Betrayal (26 page)

Brandon sat alone at the mahogany conference table staring down at a yellow legal pad in front of him. The pages were blank, waiting to be filled. A cup of black coffee sat cooling beside a stack of case files.

He had no taste for the coffee, and he couldn't concentrate on reading reports or taking notes.

He couldn't concentrate on anything other than thoughts of Tamia.

Since Friday night he'd been consumed with reliving every moment of their devastating showdown. He'd proposed to her, and she'd thrown it right back in his face. True, it hadn't been one of his finer moments. There'd been no suave gallantry, no dropping to one knee and presenting her with a dazzling million-dollar diamond ring. He hadn't spouted romantic poetry or quoted lyrics from their favorite love song. He'd yelled out the words to her with all the finesse of some knuckle-dragging Neanderthal wielding a big club.

It definitely wasn't the best of proposals. But his intentions couldn't have been more sincere. Though he was engaged, Tamia was the first woman he'd ever actually asked to marry him. He'd reluctantly agreed to marry Cynthia out of a sense of duty. But Tamia was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the one he wanted to keep fat with babies.

But he'd fucked around for too long . . . and now it was too late.

Since Tamia had rejected him, Brandon no longer felt like he was drowning. He'd succumbed to the raging current, sinking slowly to the bottom of the abyss. And now he felt dead inside . . . cocooned in a state of emotional anesthesia that nothing or no one could penetrate.

Though there was no partners' meeting today, he'd come to the conference room that morning for a change of scenery, and to avoid one of Cynthia's unannounced visits to his office.

They'd spent Christmas together with their families, and Brandon had never been more grateful for the buffer provided by their relatives. After attending Sunday service, everyone had converged upon his parents' house for an extravagant holiday feast. To compensate for Brandon's subdued demeanor, Cynthia had laughed louder and chattered animatedly, impervious to Brooke's rolling eyes and catty barbs.

Every time Cynthia looked at Brandon, he could see the unspoken questions in her eyes, the fear and uncertainty. She sensed something had changed. She just didn't know what.

He knew he owed her an explanation.

Sooner rather than later . . .

“Poor Mr. Chambers,” intoned an amused voice. “Sitting all alone at that big table, looking like the loneliest man on the planet.”

Brandon looked up to see Russ Sutcliffe standing in the doorway of the conference room, watching him with a look of mock pity.

Suppressing a weary sigh, Brandon murmured, “What can I do for you, Russ?”

“Nothing at all,” Russ drawled, casually tucking his hands into his pockets as he wandered into the room. “I just came by to see how you're holding up. Not so well, by the looks of it. But I guess that's to be expected after everything you've recently been through.”

Brandon calmly set down the pen he hadn't been using and steepled his fingers in front of him. He knew Russ had been salivating at the opportunity to taunt him about his highly publicized altercation with Dominic. He'd been forced to wait until Brandon returned to work today since he'd taken off the two days following Christmas.

“Ah, Mr. Chambers,” Russ lamented. “Isn't it amazing how quickly the tide can turn? One day you're setting the world on fire with an electrifying speech. The next day you're the star of the most watched fight on YouTube.” He tsk-tsked, shaking his head at Brandon. “Your father must have been
so
disappointed to see his heir apparent brawling like a common street thug. And your poor mother must have been just
beside
herself with shock and horror.” Russ smiled, all but crowing over Brandon's plummet from grace. “So much for your Senate run.”

“Really?” Brandon inquired mildly. “Why do you say that?”

“Oh, come on, Chambers,” Russ guffawed. “I know you've fooled everyone around here into thinking you walk on water, but surely even
you
realize you can't run for office after the stunt you pulled last weekend. I mean, let's get real here. Do you honestly believe your esteemed mentor would have been elected president if
he'd
been caught brawling on camera? Obama has gone out of his way to be perceived as anything
but
an angry black man. But you won't have that luxury, dear boy. When voters see you throwing knockout punches on that YouTube video, an angry black man is
exactly
what they're gonna see, and you know it.”

Brandon laughed, wagging his head. “Come on now, Russ,” he said, affecting an exaggerated Southern drawl. “You know Texans love nothing more than a good barroom brawl. And fightin' over a woman? Well, hell, that's the stuff of country songs and classic westerns. Shoot, this whole dustup might even make me more likeable and relatable to the rednecks and cowboys who love a good display of testosterone. And the ladies . . . well, surely they won't begrudge a poor heartbroken man who let his temper get the best of him.” Brandon winked, flashing his most devastatingly charming smile.

Russ narrowed his eyes and tightened his jaw. He knew there was a good chance Brandon might be right.

“Anyway,” Brandon added with an unconcerned shrug, “none of this really matters unless I decide to run. And last I checked, I haven't made any announcements.”

Russ scoffed in disgust. “Don't insult my intelligence, Chambers. We both know it's a foregone conclusion that you're running for the Senate next year. Ever since you gave that anointed speech at the prayer breakfast, your father's been working behind the scenes to rally support for your candidacy and get the party machine behind you.” Russ smirked. “Of course, all his wheeling and dealing might all be for naught. You've got a whole lot of baggage, son. A porn-star girlfriend with a homicidal sister. A jilted baby mama. And now this—a table-clearing brawl that left hotel property destroyed and required a man to receive medical attention. Given all that, Chambers, you shouldn't be at all surprised if the party leaders decide to back a less risky candidate.”

Brandon shrugged. “They might. Hell, I wouldn't blame them. Anyway, what difference does any of this make to you? Unless . . .” He trailed off, letting a surprised look sweep across his face. “Why, Russ, is there something you wanna share? Are
you
planning to throw your hat into the ring?”

Russ pressed his lips together, clamming up at once. But it didn't matter whether or not he confirmed anything. Everyone knew he had lofty political aspirations, and Brandon had heard through the grapevine that he'd be leaving the firm soon to pursue his Senate bid.

Brandon smiled narrowly. “If you're worried about going up against me—”

Russ blustered indignantly. “Don't flatter yourself.”

“—we'd both have to make it through our respective primaries. With your clout and connections, I'm sure you'd have no problem sailing through the Republican primary. As for me . . . well, I certainly have the name and political connections, but as you've rightly pointed out, I have a ton of baggage. So I'd get pretty battered and bruised over the course of the campaign. But if I happened to pull off an upset and win my primary”—he winked at Russ—“watch out.”

Russ's eyes narrowed.

They stared each other down, the air crackling with challenge.

“Are you giving my boss a hard time?”

The two adversaries turned to watch as Addison strolled into the room swinging a briefcase at her side, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from being outdoors.

Russ smiled thinly at her. “Miss Vassar.”

“Mr. Sutcliffe.” She gave him a chiding smile. “Are you harassing my supervisor? I certainly hope not, because he happens to be my favorite attorney at this firm.”

Russ sneered. “A fact well known by everyone who works here.”

Addison didn't miss a beat. “Now, now, don't be jealous, Russ. I'm sure you're
somebody's
favorite around here. The window washer, maybe?”

Russ's face flushed with anger.

Coolly dismissing him, Addison turned to beam at Brandon. “I just got back from the courthouse, and I had to track you down to thank you for the brilliant advice you gave me last week. Your strategy worked like a charm.”

Brandon smiled faintly. “Good. Glad to hear it.”

She grinned. “I'd love to tell you all about it over lunch. My treat.”

“Thanks,” Brandon gently declined, “but it's my first day back and I'm swamped. So I'll have to take a rain check.”

“No problem. I'll be here whenever you're ready.” She winked, then turned and sashayed out the door with Russ's eyes glued to her ass.

When Brandon discreetly cleared his throat, Russ whipped his head around to stare at him.

Brandon cocked an amused brow.

The man's face reddened with embarrassment.

Brandon chuckled.

“If you'll excuse me, I have work to do.” Russ turned and started from the conference room. Pausing at the door, he added with a smirk, “Maybe you didn't get the memo, but the partners' meeting was canceled today.”

“I know.” Brandon leaned back in his chair. “I'm the one who canceled it.”

Russ's eyes widened with outrage at the idea of a new partner being granted such authority.

As he stalked off in a huff, Brandon couldn't muster even a glimmer of the satisfaction he normally received from besting his adversary.

There was only one thing that could bring him any pleasure now . . . and that ship had sailed.

Tamia's heart began pounding the moment she stepped off the elevator and saw the gleaming black Maybach at the curb. Knowing that Brandon was inside the car made her break out into a cold sweat.

She hadn't seen him since the night of their explosive confrontation one week ago. When she'd fled his condo that night, she'd thought that was the last time she'd ever have to face him. So she was stunned when Fiona called to tell her that Brandon had agreed to accompany her and Dre to the prison. Her stomach had been twisted into queasy knots ever since.

She wiped her damp palms on her jeans, then took a deep breath and started across the lobby.

When she stepped outside, Dre climbed out of the car and smiled warmly at her. “Wassup, girl.”

“Hey, Dre. How you doing?” She faltered as he held the passenger door open for her. “Um, I'll sit in the back.”

“He wants you up front.”

She frowned. “I'd rather sit in the—”

“Tamia.” Dre gave her a look. “Get in the car. Please.”

She bit her lip, then reluctantly slid into the passenger seat. As Dre closed the door, she braved a glance at Brandon. He wore mirrored sunglasses, a black sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and black Timbs.

Her heart beat triple time. “Hi.”

He spared her a cool glance. “Good morning.”

Damn,
she mused.
This is gonna be even worse than I thought.

She nervously fastened her lap belt as Brandon drove away from the Four Leaf Towers as if he couldn't leave the premises fast enough.

“Thanks for coming,” Tamia told him, “but you really didn't have to.”

“Your sister asked me to.”

“I know, but she would have understood if you couldn't make it. You could have typed up some legal notes or—”

“It's cool, Tamia,” he said tersely.

“But it's a long drive, and I know you're really busy—”

“I said I don't mind.” He smirked. “Or is it that you and Dre wanted to be alone?”

“
What?
” Tamia exclaimed.

“Yo, what the fuck?” Dre shouted.

Brandon scowled.

A tense silence ensued.

After several minutes, Brandon heaved a deep breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled. “I owe both of you an apology. That was uncalled for.”

“Damn right it was,” Dre growled. “I swear, nigga, you can be a mean muthafucka sometimes.”

“Ain't that the truth,” Tamia muttered in agreement.

Brandon looked sullen. “I'm sorry. All right?”

Tamia sucked her teeth in disgust as Dre grumbled under his breath.

Though his eyes were hidden by the shades, Tamia caught Brandon checking out her left hand, looking for the diamond ring that wasn't there. He still believed she was engaged, and she wasn't inclined to set the record straight—especially after he'd just insulted her.

The mood remained tense and somber as the threesome struck out for the Christina Melton Crain Unit in Gatesville, which was three and a half hours from Houston.

Brandon drove quietly with a stony expression.

In the backseat, Dre stared broodingly out the window. Watching him in the sideview mirror, Tamia wondered if he was thinking about Fiona and their unborn baby . . . or the forbidden kiss he'd shared with his best friend's sister.

“How was your Christmas?”

Startled by the sound of Brandon's voice, Tamia turned to stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“How was your Christmas?” he repeated with an edge.

“So
now
you wanna be civil?”

His jaw flexed. “Just trying to make polite conversation.”

“Okay. I had a wonderful Christmas. How was yours?”

“Wonderful,” he said mockingly.

“Good.”

Long silence.

“Did you watch the parade?”

Tamia stared at him. “The . . . parade?”

“Yeah. The Christmas parade.” Brandon glanced at her. “I know how much you enjoy watching it.”

Her throat tightened. “You remembered that?”

“Yeah.” A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “We spent Christmas together last year—”

“It was our first.”

He looked at her. “And only.”

She swallowed hard. “Go on.”

“You spent that week at my condo because we were going to New York for New Year's Eve—” He broke off as Tamia reached over and gently removed his sunglasses.

Dark, hooded eyes met hers.

“That's better,” she whispered.

Brandon held her gaze for another moment, then looked back at the road. “Anyway, when you woke up on Christmas morning, you were more excited about watching the parade than opening gifts.”

Tamia chuckled. “I was not.”

“You certainly acted like it. And you sat glued to the TV until the parade was over.” He glanced at her. “So did you watch it on Sunday?”

“I caught some of it,” she murmured, looking out the window.

Brandon said nothing more.

As they headed down the highway, their hands ended up resting on the console, mere inches apart. Tamia could feel the heat pulsing off Brandon's skin, feeding the electricity that crackled between them.

Heart pounding, she silently willed his hand to slide closer.

It did.

And so did hers, moving in slow degrees until the back of their hands brushed.

A thrill of pleasure sang through her veins.

They softly rubbed against each other, savoring the connection both had been craving.

When her phone suddenly rang, their hands sprang apart.

Tamia reached down and checked the display screen. When she saw Dominic's number, she silenced the phone and put it away.

Two minutes later when Brandon's phone rang, he did the same thing.

Their eyes met.

After several moments Tamia blinked, breaking their stare.

As Brandon returned his attention to the road, she closed her eyes on a shaky indrawn breath.

No one spoke for a few minutes.

“Yo, B,” Dre finally injected into the silence, “you know what this reminds me of?”

Brandon glanced in the rearview mirror. “What?”

“Remember our double dates back in high school? Remember how you'd always let your girl ride shotgun while I kept her friend company in the back?”

Tamia watched as a slow grin stretched across Brandon's face. The sight of his sexy dimples made her breath catch. God, she'd missed those dimples. Missed his smile.

Dre chuckled. “ 'Course it's not quite the same now since I'm back here all by my lonesome. But watching that little moment between you and Tamia made me think about the old days.” He paused. “Not that you and your old girlfriends ever did anything that warm and fuzzy.”

Tamia blushed, glancing shyly at Brandon.

He smiled at her.

“Hey, Tamia,” Dre joked, “has Brandon ever told you what a playa he was in high school?”

She grinned. “No, he hasn't.”

“That's because I wasn't,” Brandon muttered.

“Nigga, please.” Dre guffawed. “You were and you know it.”

Tamia laughed. “What was he like, Dre? You can tell me.”

“No, he can't. Yo, for real,” Brandon warned Dre, “don't be putting my business out there like that.”

“Whatever, Brandon.” Tamia waved him off. “Go on, Dre.”

He laughed. “I don't know what he's told you, but B was no choirboy back in the day. He was a straight-up mack daddy, and everyone but his parents knew it. Check this out. You know he went to private schools all his life, right? Well, see, he wasn't feeling those bougie females he saw every day. He preferred down-to-earth sistas. Around-the-way girls with a lil hood in 'em.”

Tamia grinned. “That's 'cause he a lil hood himself.”

“I know, right? I used to tell him that he was born in the wrong zip code.” Dre chuckled. “So, anyway, since Brandon wasn't tryna get with them chicks at his preppy private school, I'd hook him up with the girls from my school and my neighborhood. When I'd first tell them about Brandon, they'd be all like, ‘River Oaks? Ain't no black people in River Oaks!' So I'd have to assure them that B was cool people, not some corny-ass brotha like Carlton on
Fresh Prince
. Since I played ball and was kinda popular, they figured Brandon couldn't be
that
bad if he was my boy. So they'd reluctantly agree to meet him, talkin' about how I'd owe them
big time
if he turned out to be a busta. And then B would roll up in the Jetta, waves spinning, rockin' fresh gear, showing off those dimples.
Ooo-wee!
The panties would start flying!”

Tamia laughed. “I bet they did!”

Brandon grimaced, shaking his head. “Does Tamia really need to hear all this?”

“Oh, just relax, baby. We've got two more hours to kill. Telling stories will help pass the time.” Tamia blushed, belatedly realizing what she'd called Brandon. Seeing a faint smile on his face, she knew he'd caught the endearment as well.

“Please continue, Dre,” she urged.

He chuckled. “I'm not gon' front. As popular as I was, I know I got
way
more play because of Brandon. Even back then this nigga could pull all
kinds
of puss—er, females,” he quickly amended, not wanting to offend Tamia. “We'd go to the mall, and it was
ridiculous
how many numbers he got. See, he had game, but he got cocky with it. I tried to warn his black ass that some of these girls at my school were getting salty, but he wasn't tryna hear it. He thought he was the man. But it eventually caught up to him when these two chicks got together and decided to set him up.”

Tamia was riveted, half turning in her seat to stare at Dre. “What happened?”

Brandon scowled. “I think we've heard enough.”

“Nah, let him finish,” Tamia insisted. “This is getting
good
.”

Dre grinned, eyes gleaming wickedly. “He made dates with them back to back, one in the morning and the other at night. When he went to pick up the first girl, both of them were waiting for him. Cold busted!”

Tamia threw back her head and howled with laughter.

Brandon shot her a disgruntled look. “I'm glad you find this so entertaining.”

“I do,” she asserted between hysterical giggles. “I should have known you were a ho, Brandon! It's always the ones you least suspect!”

“Hey, I was a dumbass teenager,” he protested. “My youthful indiscretions shouldn't be held against me.”

“You're right.” Tamia playfully mushed him on the head. “But that's what you get for tryna be slick.”

He grinned sheepishly.

Dre laughed. “He learned his lesson, though. Became a one-woman man after that.”

“That's good.”

Tamia and Brandon looked at each other and smiled.

After he put on some music, the threesome rode along, singing and bobbing their heads until Tamia's stomach started churning.

She looked at Brandon. “Could you pull over?”

He shot her a confused glance. “Why?”

She gulped tightly. “I think I'm gonna be sick.”

Brandon quickly switched lanes, steering the Maybach to the side of the highway.

Tamia bolted from the car, dashed over to the grass, and dropped to her knees. Her stomach convulsed as she vomited repeatedly.

She heard car doors slamming, heavy booted feet crunching on pavement. Then Brandon was crouching beside her, his touch gentle on her back, his voice tender with concern.

“You okay, baby?”

Before Tamia could reply, her stomach heaved and she hurled again, foul chunks splashing the overgrown brown grass.

Brandon rubbed her back and murmured soothingly to her as she retched some more.

When she was finally finished, she sat back on her haunches and weakly dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.

Dre eyed her worriedly. “Damn, girl. You all right?”

Tamia nodded slowly.

Brandon gently stroked a hand down her hair. “Think you're done?”

“I think so,” she whispered.

Brandon stood, then bent and swept her up into his arms. She closed her eyes as he carried her back to the car and gently lowered her into the seat, refastening her lap belt as if she were a small child.

He and Dre climbed into the car, then they were back on the road.

“I'ma stop and get you some water and anything else you need,” Brandon told Tamia.

“Okay.” She smiled wanly. “Thank you.”

He gave her knee a gentle squeeze.

“Think it's something you ate?” Dre asked.

Tamia nodded, rubbing her queasy stomach. “Probably.”

She saw Brandon and Dre trade speculative glances in the rearview mirror.

Resting her cheek against the cool window, Tamia closed her eyes and soon drifted off to sleep.

 

They never got to see Fiona that day.

When they arrived at the prison, they were informed that Fiona had changed her mind about receiving visitors.

Tamia was stunned.

Dre was royally pissed.

Brandon was strangely silent.

When Tamia returned home that evening, she had an email message waiting for her. It was from her sister.