Always and Forever (6 page)

“I’ll, um, get to work,” she said before turning and disappearing into the house.

“Damn,” Jamal said in a terse whisper. He had been so close. Why had he stalled? He should have just gone for it. What was the worst that could happen? She’d slap him? He’d take a slap in the face if it meant tasting those lips again.

He had to figure out a way to break through the roadblocks she continued to put up. He knew they would be good together, if only Phylicia would give them a chance.

But he wasn’t ready to push the issue again. He was still raw from the last time she shot him down.

As usual, Jamal spent the morning working outside while Phylicia labored inside the house. Around noon, she came out, wiping her hands on a stained rag.

“Did you bring your lunch?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Didn’t you?”

She shook her head. “I had to leave the house so early this morning that I forgot to pack something to eat,” she said. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to go over to Jessie’s. It’s fried okra day.”

A ham sandwich, or sitting across the table from Phylicia eating some of the best food in Gauthier? Tough choice.

“I’ll drive,” Jamal said.

As they both climbed into his truck, Phylicia picked up the mail he’d tossed on the passenger seat. As he took the stack from her, she tapped the heavy, cream-colored one on top.

“Is that a wedding invitation?” she asked, gesturing to the envelope that had arrived from Arizona this morning.

“Yes,” Jamal answered, a muscle automatically jumping in his cheek. “My sister’s.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful. When is she getting married?”

“The Saturday before Thanksgiving,” he said. He stuffed the invitation, along with the rest of the mail, into a compartment in the center console and backed his truck out of the driveway.

As he maneuvered around her dusty blue pickup, Phylicia said, “Hey, careful there. Just because it’s a little banged up, don’t think you can get away with swiping my fender. I know each and every scratch.”

“I can tell you’ve had it for a while.” Jamal laughed. “I’m guessing there’s a reason you haven’t upgraded?”

“It was my dad’s,” she stated the obvious. “That truck is as much a part of Phillips’ Home Restoration as I am.”

Jamal allowed several moments to pass before asking, “How did he die?”

Staring out the passenger side window, he barely heard her when she said, “Heart attack.” She glanced at him with a somber frown, then brought her gaze back to the stalks of sugarcane lining the roadway. “He was fifty-nine,” she continued. “Way too young.”

Damn. That had to have been rough. “I’m sorry,” Jamal said, wincing at the inadequacy of his words.

“Thanks,” Phylicia said. “It hasn’t been easy. Now that I think about it, his heart attack was the starting point of the three-year nightmare I’ve been living in.”

Jamal glanced over at her. “Three years? What’s caused your life to be a nightmare for the past three years?” he asked.

She dismissed his question with a wave. “Forget I even said that.”

“No.” Without thinking, Jamal reached over and covered her forearm. It felt as if he’d leaped over a huge hurdle when she didn’t pull away. “You can talk to me,” he said. “Why has life been a nightmare for you?”

“Jamal, I appreciate the concern, but I really don’t want to get into any of that.” She looked over at him. “Just let it go, okay?”

He nodded. He could respect her privacy. He had his own personal restricted area that he tried his hardest to avoid stepping into. Jamal could list at least a thousand things he’d rather do than talk about his relationship with his father: roll around in a pile of red ants, walk across cut glass with his bare feet, leap out of a plane without a parachute.

Yet, he was willing to do all of those things and more just to get Phylicia to share a bit of her life with him. What was it about her that intrigued him so damn much?

Maybe it was the fact that they were both single and around the same age. It just made sense that he would gravitate to her.

No, that wasn’t it. Gauthier wasn’t necessarily a hub for potential dating prospects, but he had his pick of available women. Phylicia’s draw was more than just a matter of convenience. Something about her had struck him from the very first moment they had been introduced, and ever since the evening they’d spent together after Corey and Mya’s wedding, he’d been downright fascinated by her.

His cell phone trilled. Jamal slipped it from his pocket, recognizing his Realtor’s number on the screen. He excused himself and took the call, hanging up a minute later.

“Would you mind if we got our food to go?” Jamal asked. “That was my Realtor. She said she may have found the perfect place for my architectural firm. I want to check it out, make sure it’s what I’m looking for. We can pick up the food from Jessie’s, and I can drop you back at Belle Maison.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “Not like there’s much else for me to do for the rest of the afternoon, anyway. I have to wait at least twenty-four hours for the stain on the molding to dry before it can be installed, and the part I need for the light fixture in the upstairs bathroom won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

“In that case, do you mind coming with me to see the house?” Jamal asked. “I could use the extra set of eyes, and you know exactly what to look for.”

She sized him up, her shrewd eyes narrowing. “Is this all a part of some wicked plan to get me alone in the car with you for an extended amount of time?”

A smile broke out over Jamal’s face. “You see straight through me.”

“I don’t want any funny business from you, Jamal Johnson.”

“Are you sure about that?” he asked. “It would make the drive into the city so much more entertaining.”

She gave him a pointed look.

Jamal released his grip on the steering wheel for a moment, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine, no funny business. Maybe.”

Phylicia just shook her head and laughed.

A couple of weeks ago, she would have never agreed to take the hour-long drive into New Orleans with him. Jamal took it as a sign of progress. He was going to wear her down. Eventually.

* * *

As soon as he pulled up to the enormous house on Saint Charles Avenue, Jamal knew he was staring at the future home of J. Johnson Architectural Design. With its Renaissance-style balustrades, dome-shaped cupola and angled bay windows, the neoclassical Italianate structure encompassed everything there was to love about New Orleans’s famed Garden District. This place felt...right.

The admission scared the hell out of him.

Nervousness, excitement, fear—they all swirled around his stomach, a gumbo of emotions that wouldn’t let up. If this turned out to be the right spot, it would put him one step closer to realizing his dream.

Jamal swallowed past the uneasy lump that instantly formed in his throat.

“It’s on the streetcar line. That’s a huge plus right there,” Phylicia said as she alighted from the passenger side. “And it’s on the corner, so there’s street parking both in the front and on the side.”

“You’re going to keep my pros versus cons list for me?” he asked.

“That sounds like a job for a personal assistant, and I am no one’s assistant.”

Jamal chuckled at her severe frown. “No, I can’t see you taking orders from anyone.”

“You’ll need to hire an assistant soon, though,” she said as they made their way up the walkway toward the mansion’s covered portico.

Jamal gave a noncommittal grunt.

“You’re not planning to be a one-man shop, are you? Not if you’re thinking of housing your firm in something like this,” she said, gesturing to the home that was no less than five thousand square feet.

“I’ll eventually hire additional architects and a support staff, but it’s still too early for me to think about that stuff.”

She looked over at him, her head tilted slightly to the side. “You’ve been in Gauthier over a year already. When
will
you start thinking about it?”

The appearance of his Realtor saved Jamal from answering Phylicia’s question. Which was a good thing since he wasn’t sure if he even knew
how
to answer it. Opening this firm had been his dream for so long; the enormity of it caused his breath to hitch. It was a huge step. And, if he wasn’t careful, it could be a huge
mis
step.

The Realtor gave them a tour of the stately home, with its polished hardwood floors and arched entryways.

“This is amazing,” Phylicia said, running her fingers along a carved mantel. “Just look at the craftsmanship.”

“This is characteristic of many of the homes in this neighborhood, isn’t it?” Jamal asked.

She nodded. “The houses in this area were built around the same time period as Belle Maison.” She looked over at him then dropped her face into her hands. “Oh, my God, you’re going to ruin this place, aren’t you?”

“Hey!” Jamal protested.

Her muffled voice held a painful edge. “Why? Why? Why?” she muttered. “Why don’t you rent out some office space in the CBD?” Phylicia asked.

“I don’t want to be in the Central Business District,” he said, walking over to the fireplace. “And I will not ruin this house. I’m going to update it with more environmentally friendly materials.”

Phylicia groaned, the sound not unlike a wounded animal being kicked in the stomach for good measure.

“The house is very sound, but could probably benefit from a bit of updating,” the Realtor said.

“The whole point of my firm will be to combine the old with the new,” Jamal explained. “I’ll probably replace the windows with a more energy-efficient brand, and add insulation. I can cut the energy cost by more than thirty percent.”

“If you can pull off something like that while maintaining the integrity of the house, you will have a lot of business coming your way,” the Realtor said.

“Thank you,” Jamal said. He turned to Phylicia. “At least someone thinks my ideas are good.”

She just rolled her eyes.

As they continued their tour, Jamal pictured how he would set up the rooms. The first floor would house displays of green technology and a media room where he could show his clients video clips of how things worked. The second story would house the offices. The third floor was the perfect space for him to convert into living quarters for those days when he didn’t want to make the hour-long drive back to Gauthier. The two bedrooms, bathroom, a small living area and decent kitchen would suit his needs just fine.

“So, what do you think?” the Realtor asked.

It was perfect.

In fact, the house was so perfect, he was tempted to drive to the bank and withdraw the money right now.

But something held him back, and it didn’t take much soul searching to pinpoint just what it was.

Fear.

Jamal hated to put that label on it, but it could not be denied. It was the same fear that always traveled along his spine whenever he thought about finally getting serious about his firm. He hated that fear. And he knew exactly what was driving it, which made him hate it even more.

You can do this,
he told himself. Despite his father’s insistence that he wouldn’t be able to succeed without falling back on the Johnson name, Jamal knew that he could make this architectural firm work.

But instead of the words
I’ll take it
pouring from his mouth, Jamal said, “I’ll have to think about it a bit more. Let me know if the owners get any more offers.”

“Of course,” the Realtor said.

He ushered Phylicia out of the house and climbed into his truck, then headed back toward the Pontchartrain Expressway.

“Would you mind taking a short detour?” Phylicia asked. “I want to see what they have at the Green Project in the Ninth Ward. They may have some pieces we can use at Belle Maison.”

“The Green Project?” he asked.

“You mean you haven’t heard of it? Mr. President of the Environmentally Friendly Club?”

“Uh-oh,” Jamal said. “Will my membership be revoked?”

“It just might.” Phylicia laughed. She guided him to the Saint Roch neighborhood, where the huge warehouse of reclaimed building material was located. They picked through vintage ironwork, brass doorknobs and bathroom fixtures, and even intricately wood-carved faceplates for light switches.

“I cannot believe you’ve never even heard of this place,” Phylicia said. “I would have thought that as someone who’s about to open an architectural firm specializing in green technology, you’d have scoped out places like this one.”

“I’m sure I would have run across it eventually,” he said. “I’m just not at that point in my plans yet.”

“How far are you?” she asked.

Jamal looked up at her and shrugged. “I’m still getting it all straight in my head.”

“What’s left to think about?” she asked. “You seem to be dragging your feet on this.”

“Hey, what’s with the third degree?” Jamal asked, his discomfort ratcheting up.

“I don’t mean to pry—”

“Really?”

“—but what have you actually done to get your firm off the ground?” she continued. “You’ve got all these ideas for the business, but you’re still just sitting on them. The thing that usually stops most people is the money, but you don’t have that to worry about.”

“It’s not as if I’m in some huge rush,” he said.

“Why aren’t you?” she asked. “If this is what you really want to do. It
is
what you really want to do, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Jamal said, unable to keep the defensiveness from coming through his voice.

“Are you sure this isn’t like baseball? Is the architectural firm more your dad’s dream than yours, Jamal?”

Jamal snorted a derisive laugh. “Oh, you are so off base it isn’t even funny,” he said.

Her forehead creased in annoyance, censure thinning those gorgeous lips.

Jamal released a weary sigh. He could tell by the look on Phylicia’s face that she had no intention of dropping the conversation.

“My father didn’t agree with my decision to leave the family business,” he told her. “He told me I was wasting my time trying to start a business from scratch when he’d already built an empire.”