Never Keeping Secrets (9 page)

Her parents were so critical and Latoya knew she had just given them a plateful to digest and spit back out at her. The last thing she needed was a surprise visit from her parents. She had to get her mind right if she was going to put up with their mess.

Latoya opened her purse and pulled out a can of Altoids. She popped the square tin open and shook one into her hand. She tossed it back into her mouth and drank water from the faucet before rising and settling her eyes on her reflection in the oval mirror over the sink.

“Just to take off the edge,” she told herself.

Two or three put her to sleep. One or two put her at ease.

If they were really Altoids and not OxyContin pills there really wouldn't be a problem.

 

O
ver the rim of her flute Monica surveyed the crowd mingling and conversing with one another in the living room of the condo. It was a nice mix of business colleagues and friends. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves, including Monica. She loved it when a plan came together.

The catered dinner had been served and leisurely enjoyed with lots of lively banter among everyone at the table. The perfect wines accompanied each course. Their house manager, Halston, had selected the perfect staff who knew how to appear and disappear as needed to make their guests feel comfortable.

She raked her fingers through the long lengths of her waist-length hair as she eyed Cameron across the room talking to several men. Like them he was in a hand-tailored suit but in her eyes the men could not compete with the way his clothes hung off his athletic frame. Cameron looked like a man of power and wealth. He looked like the alpha male. The big dog. Top motherfucking gun.

She pressed her thighs together as she felt her pussy wake up
. Not now kitty-kat. Not now.

Monica strolled over toward Cameron. She smiled at the gentlemen before leaning in a bit to lightly touch his chest beneath his silk shirt as she whispered in his ear, “I need my pussy ate the same way you licked the spoon during dessert.”

Cameron tensed as he turned his head and looked down at her. She tilted her face up and gave him a soft expression meant to show him just how playfully sexy she felt. Their mouths were less than six inches apart. “I can take care of that.”

She licked her lips and patted his chest. “I look forward to it,” she said softly before strolling away, knowing his eyes were on her in the bright red body-hugging dress she wore.

She knew that the years of being a dancer had her body right and tight and even though she had given up what once was her one true love she still made sure to stay in shape. She blinked hard and lost her step as she flashed back to the day her ex, Rah, stomped on her leg and broke her thighbone in half. As if catching him in bed with Dom had not been enough, the bastard beat her ass.

She pushed the thought away, pleased that his psychotic dope-sniffing ass was still in jail for what he did to her. It had been over six or seven years and the time had dulled the pain and anger, but she was nowhere near forgetting and doubted she ever would be.

“Monica, girl, this night was everything.”

She turned to find Hopper Cruz standing behind her looking party ready in a red linen suit with white leather shoes. Hopper was a fashion blogger who was well respected for his fashion sense and style. She made sure he was invited to add a little bit of intelligent humor to the crowd.

“Thank you, Hopper. I had a good time that I needed after working so hard to set up my business,” she said, taking another sip of her Bollinger champagne.

He touched his flute to hers. “Make money, money. Make money, money,” Hopper sang low enough for just the two.

“That's the name of the game,” she said, her eyes landing on her newest client, Kelson Hunt a.k.a. K-Hunta.

She was dying to ask him if their lighting was so intense that he needed the shades on . . . in the house . . . at ten at night. She was surprised to see him minus the entourage and dressed in a suit. She wondered if he was more Kelson than K-Hunta that night.

“He is really headed on a one-way train to Nowhere-ville in OneHit Wonderland,” Hopper said.

The man was also an incorrigible gossip.

Monica bit back a smile. “Not my job, Hopper,” she said. “But I am going to help him live well after he gets there though.”

“Please do,” he stressed, with another touch of his flute to hers.

“I love you, Hopper,” she said, giving in to a laugh.

“You're going to love me even more as you watch me scoot my fine ass over to your guest bathroom to catch Jasmine coming out after her fifth trip in there tonight,” he said, his eyes piercing the door. “She's gone sniff her fucking nose off.”

And he was gone, fast walking just as he promised, to lean against the wall outside the guest bathroom, as he waited for Jasmine Lee, a well-known publicist, to exit.

“Any chance you'll let a man spoil you?”

Monica turned and eyed Kelson standing at her shoulder. She briefly wondered when he double backed around the room to sneak up on her
. Like a silent fart just appearing out of nowhere and offending.
“As a matter of fact I let a man—my man—do that every day,” she said smugly.

Kelson eyed her from head to toe, his eyes lingering on the deep plunge of her dress front. “Lucky man,” he said.

Monica bit back a smart-ass Brick City-style retort. “Thank you,” she said politely before turning her attention back to Hopper just as he pretended to accidentally bump into Jasmine, knocking her sequined clutch onto the floor.

“Let me help you get that,” Hopper said with a meaningful glance at Monica as he twisted his mouth like
Bitch, please
.

Jasmine pushed Hopper back and bent down to scoop up her own purse. “Thanks anyway, Hopper,” she said, hurrying away from him to reclaim her spot by her husband's side.

From across the room Hopper swiped at his long aquiline nose with his finger and then sniffed. Monica just shook her head at him.

“I just want you to know the offer is on the table.”

She didn't even look at him. “I didn't know you were still there, Kelson,” she said. She was lying. She knew and she hoped ignoring his ass would send him on his way. Monica was regretting her decision to welcome him to her business dinner with an invite.
His first and motherfucking last
.

“When it comes to a chance to have you, I want you to know I'm not going anywhere,” he said, before strolling away like a modern-day Superfly or some shit.

Monica rolled her eyes and resolved to place a call to his manager, Usain, first thing Monday morning to get his client straight that the only service she was offering up was financial advice and not pussy. If he couldn't get that then he could get the million dollars he gave her to invest and haul ass.

Monica stiffened as a hand touched the small of her back. “Look, motherfucker,” she whispered harshly. The rest of her words died in her throat at the sight of Cameron standing behind her. “Sorry.”

“You okay?” he asked.

“I didn't know it was you touching me,” she said, stopping one of the uniformed servers to set her empty champagne flute on the tray he carried.

Cameron kissed her brow. “It's good to know that's how you would check a fool for trying,” he said, his voice deep.

She turned and brought her hands up his back. “This pussy is all yours,” she assured him.

“All mine?”

“Except when I need it to pee,” she quipped.

Cameron laughed. “Come on, let's wind this up,” he said, reaching down for her hand to take in his as he led her across the expansive, stylishly decorated room to the foyer.

The effects of the champagne and the success of the dinner party had Monica in a great mood. She really enjoyed the life she and Cameron had built together. She really couldn't imagine anything they could do to make it better.

“Sleepy?” Cameron asked after they closed their front door behind the last of their guests.

“Happy,” she told him.

“ 'Night, Halston,” they said in unison as they made their way through the living room, leaving their house manager to supervise the cleanup.

When they arose in the morning all signs of the dinner party would be gone.

“Good night, Mr. Steele. Ms. Winters,” he said.

They walked down the hall leading to the staircase that winded up to the second floor where the bedrooms were located. “Sure would be good to hear you called Mrs. Steele,” Cameron said, his hand massaging her bottom as they climbed the stairs.

“I thought having one Mrs. Steele floating around New York was plenty,” she said.

“You mean my mother?”

Monica side-eyed him as they reached the top level and stepped into an area in the center of the bedrooms that was big enough to make into a room of its own. “Not funny, motherfucker.”

“I haven't laid eyes on that
Ms
. Steele since our divorce five years ago.”

They walked down the hall to their master bedroom suite. “I should have married you,” he said, loosening the knot of his tie.

“Yes, but you didn't,” she reminded him, being sure to say it in a tone to let him know she was being playful. She picked up the remote and turned on the television on the wall as she kicked off her heels.

“Yes, but I want to now,” he said, reaching out to grab her by the waist and fall back on the middle of the king-sized bed with her. “I'm ready to marry you and have babies running around this big motherfucking apartment.”

His eyes were on her intently as he lay above her, cushioning her body into the bed. She made sure not to frown. This was an old-ass argument and she was in too good of a mood for the baby debate. Again.
Damn.

“Welcome to . . .
The A-List
.”

Monica lifted her head up and looked over Cameron's broad shoulder at the flat screen on the wall across from their bed. She eyed Danielle looking fierce and fabulous standing next to her cohost.

The sight of her transported her back to the days Danielle ended their friendship.

At first she had been angry and resentful of Danielle pulling away from their friendship. Then she got over it and kept moving. Seasons change and friends don't always remain. Obviously what they built up over the years wasn't as important to Danielle as it was to her.

Monica twisted her head to the left as Cameron began pressing kisses to her collarbone.

Five years.

Monica remembered the summer day the four of them grabbed their men and rented a room at this nice hotel in New York just to enjoy the pool. They had all answered the question about where they thought they would be in five years.

The answers were fuzzy to her now but she knew no one guessed that they all would no longer be friends.

“Monica.”

She shifted her eyes back up to his.

“Fuck what's on that television,” he said in clipped tones, his face tense. “I want a family.”

She picked up the remote from where she dropped it on the bed and turned the TV off. She licked the sudden dryness from her lips. “I do too . . . one day,” she admitted. “But not now, Cameron. No.”

His face filled with disbelief before he rolled off her and jumped to his feet. “No?” he snapped. “To marrying me? To having my baby? To building a stronger life with me? Huh, Monica? No to what?”

“I have so many plans for my business . . . for
my
life, Cameron,” she told him, shifting to rise from the bed and walk over to him.

“
Your
life? So what the fuck are
we
doing?” he roared, the veins in his throat stretched as he threw his hands up in the air.

“We are helping each other go for our dreams,” she snapped. “And whether you believe it or not my career is just as important to me as yours is to you.”

Cameron let out a laugh that was brimming with sarcasm. “I hardly think juggling seven clients requires so much attention that you can't be a mother as well.”

Monica balled her hand into a fist to keep from slapping the shit out of him. His derision of her business was clear. She didn't like the taste of it. Not at all. His words hurt her. “Fuck you, Cameron,” she said in a low voice that carried even more weight than his roar. “I am sorry that I am not Serena, some lifeless, useless, asinine-ass woman who wanted nothing more than to be Mrs. Cameron Steele and pop out a brood of fucking children for you. I am
so
sorry that I wear shoes around this motherfucker and stay my ‘educated, career-driven, want-to-succeed-on-my-own' ass out the fucking kitchen,” she spat, her eyes blazing.

Cameron shook his head before he hung it to his chest with his hands in the pocket of his slacks. “And I'm sorry that your priorities are fucked up,” he said, swiping his finger across the tip of his nose before he turned and strode over to the door leading to the bathroom. He paused at the entrance but didn't turn around. “I hope it's worth it.”

He disappeared into the bathroom.

Monica punched and kicked at the air with frustration like she was having a hood fight. She ran across the room and tried the doorknob. It was locked. She lightly dropped her head onto the door. “It is worth it. It's worth it to me,” she yelled.

That first jolt of spray from the shower echoed.

Monica closed her eyes. “It's worth it to me,” she whispered, turning to press her back to the door as her chest heaved.

Her eyes shifted over to the wooden box on the end of the dresser where they both charged all of their electrical devices. She could see it was her glittered-covered iPhone that lit up. Pushing up off the door she massaged her face as she made her way across the black tile of their bedroom. She unplugged her iPhone and walked out into the hall as she checked it.

A text message.

She opened it and then frowned in confusion. “I'm watching you, Monica,” she read aloud. She checked the phone number the message came from and didn't recognize it.