A Gentleman's Agreement (2 page)

“Whatever. I think I’ll
sleep at my own place tonight.” Sasha tried to pull away, but he pulled her
back, rotating her to face him.

“Don’t go,” he said.

“Why would you want me
to stay when clearly all I am to you is just a gold digging, insensitive b-word?”

“I never said any of
those things. You know I would never call you out of your name.”

“You might as well have.
Your words implied it.”

He sighed. “I’m just
tired, Sasha. I had a rough day. I tried to get a sit-down with Fredrick Bass,
but Palmer Elliott beat me to it. I think my agency has a mole because Palmer
seems to know every move I make. On top of that I—”

“If you’re tired, maybe
you should get some rest.” She freed her hand from his grasp.

Blake eyed her skeptically,
not believing she’d just given him the equivalent of saying “I don’t give a
damn about your day” without actually saying the words. “Yeah. I should.”

Sasha hesitated a
moment, then turned and walked away. Stopping at the bedroom door, she spoke over
her shoulder. “Blake, I think we need some time apart.”

Was she really doing
this now? “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m giving
you some time to discover what you want.”

“Is this an ultimatum?”

“It’s whatever it needs
to be.” With that, she disappeared through the door.

Blake moved to the bed
and collapsed onto it, the pillow-top mattress embracing him the way a lover
should. “Why in the hell are women so complicated?” he said to the empty room.

When his phone rang, he
snatched it up and checked the caller ID. A smile played at his lips. The one
woman who never complicated his life. “Hey, Mom.”

“Blake, sweetie? Is
that you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You sound funny.”

“It’s been a very long
day. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, honey, you work
too hard. I won’t hold you. You need your rest. I just want to make sure you’re
still flying home on Friday.”

“Of course I am. Do you
think I would miss your anniversary party or Thanksgiving feast?”

“Wonderful. I can’t wait
to see you.” She paused a beat. “Will that young lady you’ve been seeing be
joining you this year?”

Blake tossed a glance
at the door. “Ah, no. We decided to take a break.” More like it was decided for
him, but honestly, he was okay with it.
Really
okay with it.

“I am so sorry to hear
that, son. But sometimes these things happen for the best.”

If he didn’t know any better,
his mother was smiling on the opposite end of the phone.

“Since you’re single, I
have a nice girl I want you to meet. I think you’ll really like her. She’s
really pleasant and as cute as a button.”

Oh, no. Not again. “Actually,
I am kind of seeing someone new.” God, he hated lying to his mother. But this
time, it was for a good cause. ’Cause he didn’t want his mother playing matchmaker.

“Really? Tell me all
about her.”

Shit
. Blake muddled
along for the next ten minutes describing to his mother his phantom woman.
Every detail he supplied seemed to make her happier and happier. He could
practically feel the warmth of her smile over the phone.

“Oh, honey, she sounds
absolutely lovely. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you speak so lovingly about
a woman you’re dating. And I can’t wait to meet her on Friday.”

Blake jolted forward. “What?
I mean…I’m…not sure she’ll be able to make the trip this go ‘round. With the
holiday and all. I’m sure she’ll want to spend Thanksgiving with her own family.”

“Oh. I understand.”

The sadness he heard in
his mother’s voice pulled at his heartstrings. “I’ll tell you what, pretty
lady. I’ll see if she’d be able to fly down for the anniversary party. How’s
that?”

“Wonderful. And she can
fly back in time to have Thanksgiving with her family. Though, if she wanted to
celebrate with us, we’d be more than happy to have her.
Hint. Hint
.”

Blake laughed. “I’ll
see what I can do.”

After saying goodbye to
his mother, Blake reflected on the description he’d given her of his imaginary
woman. Who in the hell did he know that could encompass all of those qualities?
Then it hit him. He hadn’t described a phantom woman at all. She actually
existed.

Eunice
.

His lips curled into a smile. Who
better to play his lover than the woman who knew him almost better than he knew
himself? He scrubbed a hand over his head. But would she?

Eunice Howard tried to
focus on her meal—the term used lightly—and not the buffoon across from her. She
hated to label people, but in this instance, it was warranted. The man in front
of her exemplified a glowing example of why she didn’t do blind dates.

Again, she’d allowed
her aunt, of all people, to hook her up. A woman notorious for attracting Grade
A losers. Eunice groaned to herself. When would she learn? She was beginning to
believe attracting losers was hereditary. She’d attracted her fair share and so
had her mother.

Eunice felt a
tightening in the pit of her stomach as an image of her mother filled her head.
Twenty-two years and she still missed her mother so much she ached. Her aunt
had loved her like her own child, but that love had never filled the gaping
hole her mother’s death left. With Thanksgiving swiftly approaching, that hole
would soon start to feel more like a bottomless well.

For the first time
since Eunice could remember, she would be all alone for the holidays and one of
the most difficult times of the year for her. With her aunt on a two week
cruise and her best friend, Trevor, spending Thanksgiving abroad, she’d have no
one to turn to when the memories of her mother flooded her like a burst dam.
Maybe she should plan a trip. But that wouldn’t solve her problem. She’d still
be alone.

“Your food okay, shawty?”

Her dinner companion freed
her from the morbid thoughts. “Excuse me?” she asked absently.

Clindon Davis, a
southern gentleman—as described by her aunt—pointed to her bowl. “Your gumbo any
good?”

Eunice stirred at the brown
sludge. When it first arrived, she braved a taste. The mix of vegetables,
sausage, shrimp, chicken, and another meat she couldn’t readily identify, tasted
more like a blend of sea salt and cardboard than any gumbo she’d ever eaten. “It’s
okay.” When his spoon slid across the table and into her bowl, the brazen move stunned
her speechless.

“Let me give it a taste.”
He scooped up a spoonful of the slop and shoveled it into his mouth. “Mmm-mmm,
that shit is good. Your taste buds must not be working tonight.”

As he helped himself to
another heaping mouthful, Eunice couldn’t decide if she was more shocked by the
fact he’d stuck his spoon into her bowl or that he’d actually enjoyed what was
in it. The more she thought about it, they equally appalled her.

“I’m glad you like it.”
She pushed the bowl across to him. “Why don’t you finish it off?”

“Damn,” he said. “I
spilled some on my jacket. I just had it cleaned, too.”

Clindon lifted his
lapel and licked the spot in the same manner a kitten did to clean itself. She
gagged. Was this really happening? A quick glance to her right revealed she
wasn’t the only one displaced by the man’s actions. The only thing to bring her
a minute amount of comfort was the notion that no one in this grungy hole in
the wall knew her, or could ever remind her of this experience.

“This is why I wear
dark colors to restaurants,” he said.

The man resembled a
chocolate leprechaun in the clover green suit with shiny gold pinstripes. “Are
you a sloppy eater?” she asked with mock in her tone.

“You damn right,” he
said with gratuitous pride.

The leprechaun grinned
slyly, revealing a gold-capped front tooth with a cutout of a star in the
center. She cringed. What had her aunt been thinking? Eunice groaned to herself
again.
Have I really become this desperate
?
At thirty-four, shouldn’t
I have a husband, kids, a house with a white picket fence, a dog named Spud or
some other ridiculous doggie name? Why am I still sifting through the city’s
rejects?

“I am a
slop...py
eater,” he said, wetting his plump lips, before reaching across the table and capturing
her hand.

The unwelcomed intimacy
caused her to stiffen and her flesh to crawl.

“I like to get all into
it.” He sucked at his bottom lip. “I slurp it like a cherry slushy.” He winked.
“I push it…” he added, then flicked his tongue like a rattlesnake.

Eunice snatched her
hand away when it finally dawned on her what the leprechaun was implying.
You
disgusting bastard
. As if she would let his dry, cracked lips anywhere near
her pu—”

“Push it real good,” he
continued. He leaned in as if to whisper a secret, but started to sing instead.
“I’ll lick you up; I’ll lick you down...” He apparently forgot the next verse
of the Marvin Sease song and paused briefly. “I’ll be your candy licker, girl.”

The only thing more
atrocious than the smell of the chitterlings wafting from a nearby table was
the man’s breath, which was comparable to the smell of the pig intestines.

“I used to sing in an
R&B group. Can’t you tell? I almost opened for R. Kelly.”

She was sure she would
regret asking. “Almost?”

“
One
of my kids
got sick, so I had to fly back home.”

“One of your kids...? How
many do you have exactly?”

“Eight...nine. Nah,
eight. I don’t think one is mine, but I ain’t got the DNA results back yet. He
ain’t got my forehead. All my kids got this forehead. He brushed his hand
across his receding hairline.

Eunice sat erect in her
chair. “Eight—?” She sucked in a deep breath, the tainted air she captured
strangling her. She coughed ferociously. This date was going to be the death of
her.

Concern pinched
Clindon’s expression. “Here. Drink this,” he said, pushing her glass to her.

Eunice took a sip of
the pungent liquid that had been peddled as “the best sweet tea in the state.”
It was an insult to quality sweet tea everywhere. “Eight kids,” she said more
to herself. “So, you’ve been married before?”

“Nah. I don’t like to
be tied down. My third baby momma almost got close to locking me down, though.”
He released a hearty laugh. “Baby girl was a freak in the bedroom. She almost
got me.”

This just keeps
getting better and better
. “How many...
baby momma’s
do you have?”

“Eight…nine. Nah, eight.
I don’t—”

Eunice massaged her
temple. “You don’t think one is yours, I remember.”
God, please save me
.

Just then, her phone
rang. Clearly, the good Lord felt sorry for her. “Excuse me. I need to take
this,” she said, standing. “My job. You understand how that goes.”

“They hiring? I’m
in-between jobs right now.”

Or maybe he didn’t
understand. “I’ll ask.”

She trudged away, never
in her life happier to see her boss’s name illuminate her screen. The call more
than likely meant there was trouble, but she welcomed the interruption. “
Bonjour,
Monsieur
Farrington.” she said, pushing her way toward the exit of the
grease hole where she’d agreed to meet Clindon. She hadn’t noticed it on the
way in, distracted by the water stained ceiling, dingy carpeting, and ‘70s era
décor, but the place posted a sanitation rating of only eighty. The revelation
made her stomach churn.

“Eunice?” Blake asked
as if he was unsure whether or not it was her who’d answered.

His silky voice put her
into an instant state of tranquility. “
Oui
.”

“Again with the French.
You do know I don’t speak French, right?”

Switching from French
back to English, she said, “I said hello, Mr. Farrington and yes. Hold on one
second.” She stopped at the counter and left forty dollars to cover their meal,
plus tip, then power walked away from the establishment. Returning to the call,
she said, “Perfect timing. You’ve just saved me from the date from hell. Correction,
a date in hell would have been better. I owe you.” She looked over her shoulder
to make sure the leprechaun wasn’t in pursuit.

“That’s good to know,” Blake
said, “you owing me.”

Connotation danced in
his words, but Eunice ignored it. “I am going straight to hell.” She slid
behind the steering wheel, then checked her rearview mirror. “He thinks I’m
taking a call. I’m actually in my car about to burn rubber out of here.”

“You left your date in
the restaurant thinking you’ll be returning?”

Laughter danced over
the line. Blake was the only man she knew who could make the joyous noise sound
so appealing. She briefly covered her face with her hand. “I know it’s wrong.”

“That is cold. Even by
my standards,” he said.

“You had to be there to
understand. I’ll pray for forgiveness tonight.”

Blake laughed again. The
sound rippled through her like a pleasing vibration.

“Sooo, Mr. Farrington,”
she said, using unnecessary formality, “you typically call me for two reasons. There
is trouble or about to be trouble. Which is it?”

“Neither. Everything is
fine. But I do have a...proposition of sorts for you.”

What was he proposing?
Who was she kidding? She didn’t care what he was proposing—have his babies, be
his love slave—he had her undivided attention. “A proposition?”

He went silent, as if
considering his next string of words, or contemplating whether or not he should
say whatever he needed to say over the phone. Finally he started to speak
again.

“Come to see me in my
office first thing in the AM before the meeting.”

“First thing in the AM?
Uh-oh
. There’s a problem.”

“Trust me. Everything
is fine. I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Eunice.”

Only if they’re
filled with images of you
. “O—” The line clicked. “—kay.” She hated when
Blake ended a call so abruptly. Couldn’t he have simply waited until she’d
gotten into the office in the morning? Had he really needed to call her with
such a cryptic chat? The only thing that’d been accomplished by their
conversation…stirring her curiosity.

She sighed. Her job—the
countless ones she performed—wasn’t all glitz and glamour, but she wouldn’t
trade it in for the world. Unless, of course, for the opportunity to be the
first female agent at Farrington Sports Management. Her ultimate desire.

Actually, her ultimate
desire would be one night with her boss. Like every other woman in the office,
she imagined. She chuckled to herself. There was nothing wrong with a healthy
dose of fantasy, right?

Why didn’t a man like
Blake ever cross her path? Intelligent, self-sufficient, and dripping with absolute
sex-appeal.
Just one night
. That was probably all she could handle
anyway. She’d heard rumors about his performance in the bedroom.

“He’s your boss, Eunice.
That means off-limits.” And he’s damn near married. That puts him even further
out of reach.

She checked her rearview mirror one
last time, cranked the engine, and headed home. Alone and lonely. The story of
her life.