I Gave Him My Heart (16 page)

“I don’t know anyone who does it like my sista-in-law, Kourtney Chambers. How many of you know a sista who can run three businesses while trying to help her sista run three of hers?” I walked in on Saint delivering the speech that I was supposed to be giving in front of the camera.

Saint stood in the center of the crowd, holding up a glass of Domaine de la Romanee Conti. He saw me walking up to him and held out his hand for me to take it. I blushed walking up to him, taking his hand in mine.

“She’s fearless. Not afraid of anyone or anything. If you need anything, she’s got you, no questions asked. Who could ask for a better sista? Who could ask for a better friend?” Saint held my hand in his. “She gives so much of herself to us; it’s time we give back.”

“Kourtney!” My girls hollered my name.

I laughed, crying at the same time.

“You’re not alone, hermana, we’re in this thing together. Viva Bébela!” Saint exclaimed.

“Viva Bébela!” Everyone held up their glasses to me and Saint.

I turned to my brutha, hugging him tight.

And Saint kissed me on the forehead. “A’ight, let’s turn this muthafucka out!”

I should have been partying, having a good time, showing out for the camera like everyone else was doing, but no. I was in my feelings, trying to avoid confrontation. I sat at my bar, getting drunk as fuck. It was my party, and I wasn’t even the life of it. Once Nina and Ricque showed up in the spot, oh, all the attention was towards those two. I wasn’t a got-damn hater, don’t get it twisted, but those two showed up and, purposely or not, they stole the show. The whole world wanted to know how their baby was doing and how Nina was holding up after losing London. They all wanted to know Ricque’s got-damn tour schedule and when he was going to be finished filming his latest movie. I might have gotten five minutes in with Nina before the press was pulling her away from me.

“It’s about time the cameras stopped flashing in your face, beautiful.” I heard Niq’s voice over my shoulder.

I sighed, rolling my eyes to myself as this nigga sat down on the stool alongside me. “Get lost, Tyson.”

“Why are you not over there with your crew, in the camera? This show is about you, shorty, not ya friends.” I felt Niq’s eyes tracing my profile.

I looked at him, folding my arms. “Whose idea was it for me to do this show? Yours or Peanut’s? Hmm? I need to know.”

Niq’ laughed a little. “What difference does it make?”

“A whole lot of got-damn difference! Did you know Priscilla Bailey was the executive producer of Reelz TV?”

Niq’ made a face at me. “Who the fuck doesn’t know that?”

“Did you know she was my cousin?” I asked.

Niq’ shook his head. “Nah.”

“But Peanut did. She may not have known to what extent Priscilla abused me, but she saw the bruises on my back and my ribs from when Priscilla used to beat the shit out of me when I was a little girl. She knows I hate Priscilla!” I exclaimed.

Niq’ looked like he had no idea what I was talking about. “Kourtney, a’ight, Peanut told me that she worked with Priscilla and that Priscilla asked about having you on her show. That she asked for you specifically. When Peanut told me to get you to do the show, I didn’t stop to think why she was so adamant about it. I just saw it as an opportunity for you to showcase your skills. I swear, I would never do anything to hurt you. Priscilla is a very well respected part of Hollywood. For the past twenty years, she’s been working for Reelz Television. She abused you, Kourtney? She beat you?”

“You know,” I laughed off my pain. “I don’t owe you any explanation. You just tell your bitch that she needs to stay the fuck away from me. If she wants to pay me back for fuckin’ around with you, this is definitely not the way to play. How can I take something that was never hers to begin with? You lied to me, you lied to her; tell her to get the fuck over it!”

“Kourtney, you know I never meant to—” Niq started to tell me how much he didn’t meant to hurt me and blah, blah, blah.

“Nigga, save it. And stop calling and texting me. It’s been over a year, and I still haven’t answered any of your calls. One day you’re gonna text me, and I’m gonna be fuckin’ married,” I hissed, getting up from my seat. I turned around to walk away from the bar to see Knox walking towards me.

I looked back over my shoulder at Niq’, who stood from his stool.

Knox walked up to me, glancing at Niq before looking down at me. “Everything straight?” I hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to him all night. Once the crowd found out he was Timothy Knoxberry, that was a wrap. Everyone wanted to book him for events. Everyone wanted a panting done by him, no matter the cost. Knox wasn’t picky about payment methods; from what I heard, he took gifts as payments and offered financing for his work. The more I got to know about that little nigga, the more impressed I was.

I looked up at him, nodding, the liquor kicking in. “I am now.”

My favorite song, “Exchange,” by Bryson Tiller, flowed through the loud speakers.

Niq’ cleared his throat. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

I looked over my shoulder, back at Niq’, shaking my head. “No, you won’t. Bye, Tyson.”

Niq’ laughed a little to himself before turning around to walk away.

I sighed, sitting back down at the bar.

Knox sat down beside me. He signaled the bartender to make the same thing for him that I had in my glass that sat on the counter. Knox looked at me. “Why aren’t you out there having fun with your people?”

I looked at Knox, shaking my head. “This night is just not going how I planned. First you and then all this. And the night is still fuckin’ young.”

Knox laughed. “I told you that shit is about to get real. The world is gonna know I’m a part of the Knoxberry family by tomorrow morning. My sista, Roxanne, just texted me, saying she heard I was at the grand opening of a bar in Punta Cana, DR. I never tell anyone my whereabouts.”

“So, why start now, Knox? I don’t know about your family, but you’ve stayed hidden from the media for so long, why show up now?” I needed to understand.

Knox sighed as my bartender, Ria, slid him a drink. “Well,” Knox looked at me, “I already knew when I saw you that you were mine, even though your ass still don’t know the shit.”

I laughed a little, shaking my head at him.

“I heard about you through ya nigga, Saint. I saw your picture when he asked me to paint that portrait for your sista. I was like, got-damn, I don’t even do redbones, but you were bad as fuck. I had to get to know you.” Knox watched me trying not to smile. “You know you’re a bad muthafucka.”

I nodded, taking a sip from his drink. “Yeah, I do.”

Knox laughed. “Seriously though, I started following you in the media, always seeing you hide behind Nina or Ricque or Saint. It’s almost like their identity defined who you are as a person when I knew there was more to you. I had to find out for myself. You’re that party girl, the it girl, the girl everyone wants to be like. So, you already know it was no problem finding out about you. I don’t even do expos and shit because there is no money in it for me. No one big enough to afford any of my paintings comes to those events. I own tattoo shops, but for the most part, my niggas run the shops for me. But when I found out that you were running the expo, I had to sign up. Your sista can ink a badass tattoo, so I already knew that you could, too. When I saw some of your designs, I was like, ‘What can I do to get this girl to spend some time with me?’ As soon as I met you, I made sure to book an appointment with you. I live in Baltimore, and your ass lives in the Caribbean! That’s how pressed I am!”

I laughed out loud.

“Call me a stalker or whatever, I don’t give a fuck. I just knew that I wanted to get to know you. And I knew that knowing you would mean I’d have to expose myself to the media. That it was time to stop hiding. The world needs to know my face and not just my art. They needed to know my family’s secret. They needed to know that my father is King Knoxberry, and my mother was Ama Adrande, his African and Portuguese maid,” Knox admitted.

My eyes widened a little. “Was your mother, Knox?”

Knox nodded. “She committed suicide. At least that’s what I was told.”

“Oh my goodness, Knox, I—” I started to sympathize with him when I was rudely interrupted.

“Kourtney Chambers? If it isn’t my long, lost, beautiful cousin.” I turned around to see Priscilla standing before me.

I slowly got up from my stool, standing before her.

She was still that same tall, brown skinned, model-type, with long, wavy hair and high cheekbones. This woman was damn near fifty but didn’t look a day over twenty-five. That bitch was evil. Evil muthafuckas never get what’s coming to them. But I had something for her ass that night.

I clenched my fists. Oh, I was just waiting for her to say something inappropriate out of her mouth.

I was sure it was my fists clenching tightly that caused Knox to rise from his seat and stand alongside me.

“Miss Priscilla Bailey is it?” Knox leaned forward to shake her hand. “Timothy Knoxberry.”

Priscilla’s hazel eyes widened as she firmly shook Knox’s hand in hers. “Timothy Knox—” She cut herself off, looking back at me and then back at him. “Are you two—”

“No,” I said while Knox said, “Yes.” I looked at Knox.

Knox grinned at me and then looked back at Priscilla. “She doesn’t know it yet, but she’s mine.”

Priscilla smiled with that same evil ass grin she was probably born with. Triflin’ muthafucka. “You two make a beautiful couple. How did you two meet?”

“Oh, we met in ‘mind ya own got-damn business.’” I rolled my neck and my eyes at the bitch.

Priscilla grinned, looking me over a little. “Still a little spoiled bitch, I see.”

I folded my arms. “What is it that you want, Priscilla?”

“I didn’t see you at Aunt Hillary’s funeral.” Priscilla eyed my thigh-high split, and then she looked back into my face. “Why didn’t you show up to your own mother’s funeral, Kourtney?”

Knox glanced at me and then back at Priscilla.

I stepped in closer to her, waiting for her to say something else smart out of her mouth. “What the fuck were you doing at my mama’s funeral? You never gave a fuck about her or her got-damn daughter.”

“You need to watch the way you talk to your elders, Kourtney. You never did have any respect for authority.” Priscilla grinned.

“Bitch, authority? You don’t own me!” I exclaimed.

“Oh, but I do.” Priscilla grinned. “You signed a three season contract with Trench. This is my got-damn show. I run everything and everyone involved, and that includes you. So, as long as you’re working for me, you do as I say. As a matter of fact, I’m gonna make sure you work right underneath me, each and every muthafuckin’ day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It will be like old times. It’s been a long time, Kourtney. Didn’t you miss me?”

That did it.

And I completely lost it.

A bottle of Crown Royal sat on the countertop.

Without thinking, I reached for the bottle and cracked that bitch’s face with it.

Chapter Seven

The Dress

I woke up the next morning with the sun shining through my bedroom window, into my face. “Shit…” I moaned, head pounding like a muthafucka. I turned my head away from the window, only to see Knox sitting up, asleep in the over-sized chair that sat in the corner of my bedroom. And my got-damn Rottweiler, Cleo, had her head resting in the nigga’s lap.

I scoffed, shaking my head at my fuckin’ so-called protector. “Bitch, you’re supposed to be protecting me from strangers, not inviting the niggas in. Ugh. I’m dropping your ass off at the pound as soon as the room stops spinning.”

Cleo blew her breath at me, like I wasn’t talking about shit, and turned her head the other way.

I sat up in the bed, pushing my hair from my face. I looked down at my clothes to see that I was dressed in a fuckin’ tank top and boy shorts, something I
know
I wasn’t dressed in the night before. All I could remember from the night before was busting my cousin in the face. I looked down at my knuckles; they were bruised, so apparently me and the bitch got to scrapping in that muthafucka. Obviously, no charges were pressed against me because I was lying in bed instead of a jail cell.

“What’s good wit’cha, Lailah Ali?” I heard Knox chuckle under his breath.

I looked up at Knox. He opened his eyes, his eyes smiling at me. He was dressed in a gray hoodie, loose fitting gray sweats, and fresh white and gray Jordan’s. A few gold chains hung around his neck, with a gold Rolex on his wrist to match. Why the fuck did this man look good in whatever he wore? Why couldn’t he be just a few years older, got damn?

“Nigga, you saw me naked?” I watched the dude burst out laughing. “Did we have sex last night after I beat my cousin’s ass or something? You brought in the New Year inside me, muthafucka?”

“Whoa!” Knox rubbed my dog on her head as he sat up straight. “Nah, Ma. Man, it took all your girls to pry you off of Priscilla Bailey last night! Y’all were throwing blows in front of the bar last night. You broke her jaw, her nose, and knocked out one of her teeth!” Knox shook his head at me. “The press was all over that shit, homie. It’s all over the radio! It’s all over the paper! The shit is on the news! And you already
know
Trench is gonna use the footage in
The Life of a Nicholas
! Priscilla was banged up bad. Yo, she just got out of the hospital this morning!”

I sighed, leaning back on my fluffy pillows, wishing I hadn’t woken up to hear that shit. “And she didn’t press charges?”

“Nope, shit, luckily. She’s on her way back to Cali’. What were you thinking, Ma?” Knox wanted to know.

I just looked at him.

“She must have hurt you pretty bad. After you fucked her face up, you got drunk as fuck at the bar, started dissing the shit out of anyone who stepped near you, except for me, your girl, Pretty, that Asian dude, Young, and your brutha, Saint. Your sista, Nina, couldn’t get a word in; you cursed her out so bad for ‘wanting all of the attention on her’, ‘never letting you shine’, and ‘your mother loving her more than she did you.’”

I cringed at the thought of hurting Nina. “What?”

“I believe you called her an ‘attention seeking hoe’. Yeah, that’s what you said.” Knox watched me rub my forehead anxiously. “Shorty, what was that all about? You were supposed to be celebrating your success, bringing in the New Year with a bang, not a got-damn punch. Not got-damn drama. And most definitely not dissing the people who’ve had your back when no one else did. I don’t have anyone in my life that gives a fuck about me other than my sista, Roxanne. All I have is my art and my sista. Nobody claims a nigga. You’ve got so much love around you, and you don’t even see it. You don’t even appreciate it. You’re so anxious to go out there on your own when being on your own sucks like a muthafucka!” Knox got up from the chair.

Cleo strutted her way out of my bedroom.

I looked up at him, watching him walk around my bed, over to my window. He pulled the curtains back more, letting more light into my room. I’d admit, the view from my bedroom window was amazing. I was living in paradise, literally. You could see the ocean from my bedroom. I mean, from my house, you could literally walk to the beach in about fifteen minutes. I loved it. But I just needed to leave to see what life was like without Nina. I depended on her when I needed to depend on me.

“A nigga wanted to kiss you last night when the clock struck 12, but instead, I was carrying your drunk ass out of the club and into the car. Pretty, Fallon, and Lailah jumped in their ride and led me to your house. I carried you inside. When Lailah tried to help take your shoes off, you sat up and threw up all over shorty!” Knox laughed. “Your girls gave you a bath. That’s how you ended up with you tank top and panties on, bae.”

I sighed. “What time is it?”

Knox grinned. “Well, it’s gotta be around 11:00.”

My eyes widened. I was supposed to be at the shop at 10:00 that morning. I was supposed to be meeting Trench at Nina’s shop, to film a few scenes with my girls there. There was no telling what I was going to hear that morning about busting Priscilla in her head.

I jumped out of bed. “Oh my goodness! I’m supposed to be meeting Trench this morning! Wait, am I fired?” I said as Knox walked up to me, looking me over. “Am I suspended or some shit?”

Knox shrugged. “I don’t know.” Knox looked into my face. “All I know is I have a 12:00 appointment wit’cha. I booked this appointment months ago, Kourtney. It’ll probably take a few hours. So, whatever other appointments you have in your calendar, you need to erase that shit and reschedule the muthafuckas.”

I couldn’t help but grin at the bold muthafucka. “So, you really think you’re gonna tame me, Knox? I just beat the shit out of Priscilla Bailey. This bitch is supposed to be able to end lives and shit. Make sure a nigga becomes non-existent. She can end my career with one phone call, according to Trench. You think I give a fuck? I am who I am, and who I ain’t is a bitch who will fall in love with a guy just because he calls himself making sure I get home safely.”

“Saint told me not to let you out of my sight. He thought you were gonna follow Priscilla’s ass to the hospital and try to kill her. So, I sat here, watching you sleep all night. I don’t wanna see you behind bars. I saw a look in your eyes that I’m sure was in mine the day I tried to beat my father to death over the way he treated me, my sister, and my mother. I’ve been through some shit, Kourtney. Trust me, there’s a reason why I stay out of the spotlight and to myself. But you, you don’t need to be alone. You need to keep your family close. I don’t know what you’ve been through or what she did to you, but I do know that I’m sorry.” Knox held my forearm, rubbing it with his warm fingers.

I just looked up at him, not really sure what to think of him. I couldn’t say that he was like anyone I’d ever met, because he wasn’t, young or old. He definitely wasn’t like any of the other twenty-somethings that I knew. I was sure he had a bunch’a hoes chasing after him. He was too fine not to have any hoes. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a few snot-nosed babies running around that he didn’t claim. I was sure he had some type of ulterior motive for wanting to get to know me. Maybe he was one of Saint’s clients, and Saint needed me to fuck this little nigga, so he’d buy from Saint and no one else. Who knows? All I knew was I hadn’t had sex in thirteen months, and I don’t think I even missed the dick until the day I saw Knox at my front door, dressed in that got-damn European tailor-made suit.

“I am not even sure what to think of you, Knox.” I admitted. “You flew from fuckin’, where do you live, Baltimore, to come and get a tattoo from a bitch you don’t know shit about other than what you’ve seen on the television and what you heard from some niggas I used to fuck with. I’m a bitch.”

Knox laughed out loud. “Yeah, that you are. But I don’t think you mean to be. I think you just need a little love; that’s all.”

I shook my head at him. “No one loves me, Knox.”

“I can love you, if you only let me and stop being so fuckin’ mean.” Knox’s hand moved down my arm until he reached my palm. He slid his hand into mine, locking fingers.

I looked down at my hand locked in his. My hand hadn’t been held by a guy who actually crushed on me for a long time. I’d forgotten how good it felt for someone to actually like me. I knew Knox liked me. Shit, ain’t nobody leaving the country just to fuck someone. Or maybe he did. Maybe he had to prove to himself that he could actually get me. I was sure nobody had ever told him no before; I was pretty sure that word was new to him. Who the fuck would tell Timothy Knoxberry, no, nigga you can’t have this pussy? Me, that’s who. My dumb ass. But I would rather be a dumb ass than be in love with a nigga who was only out for himself. I’d had enough of niggas. And Knox was no different… even though he was different. That nigga was seriously fuckin’ with my mind.

I looked back up into that handsome face. “Why don’t we just start with this tattoo, okay, hun?” I unlocked my fingers from his. “You’re much too young to know anything about love or what it takes to love someone like me. Could you even love someone like me? If I gave you my heart, I’m sure you wouldn’t even know what to do with it. You’re only twenty-six. What the fuck could you do to undo everything that’s been done to me, Knox?” I walked past him.

“A’ight, chill, hold up, change of plans.” Knox caught my arm.

I looked up at him as he pulled me closer to him before letting go of my arm.

Knox sighed, looking down into my face. “Let’s squash the tattoo appointment. I’m pretty sure that after you talk with your people today, you won’t much feel like fuckin’ with that tattoo gun. Remember that velvet box that I gave to you last night?”

I nodded. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Well, make sure you take it with you to the shop. I sat it on your dining room table. When you get stressed to the point that you just need to get away from everyone before you pop off on their ass, open that box. Don’t ask questions.” Knox knew I was about to ask him what the fuck was in the box. “Just open it when you’re ready to come see a nigga, a’ight?”

I sighed, looking up into his face. “Thanks for making sure I got home safe, Knox.” I took a deep breath, watching him smile. I rolled my eyes. “I’m thanking you for being a gentleman, so please don’t ruin it by throwing some playa line at me, Knox.”

Knox grinned. “You’re beautiful when you sleep.”

I rolled my eyes, trying not to smile. “Nigga, didn’t I just tell you—”

“I’m gonna make you love me, Kourtney,” Knox insisted. “You’ll eventually get tired of fighting.”

“I don’t get tired, Knox.” I rolled my eyes.

Knox laughed out loud before turning around to walk out of my room. “A’ight, Kevin Gates, we’ll see how long you can fight a nigga before you give it. I guarantee you before I head back stateside, you’ll be tappin’ out.”

***

“You were on one last night, I swear, friend.” Pretty shook her head at me that day in Nina’s shop. “Saint and Ricque were actually mingling, getting along, no beef, no drama. And I look across the room and saw you beating the shit out of Priscilla! Do you know how many of us it took to pull you off of that girl!”

I sighed, sipping from my cup of cappuccino.

“Did you and that nigga, Knox, play Steven and Christie last night? Maybe Twister? Maybe some video games!” Keisha laughed out loud.

I rolled my eyes. “Man, whatever. Y’all muthafuckas are the ones who set me up, had the nigga show up to my crib when Saint was supposed to pick me up. Which one of you hoes told him where I live anyway?” I looked at Pretty.

Pretty laughed out loud. “Yo, it wasn’t me! Saint’s the one who had him pick you up. Knox wanted to take you to the event. He’s a cool dude. You need to stop dissing him and ride that muthafuckin’ pony girl before someone else does.”

“Whatever.” I glanced at Nina, who was looking pissed than a muthafucka at me.

“So, did Trench show up here this morning?”

Fallon nodded. “Yeah, boo, he showed up early, around 8:30. They did a few scenes with the girls, found out about what each person does in the shop. He didn’t even wanna shoot anything having to do with Nina’s shop today because he really wanted to film you with Knox, but you really didn’t give him any choice. After what happened with Priscilla, who knows if you’re still gonna be on this show. She didn’t press charges for whatever reason, but that doesn’t mean Reelz TV isn’t going to have charges pressed against you. Not to mention, boss lady, you’re fuckin’ with your career. Who’s to say she’s gonna wanna work with you after you rearranged her face? Who’s to say
anyone
will work with you after this shit?”

I scoffed. “Oh got-damn well. If they’re gonna arrest me, then they might as well come get me. If I’m fired, Trench might as well just say so.”

“Typical Kourtney.” Nina muttered under her breath.

I looked at her. “What?” I needed clarification. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You cause problems and then just leave the shit like it is without trying to fix the issue. You beat the shit out of your own cousin, the cousin who was trying to launch your career. The same career you told everyone you wanted to do without my help. What the fuck could she have possibly said to you for you to go off the way you did?” Nina stood behind her front counter, arms resting on the countertop.