Journee said. “I'm just upset right now.”

Xavier looked Journee over. “Make that the last time you tell me to shut up.”

Chad pressed play and Zachary continued to speak. “My beautiful wife and my son.”

This motherfucker hasn't run out of breath or fallen asleep mid-sentence yet. I've never heard him speak this clear.

He continued, “Thank you for showing me and the video cameras that I had planted all over the house—”

Cameras? Did he say cameras?

“Yeah, I said cameras,” Zachary said as if he predicted Journee's thoughts. “Thanks to my cameras, I was able to see that you two were two big-ass piles of horseshit.”

“Horseshit?!” Journee and Xavier spat simultaneously.

“And, Journee, I watched you ride his dick every night and call his name. In my damn house!”

“What the hell is this?!” Journee peered at the attorney.

He didn't answer as the video continued. “You dirty bitch you. And, Xavier, I never thought you were my damn son. 'Cause your mama was some damn slut monkey who swung from scrotum to scrotum.”

“Slut monkey?” Xavier repeated in disbelief.

“Yeah, I said it. A slut monkey!” The video continued, “Hell, as far as your mama knows, your damn daddy is Waldo! And nobody can find that motherfucker!”

“Oh, hell no! He just cussed my mama!”

“She stayed drunk half the damn time, so God only knows who your damn daddy is. If I meet him on my way to hell, I'll be sure to tell him to haunt yo' ass. You two stayed in my house and thought you were going to sucker me. Did you really think I spoke that goddamn slow? Hell no. You are two of the dumbest motherfuckers. Now, I've already given the house manager, Mary, instructions to burn every goddamn bed and all the sheets after I'm dead, 'cause ain't no need for her to catch y'all nasty motherfuckin' disease in her new house.”

“Her house?” Journee looked at Chad. “What does he mean, her house?”

The video went on, “Mary owns the island now and she already has y'all shit packed and waiting at the goddamn pier. And as far as my money, it's all going to charity. Every bit of it! Now both of y'all can kiss my dead ass! Bitches.”

Breathe . . .

Breathe . . .

There was nothing to say. There was nothing Journee could say. She just wanted out of Chad's office. It felt hot and stifling. She couldn't breathe. She could hear him talking to her, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.

Journee rose from the chair, tucked her purse under her arm, and walked out of the attorney's office. She could hear Xavier on her heels as she walked outside and slid into the backseat of the black Lincoln town car.

“Phillip,” Journee said to her driver as she slid her bumble bee Chanels over her eyes. “I just need you to drive. Just drive. I don't care where you go. Just go.”

She tilted her head back, resting it against the seat.

“Well, while you're trying to figure shit out,” Xavier said, “I'm getting ready to run over to Millionaires' Row and knock Mary off.”

“You getting ready to do what?”

“Fuck that. That bitch is going down! I will drown that ho before she gets my daddy's damn house!”

“You don't know if he was your damn daddy!” Journee screamed. “All you did was bring your ass back here and ruin everything for me! Everything! And now what do I have?! Nothing but two goddamn strip clubs that I signed over to yo' ass!”

“Well, that's too motherfuckin' bad, bitch! I took the rap for you and your slutty-ass girlfriend. I didn't rob that bank by myself and I damn sure didn't shoot that security guard. But I was the only one who spent ten years in prison!”

“You were a junkie-ass piece of nothing, motherfucker! You deserved those ten years and I hoped you dropped the soap and somebody bust yo' ass!”

“I don't believe you said some shit like that!” He pushed her.

“You don't put your hands on me, motherfucker!” Journee slapped Xavier so hard that spit flew from his mouth, and seconds later, they were wrapped in a backseat brawl.

“Stop it!” The driver swerved to the side of the street, the rear of the car running onto the crowded New York City curb, missing by inches the people who'd been standing there. People were scattering and screaming as the driver tossed the car in park and snatched open the passenger-side back door, doing his best to break up Journee and Xavier.

“Bitch!”

“Bastard!”

“Motherfucker!”

They scrambled.

“What is going on here?!” Two officers approached the car. They looked in the backseat and saw Journee and Xavier engaged in World War III.

“Please help!” the driver said desperately.

The officers walked to opposite sides of the car. One pulled Journee and the other yanked Xavier out of the car.

Journee's hair was everywhere and her dress was hiked up, exposing her thong. “I'm going to kill him!” she screamed.

“Let's go, bitch!” Xavier yelled, as the officer slammed him against the car. His face was marked with fresh, bloody scratches. His left eye was swollen and his bottom lip was busted.

“Are you Mrs. Dupree?” the lead officer asked.

“Yes! I'm Journee Dupree. And I want his ass arrested! Right now!”

“And I want that bitch arrested too!” Xavier yelled.

“Calm down,” the officer said, looking at Journee as she pulled her dress down. “Relax. And stand here.”

Journee was in total shock as people gawked and took pictures of her standing center stage. She looked up and saw Bridget and the
Millionaire Wives Club
cameras zoomed in on her. She patted the sides of her dress and pulled her hair back.

“Tell the camera what's going on.” Bridget smiled.

“That motherfucker attacked me!” Journee huffed.

“Where are you two coming from?”

Journee hesitated. “We had to take care of some family business. And while I was meditating and trying to clear my thoughts, he attacked me! Out of nowhere. He's nothing! He's finished!”

“Is that why they are arresting him?” Bridget asked.

Journee whipped toward the action and saw Xavier pressed up against the side of the car and the officer waving a plastic bag with a white powdery substance in it.

“That's not mine!” Xavier screamed. “I didn't have that shit!”

“I knew it!” Journee said, disgusted. “You junkie motherfucker ! You're back to getting high again?!”

“Cuff him!” the lead officer said as his partner placed handcuffs on him and read him his Miranda rights.

“Journee!” Xavier cried. “Come on, baby, I need you. I need you to call the attorney! Have him meet me at the station!”

“I'll call the attorney all right. Call him and have him press charges on your paroled ass!”

One of the officers pushed Xavier into the backseat of the police car while the other officer said, “I apologize you had to go through this, Mrs. Dupree.” He handed her his card. “If ever you want to talk about this, call me.” And he pulled off.

I must be dreaming.
She pinched herself.
That shit was real.

“Bridget,” she said, “I have to go!”

She got back into her car, and her driver, who was visibly upset, got behind the wheel. “Lose them,” Journee ordered. “And then take me back to the attorney's office.”

After a few ducks, dodges, and dances through traffic, the driver was able to shake the cameras and could safely park in front of the attorney's Park Avenue building.

Journee's heels clicked loudly as she hurried into Chad's office and closed the door.

Chad looked up from his computer and raised a brow. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Xavier. I tried to kill him.”

“Is he still alive?”

“He's in jail.”

“You had him arrested?”

“Yes and no. The cops broke up the fight and while they searched him, they found some damn dope in his pocket.”

“Are you serious?”

“As serious as the kidney failure that finally killed Zachary's ass.”

“So that's why you're back so soon.” Chad smiled and walked over to Journee, placing his hands around her waist.

“You can call off the hit now,” she said.

“Or we can have the hit happen in prison.”

“Good idea.”

A smile spread across Journee's face. “It's been a long four years.”

“It sure has.” He kissed her softly on the lips.

“Now tell me, what the hell was with that video will?”

“Don't worry about that.” He kissed her again. “Not only did I not file it. I've already destroyed it.”