Deception (Tamia Luke) (21 page)

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Authors: Naomi Chase

BOOK: Deception (Tamia Luke)
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“No, you’re not,” Tamia assured him. “I won’t say anything to Mr. Chambers.”
“You won’t?”
“Nope. He obviously didn’t want me to know, so we’ll keep it that way.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Believe me,” Tamia said wryly, “I’m
very
good at keeping secrets.”
The man breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you
so
much, Miss Luke. If there’s
ever
anything I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
“I will.”
After ending the call, Tamia sank back against her pillows with a dreamy smile on her lips. Brandon had provided a home for her. Despite the way she’d hurt and betrayed him, he’d still cared enough to ensure that she had someplace to live. And not just
any
place. One of the nicest, most expensive residences in Houston.
Mama Esther’s imaginary words whispered through Tamia’s mind.
Never underestimate the power of a man’s love.
Chapter 24
Brandon
The sharp
click-clack
of high heels against Italian marble announced Brooke Chambers’s arrival before she reached the open doorway of the den, where Brandon and Beau squared off across an antique chessboard. The two brothers had struck identical poses, an index finger to their temples, broad shoulders hunched over the board.
“Oh, good, you’re both here,” Brooke said briskly. “Now we can get—”
Brandon and Beau held up a finger, cutting her off midsentence.
Huffing an exasperated breath, she marched over to the table to see which player was winning.
“Your move,” Brandon prompted his brother.
“I know.” Beau’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the board, mentally strategizing how to avoid getting checkmated.
Grinning smugly, Brandon leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands behind his head, and stretched out his long legs. “Any day now.”
Beau shot him a dark glance.
Another minute passed as he silently debated his next move.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Brooke muttered impatiently.
“Hey!” her brothers protested as she rearranged pieces on the board, sealing Beau’s fate by capturing his king with Brandon’s knight.
As Brandon began laughing, Beau glared at their sister. “What the hell’d you do that for? The game wasn’t over!”
“Oh, please!” Brooke scoffed. “Brandon clearly had you in check. I don’t have time for you to sit there prolonging the inevitable. I have a meeting to conduct.”
Fresh out of church, Brooke wore a cream two-piece skirt suit that hugged her voluptuous figure and complemented her gorgeous mahogany complexion. Her makeup was flawless, and her shoulder-length black hair was perfectly flat-ironed, not a strand out of place.
Like her older brothers, she’d earned a law degree from UT. But after spending one year at a large law firm, she’d realized that she was better suited for planning social events than litigating cases. So she quit her job and became a consultant to Houston’s movers and shakers, quickly establishing herself as a socialite, fund-raiser, and corporate power broker whose services were sought by everyone who was anyone.
It was only natural that Brandon, Beau, and Dre had turned to her to coordinate the agency’s scholarship fund-raiser gala to benefit inner-city youth athletes. As expected, Brooke had tackled the project with her usual zeal and multitasking prowess. She’d chosen the perfect venue and caterer, scheduled guest speakers, created and distributed publicity materials, mailed out invitations, and secured an arsenal of VIP donors. And now, with the event just a month away, she’d called a meeting that afternoon to hammer out last-minute details.
Beau sauntered over to the polished bar tucked into a corner of the expensively furnished den, one of many such rooms that composed the sprawling Mediterranean-style estate the three siblings had been raised in.
“Anyone want a drink?” Beau offered.
“Nah, I’m good,” Brandon declined.
“I’ll have my usual.” Brooke shot a glance at her Cartier wristwatch and scowled. “And where is Dre? He told me he’d have no problem attending the meeting since the Texans have a bye this week.”
Brandon chuckled, rising from the chess table to claim the oversized armchair before Beau beat him to it. “Since he has the day off, he probably decided to sleep in late.”
Brooke was already whipping out her BlackBerry and speed-dialing Dre’s number.
“Deondre Kendrick Portis,” she enunciated in the cool, no-nonsense tone she reserved for unscrupulous vendors who attempted to overcharge her clients, “where the hell are you?” She paused, one foot tapping impatiently as she listened to his response. “If you’re not here in thirty minutes, I will personally drive over there and drag your ass out of—What? You’re on your way? That’s what I thought.”
As she snapped her phone shut, Brandon glanced over and caught the quick curl of a feminine smile that had his eyes narrowing.
Briskly clearing her throat, Brooke stepped out of her Prada pumps and lowered herself onto the antique sofa with her long legs folded beneath her. “I don’t want to have to repeat things, so we’ll wait until Dre gets here.”
“That’s cool,” Brandon drawled, using the remote control to turn on the giant plasma television, “but if Mom and Dad get here before Dre, we’re eating lunch first. I’m starving.”
“Me too.” Beau walked over and handed his sister a glass, then sprawled on the sofa beside her with his Hennessy and Coke.
After sampling her martini, Brooke divided a reproachful glance between her brothers. “I know I missed church last week because I was out of town, but why weren’t either of you there today? Didn’t we promise Dad that we’d attend service every Sunday until the election?”
“I never promised anything,” Beau countered defensively. “I’m a sports agent, so Sundays are reserved for attending my clients’ games. The only reason I’m not in Florida right now is that I got back from New York late yesterday, so I needed to catch my breath.”
Brooke snorted. “Give me a damn break. We all know you spent the night screwing your latest jump-off, and
that’s
why you couldn’t get up for church this morning.”
Beau grinned unabashedly. “What can I say? The woman has skills.”
Brooke smirked. “You’d better hope that’s
all
she has.”
Beau laughed. “Don’t be jealous just ’cause you ain’t getting any.”
“Oh, please. I’m not jealous of you and your sexcapades. Unlike those gold-digging hoochies you mess around with, I have too much pride and self-respect to open my legs for every asshole who buys me a drink. Besides,” she added with cool hauteur, “I’m Brooke Chambers. So you know damn well I can have any guy I want.”
“All except one,” Beau taunted, smirking into his glass before downing his drink.
Brooke blushed, darting a nervous glance toward Brandon.
He raised a brow at her. “Is there something you wanna tell me?”
“Not at all.” She tucked her hair behind one ear, a telltale sign that she was lying. But before Brandon could probe further, she turned the tables on him. “So what’s
your
excuse for missing church today?”
He eyed her suspiciously another moment, then turned his attention to the football game between division rivals Dallas Cowboys and New York Giants. “Not that I owe you an explanation—”
“I’m just asking,” Brooke protested.
Brandon shrugged dismissively. “I just didn’t feel like going today. It’s been a long week.”
“Well, your absence caused
quite
a stir. Cynthia and her parents cornered me after service to ask me where you were. Apparently they were suspicious because you
and
Tamia were AWOL today.”
“Tamia?” Beau repeated quizzically. “Has she started going to Redeemed Life?”
“She visited last Sunday—her first Sunday outta the joint.” Brooke sounded wickedly amused. “I can’t believe I missed all the drama.”
“Damn. So did I.” Beau stared at Brandon. “What’s going on, man? You hooking up with Tamia again?”
Brooke snorted. “He’d better not, unless he wants to be disinherited and disowned. I saw Mom and Dad talking to the Yarbroughs after church, and they didn’t look too happy.”
Beau grimaced, shaking his head at Brandon. “Are you sure you wanna be here when they get home?”
Brandon was beginning to wonder. He wasn’t in the mood to hear another lecture about Tamia, especially after he’d spent a restless night battling the urge to drive back to her apartment to finish what he’d started earlier. One taste of her sweet pussy was all he’d needed to remember why he was still addicted to her.
“Poor little Cynthia,” Brooke lamented with mock sympathy. “She must be ready to slit her wrists at the thought of losing you to Tamia
again
.”
Beau snickered. “Can’t you just see her and her ugly-ass mother getting down on their knees and praying for God to smite Tamia?”
Brooke howled with laughter.
Brandon merely shook his head at his siblings. Beau and Brooke had never made any secret of their dislike for Cynthia, whom they considered fake and manipulative. Brandon had always dismissed their concerns, insisting that they didn’t know Cynthia the way he did. But lately he’d found himself questioning whether he knew her as well as he’d thought.
Beau grinned slyly at him. “So tell the truth, bruh.
Were
you with Tamia this morning?”
Before Brandon could respond, they heard the rapid approach of footsteps. Moments later their parents burst into the room, their enraged gazes locking on to Brandon with the lethal precision of a nuclear missile bent on total annihilation.
Brandon braced himself for the explosion.
“WHAT THE HELL HAS GOTTEN INTO YOU?” Bernard roared thunderously.
Brandon felt rather than saw his siblings shrink back against the sofa.
As Bernard stalked toward him, Brandon instinctively rose from the armchair, squaring his shoulders and planting his feet. He was a grown man, so he couldn’t remember the last time his father had raised a hand to him. But he wanted to be prepared for anything, because right now the old man looked furious enough to rip his throat out.
“I just got off the phone with Mort Chernoff,” Bernard raged, advancing on Brandon until their faces were separated by inches. “He called to tell me that Dominic Archer was arrested last night for violating a restraining order. When the police picked him up, his face looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a reincarnated Mike Tyson! He told the cops that
you
assaulted him! Is that true?”
“Yes, it is,” Brandon said flatly.
Across the room, his mother gasped sharply. “My God! What on earth were you thinking?”
“Obviously he
wasn’t
!” Bernard snapped, a vein throbbing at his temple as he glared at Brandon. “What the hell were you doing at that woman’s apartment when you were supposed to be at a wedding with Cynthia?”
“I went to see Tamia,” Brandon answered evenly, striving for composure. “When I arrived, Dominic Archer was there. She told me that he’d choked her—”
“So you decided to go Neanderthal on him?! Why the hell didn’t you just have
her
call the police and press charges against him? It had nothing to do with you!”
Brandon clenched his jaw. “I beg to differ.”
“You beg to differ?”
his father echoed, eyeing him incredulously. “Do you have
any
idea what a public relations shitstorm you’ve just created for my campaign? Dominic Archer has retained an attorney, but not just
any
attorney. He hired Levi Dorsey, who only happens to be Russ Sutcliffe’s nephew-in-law. Remember Russ, your arch nemesis at the firm? The man you just castrated in front of the other partners? The racist son of a bitch who’s been gunning for me since I ran for lieutenant governor seven years ago? Remember him? As soon as he heard about the circumstances surrounding Dominic’s arrest, he dispatched his nephew to the police station to offer his services to Dominic. Mort told me they’re holding a press conference on Monday morning to announce their plans to file a lawsuit against you for assault and battery.”
When Brandon showed no reaction to this news, his father shook his head in angry disbelief. “You still don’t get it, do you? What do you think is going to happen when the viewing public sees Dominic Archer’s battered face and hears him talk about how much he misses his beloved Isabel? When he explains how he only went to Tamia’s apartment because he’s seeking answers about his wife’s murder, who do you think the public will sympathize with? You and Tamia? Or the grieving widower?”
“Are we talking about the same ‘grieving widower’ who blackmailed a woman for sex and may have killed his own wife?” Beau interjected sardonically.
His father rounded on him.
“Was I talking to you, boy?”
A lesser man might have cowered in the face of Bernard’s wrath, but Beau held his ground. “No, sir, you weren’t talking to me. But come on, Dad. During the trial, Brandon did such a good job of painting Dominic as the villain that he’s now the primary murder suspect. Do you honestly believe that anyone will suddenly see him as a victim just because he turns up with a black eye and sheds a few crocodile tears for the camera?”
“You have no goddamn idea what people will think! As I’ve learned in politics, it doesn’t take much to turn the tide of public opinion against you!” Bernard spun back to Brandon, jabbing a finger in his face. “I thought I made it perfectly clear to you and your siblings that everything you do reflects upon me!
EVERYTHING!
Why the hell do you think I had such a problem with you and Beau appearing on that magazine cover looking like gangsters? By assaulting Dominic Archer, you’ve just given the GOP even more ammunition to portray you as a thug!”
Brandon was silent. He knew his father was right. The Republicans were going to have a field day with this story, as would the media. But even knowing that, Brandon couldn’t bring himself to regret his actions. As far as he was concerned, Dominic had gotten off easy last night.

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