Queen of His Heart (2 page)

“Out!” She tried to suppress a shudder of disgust.

“C'mon now. It's not like I'm a freak or nuthin'. Don't knock it until you try it. Let me just wash your feet and—”

“I said get out—or is all that head fat making you hard of hearing?”

“H-hold up now,” he stuttered.

“Now your funky breath makes perfect sense. You've been running around sucking on people's toes.” She stormed off. “Ughhh!”

“Yo, baby. Wait up.” He charged after her.

Downstairs, Jalila grabbed his jacket and shoved it at him.

“Aww, baby. It's no big deal. Let me stay and show you what you're missing.”

Jalila marched to the back door. “How about you take your big butt home and suck your momma's toes?”

“Damn, baby. That's cold.”

She opened the door. “What the hell ever. Kick bricks!”

Woof! Woof! Grrr!
Cujo rushed into the house, his long legs galloping straight toward Richard.

Richard took off running. “Aw, hell!”

Jalila folded her arms and watched the comedy unfold. Unfortunately, Richard escaped the house, but not without Cujo tearing the seat out of his pants. Surely that was worth a doggy biscuit.

“I
hate this town!” Keenan Armstrong swore and slammed down his office phone. “Hack actors, whiney writers and crazy directors with God complexes are running this business into the ground.”

Nitara Murphy, Keenan's longtime coproducer and business partner, laughed as she dropped into the leather chair before his desk and crossed her jeans-clad legs. “You're starting to sound like a scratched DVD. You love this town and you know it. We both do.” She snatched the hair clip from the back of her hair and allowed her rich ink-black hair to tumble free, hanging past her shoulders like an exotic curtain. “We'd be lost if we couldn't tie a knot in someone's chain on a daily basis or suffer from a bleeding ulcer at least twice a year.”

A brief smile spread across Keenan's thick sexy lips but then disappeared the next second when he groaned and plopped his head back against his large leather chair. “I don't know, Nitara,” he huffed. “We're in for a rough season. Network TV ratings are tanking across the board. The three pilots we shot over the summer all crashed and burned, and now I'm having a hard time getting the suits over at ABC even to take my calls.” He shook his head and exhaled slowly. “At this rate we might actually go into the season without a show in the lineup. I can't remember the last time that happened.”

“Five years ago,” Nitara stated, giving her nails a quick glance-over.

Keenan's glare cut across the table.

“What can I say? I keep tabs on things like that. Besides, I told you, scripted drama is out. Scripted reality TV is
in
. Reality shows are the new programming of choice and they're cheap to make.”

“Trash,” he sneered flippantly.

“One man's trash is another man's treasure,” she sing-songed.

Unaccustomed to sitting for long periods of time, Keenan unfolded his six-foot-six frame and pushed himself out of his chair and began pacing the office. It was an old habit that often annoyed his partner. “Maybe it's time to get out of television,” he pondered aloud.

“And do what—movies?” Nitara asked with a lilting laugh. “The movie industry is having a tougher time than we are. Outrageous budgets that directors ignore, high-maintenance actors and even more whiney writers.
Hell, it only takes one bomb to land you in bankruptcy court.”

“Unlike television where you just die a slow death.” Keenan grunted.

“Exactly. I'd rather live on life support than die prematurely.” She rewarded him with a sarcastic smile. “If you were honest with yourself you'd admit that you agree with me.”

“Humph!” Keenan continued pacing.

Nitara smiled as she allowed her gaze to drink in her partner's profile. Even dressed in his casual black slacks and sky-blue button-down shirt, he could give the hottest male models in the business a run for their money.

Despite their twenty-five-year friendship, Nitara sometimes still reacted to Keenan's muscular chocolate body the same way that every warm-blooded female did: with her nipples hard and at attention and her aching clit thumping against her panties. It was shameful really.

At times like this, when she was horny as hell, Nitara couldn't remember exactly why she and Keenan had never been more than just friends. They'd known each other since high school, both were crazy about football (go '49ers!) and they both held the firm belief that
Armageddon
was the best movie ever made.

Of course, there was that little snafu of him dating and then marrying her sister Tenetria. The marriage didn't last long. Once Keenan made it as a big-time television producer, Tenetria had indulged in the shady
side of Hollywood: too many parties, drugs, too much alcohol, and she'd capped it all off with an affair or two that had left Keenan a broken and jaded man as far as relationships were concerned.

Too bad.

The divorce was nasty, but Keenan had gladly written the check for half his net worth just to be able to put the whole episode behind him. Once—just once—Keenan had made the careless remark that he had married the wrong sister. Of course, it was at some glitz party and it was questionable as to whether he was sober at the time. Nitara pretended she hadn't heard the comment, but a part of her secretly agreed.

She and Keenan would have been perfect together. She should have grabbed him before her sister had ever gotten the chance. Instead of waiting for the inevitable disaster to hit so she could scoop Keenan up on the rebound, Nitara had impulsively proposed to her then boyfriend of two weeks, Martin. Now, Keenan was a free agent and she was the married one.

Never let it be said that God didn't have a wicked sense of humor.

Keenan absently licked his lips and heat rushed up the column of her neck. Belatedly, her gaze dropped to the sparkling five-carat diamond on her finger and she was suddenly pulled back down to reality.
Good Lord, I need to get my hot tail home before I do something I'll regret
. “I'm out of here.” Nitara reluctantly climbed out of her chair. “If I'm lucky I can battle my way through traffic and make it home in about two hours to start dinner.”

Keenan laughed, causing his mountainous shoulders to quake. “Start dinner? Still passing off the local pizza parlor as DiGiorno's?”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Nitara cocked her head and massaged the side of her neck. “I'm cooking. I can cook, you know.”

“Since when?” Keenan countered, his dark eyes dancing with mischief.

“I've been loading up on episodes of
Top Chef
and
Hell's Kitchen.
I've been inspired. Tonight I'm taking on my mom's lasagna. I think I can give her a run for her money.”

“Only if she gave you the recipe.” Keenan chuckled. “If not, you're just going to embarrass yourself. Tenetria tried for years to get the recipe. Your momma wasn't having it.”

“Gee. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“A woman should know her limitations,” he said. “And yours is anything having to do with a pot or a pan.”

Nitara rolled her eyes. “That's what you think.”

“Poor Martin.” Keenan shook his head, waltzed over to his desk and pulled a bottle out of the top drawer and tossed it to her.

Nitara's reflexes kicked in just in time and she caught the bottle. “Pepto-Bismol? Very funny.”

“I'm just looking out for a brotha,” he said, flashing her his winsome smile.

“You're supposed to be
my
friend,” she reminded him with a pout.

“Then as your friend I advise you to hire a cook.
Mama Maria's lasagna ain't nothing to be messed with. Hell, to this day I still have dreams about her cooking. Tell your old man he better watch his back. I might scoop in and steal his woman.”

Irritated, Nitara's spine stiffened. “C'mon, how hard can it be? I've been eating her lasagna for thirty years.”

Keenan crossed his arms and stared at her.

“Thanks for the support.” She rolled her eyes.

Keenan's hands shot up in surrender. “My bad, my bad. If you think that you're up for the challenge then I'm standing behind you one hundred percent. Knock him dead, girl.”

Nitara beamed. “Great. Then I'll bring you back a plate.”

“Actually, I'm, uh…sort of watching my weight.”

Her glare returned. “Go to hell,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Aww.” He walked over and gave her a much-needed hug. “I didn't mean to hurt your itty-bitty feelings.” He planted a kiss in the center of her forehead. “There. That should make it
aaall
better.”

“Get off me.” She squirmed out of his muscled cocoon. “With friends like you, I don't need enemies.”

Keenan's laughter deepened and Nitara's annoyance melted away. It was hard staying mad when he launched his charm offensive. She sighed as she headed toward the door. “I don't care what you think. I'm going to make this damn lasagna and my husband is going to eat it and he's going to love it or he can just fix himself a bowl of Captain Crunch.”

Keenan cleared his throat.

“And not another damn word from you!”

“What? I didn't say anything,” he said, unable to keep the amusement out of his voice.

Nitara snatched open the door. “If Martin likes my mother's cooking so much, then he should have married her.”

“I don't suggest you tell him that,” Keenan warned. “He might take you up on it.”

“Great. I'm thirty-four years old and competing with my mother for my husband's affection.” She sighed. “I thought the whole point of my being a successful businesswoman meant that I didn't have to be a traditional housewife. Turns out you don't have the choice of one or the other. The more you do the more you add to your to-do list.”

“Wait until you have children.”

Nitara arched one delicate brow at him. “Is there something you want to tell me? You got a rug rat running around here or something?”

“Not hardly,” he laughed, his dimples flashing, and transforming his handsomely chiseled face into something even more adorable and mischievous. “Unfortunately, you know all there is to know about me. Warts and all.”

“Lucky me.” Nitara jumped to her feet and headed toward the door. “I'm out.”

“If you come up with any ideas for the fall lineup, please feel free to share them with me,” he said.

“If I do that, what will you stay up all night thinking about?” she asked sweetly and opened the door.

“Contrary to popular opinion I do sleep.”

Nitara glanced back over her shoulder.

He shrugged. “Sometimes.”

Making an about-face, Nitara tossed up her arms. “I already told you, scripted reality. Stop fighting it. They're cheap and people love them.”

Walking back to his chair, Keenan dropped down into it and proceeded to rub his temples. From Nitara's viewpoint it looked more like he was trying to squeeze out another idea. She didn't see the point. They'd been having this same conversation for the past six years. The world of entertainment had changed drastically since they had gotten into the business. People no longer held movie and television stars in the same regard. In fact, it had become more of a sport, in recent years, to tear them down.

“I got nothing,” he finally admitted. “Maybe I should go home, too,” he said wearily.

“You're just fighting the inevitable.” Nitara started out of the door again, but Keenan's quick bark stopped her in her tracks.

“If we were to do this…reality thing…” he shrugged his shoulders as if this was a vague possibility “…what kind of show would it be?”

Nitara twirled around, not sure she should trust her hearing.

He glanced up. “I'm not saying that I'm interested. Just…hypothetically.”

A slow smile spread across Nitara's face. “It's all about romance, baby.”

“L
adies, where have all the good men gone?” A frustrated Jalila sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed while she ranted in front of her camcorder. Her weekly chat session on YouTube was like e-therapy: a way to vent her frustrations about navigating the L.A. dating scene. Over the past year, she'd grown accustomed to the camaraderie of her subscribers. Their frequent comments and questions lifted her spirits and gave her hope and courage to keep plugging away.

One bad date at a time.

“The guy was in my closet,
sniffing my shoes!
Ugh!” Jalila squeezed her eyes shut and tried to erase the image from her head. It didn't work. Chances were she was doomed to relive that horrible moment for the rest of her life. Then it occurred to her. “Do you know that
means my shoes have seen more action than I have in two years?” Jalila lowered the camera and screamed up at the ceiling.

Cujo padded his way into the bedroom, parked himself next to the bed and cocked his head.

Jalila glanced over and met her loyal friend's questioning gaze. “Don't mind me. Momma is just horny as hell.” She picked up the camera again and flashed a smile. “Now where was I? Oh, yeah—men.” She shook her head. “I know, ladies, that we've talked about all this before and I totally appreciate the whole thing about bonding and singing ‘Kumbaya' but…damn, ladies. I gotta tell you. I want a man.” She laughed at herself and then waved a finger at the lens. “And I don't mean just any man. I need a real man. You all know what I'm talking about.”

Cujo barked and swished his tail across the hardwood floor.

Jalila rolled her eyes. “Hush, you got out of the yard last week and got you a little sumpthin' sumpthin' with that German Shepherd down the street.”

Woof!

“Anyway…I know I said last week that I was just going to embrace my singlehood and be happy. Hell, I even treated myself to a dinner and a movie Wednesday night. Turns out I'm not exactly a cheap date.” She winked. “But that's not the point. Look, I know that women can do a lot for themselves. We have careers and our own money. But like Billie Dee Williams said in
Mahogany
, ‘Success means nothing without someone you love to share it with,' and he ain't never lied.”

Jalila rolled over onto her belly and panned the camera around the bedroom. “I'm tired of the other side of the bed being empty. I want to cook for more than one person. I even want to argue with someone to take the garbage out.” She turned the camera back on herself. “Ladies, I have to believe that my soul mate is out there. He just has to be.”

 

“True love,” Keenan mumbled as he strode through the door of his homey Beverly Hills mansion. What the heck did he know about love? Yeah, he loved his small close-knit family, his best friend Nitara and of course his nine-year-old dog, Chips. But that other stuff—that deep, cosmic soul-mate stuff—he was just as lost as the average Joe.

That sounded bad since he'd been married once. Looking back on it now, one could say that he'd married Tenetria more out of loyalty than anything else. And, quite frankly, he wasn't too keen about ever doing it again. In college, Tenetria had been the perfect girlfriend—pretty and fun-loving. She'd stuck by him while he struggled to make a name for himself in this crazy town. However, it was during the transition from kids to grown-ups that their problems came to light. Suddenly, Keenan didn't know the woman who carried his last name. With new eyes, he saw that his wife was petty and spoiled. And when he caught her cheating…it destroyed him.

Despite being in business with his ex-sister-in-law, Keenan didn't know what Tenetria was doing now. He never asked and was thankful that Nitara never men
tioned it. He'd dated from time to time in the five years since his divorce. Nothing serious, mainly because L.A. seemed to produce only petty and spoiled women, code for aspiring actresses and singers.

No, thank you.

So how was he going to come up with an idea for a reality show about true love?

For the past two days Nitara had hounded him about going into reality television. She'd covered his desk with budgets, profit margins, focus groups—anything and everything she could get her hands on to convince him.

In the office, he resisted the whole idea, but during his drives home and while pacing his bedroom floor, he was actually caving in to the whole idea. They could just give it a try this one season—see if they liked it. Tonight, he'd come home with his arms full of DVDs—footage of different reality shows over the past ten years. That's why he had in his other arm a cold six-pack.

Woof!
From his comfortable spot on a red velveteen doggy pillow in the den, Chips, Keenan's Great Dane, raced to the door to greet him.

“Hey, Chips.” He shifted the DVDs and gave his best friend an awkward pat on the head. “You've been good, boy?”

Woof!
Chips pivoted in a quick circle and sat back on his haunches in hopes of a quick rub behind the ears. Of course, he got his wish.

In the kitchen, Keenan dumped the DVDs on the kitchen counter, stashed the beer in the refrigerator
and poured some dog food into Chips's bowl. Without preamble, Chips attacked the food like he hadn't eaten in a week. A few times, he sounded as if he was choking.

“Slow down,” Keenan warned with a stern frown. “The food isn't going anywhere.”

Chips ignored him.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Keenan stood and washed his hands at the sink before looking into the fridge to see what Jenny, his personal chef, had prepared for him for dinner. He was in luck: fried chicken, whipped potatoes and green beans. The first time Jenny had made him fried chicken, he'd thought he'd died and gone to heaven. The old wives' tale was true when it came to him. The fastest way to his heart was through his stomach.

Before he kicked back and did his “research,” Keenan washed away the day's stress with a scorching-hot shower. He had been teased before about how he could stand such hot water, but he found it soothing.

When he shut off the water, thick clouds of steam rose out of the shower stall as he exited. In the distance, he could just barely hear the phone ringing in the bedroom. He rushed out of the bathroom, wrapping his bath towel around his hips.

“Hello?”

“Well, if it isn't the world's most elusive Hollywood producer.”

Keenan smiled. “Keisha, I've been meaning to call.”

“And I still believe in Santa Claus.”

“You never believed in Santa Claus,” he reminded her as he headed back to the bathroom for his robe.

“No thanks to you.” She chuckled. “When I was little you told me that someone shot Santa because they thought he was a burglar coming into the house.”

Keenan rocked back, laughing at the memory. “Oh, God. I can't believe you fell for that.”

“I was five…and foolishly looked up to my big brother.”

He refused to feel guilty. “I remember you running into Mom and Dad's room, yelling for them to call the police.”

“I was hysterical, you jerk.”

“You were adorable.” His laugh deepened.

“I swear. Sometimes I don't know why I bother calling you.”

“C'mon, you know you love me,” he coaxed.

“You'll do.” Keisha sighed.

“So what are you doing calling me on a Friday night?” He glanced around for a clock. “Shouldn't you be out on a hot date or something?”

Keisha clucked her tongue. “Please. I'm giving up on men.”

“You decided to come out of the closet over the phone?” Keenan laughed and shook his head. “Tacky. And you can forget about me telling Mom and Dad. You'll have to do that on your own.”

“You're not funny,” Keisha deadpanned. “And I'm not coming out of a closet. I'm just not having any luck finding a man that's worth my time. Most of these knuckleheads out here either wanna turn me into their mommas or their checkbook, and I ain't havin' it.”

Keenan rolled his eyes as he pulled on a pair of
black silk pajamas and headed back downstairs. “Is this going to be another man-bashing phone call? You do realize that I'm the so-called enemy?”

“Then you need to get your team to act right,” she sassed.

Keenan had no trouble picturing his sister rolling her eyes and swiveling her neck, which she was prone to do whenever she got pissed off. Still he couldn't resist goading her. “Have you ever considered that maybe
your
team is the problem?”

Her voice jumped an octave. “Do what?”

He snatched the phone from his ear and then gave Chips a conspiratorial wink. When he felt it was safe, he put the phone back up to his ear. His sister was still going off.

“And another thing,” she ranted. “If I can invest in myself—a good education, a good job—and take care of myself, then why can't a brother? I'm supposed to give him the bizness just because…what? He looks aight?”

Keenan just smiled as he held the phone. It was an older brother's birth right to push his baby sister's easily accessible buttons.

“Humph. Please,” Keisha said. “I'd rather curl up in my bed with a bowl of popcorn and make it a Netflix night.”

“Sounds like fun.”

“And what about you?” she challenged. “What makes you any different than me?”

She did have a point. “I'm not the one perched on a soapbox.” He removed his dinner from the microwave and grabbed a beer. But before he headed out of the
kitchen, his eyes landed on the DVDs on top of the counter. If he needed some type of show about true love or romance, then maybe he had the perfect person on the phone.

“Keisha, do you watch any reality shows?”

“Now, you know I do.” Her tone instantly turned more cheerful. “I don't miss an episode of
The Bachelor, The Bachelorette, Rock of Love, Flava of Love
…”

Keenan frowned. “All right. I get the picture.”

“Why do you ask?”

He huffed as he tucked a few DVDs under his arms. “Nitara thinks it's the way to go for next season. I have my doubts.”

Keisha squealed and Keenan almost dropped the phone. “Oh, this is great. What are you going to do? Are you going to do something with millionaires? Can I be on the show?”

“Calm down. Calm down.” He chuckled. “I haven't agreed to anything yet.”

“Yet?” she repeated and then squealed again. “When you say
yet
that means a
yes
is just around the corner.”

“Since when?” He set his plate and beer down on the coffee table and went to his sixty-inch flat-screen and DVD player.

“Since forever.” She laughed. “Do you need any help vetting the applicants?”

“Didn't you just say that you were giving up on men?”

“That was
so
twenty minutes ago.”

Laughing, Keenan turned around and caught Chips devouring his dinner. “Hey! Get away from there.”

Chips grabbed the chicken leg and took off running.

“Scoot—aw, man.” Keenan huffed at the sight of his nearly empty plate. Why on earth had he set his food down like that?

“What happened?”

“I don't want to talk about it.” He returned to the kitchen. Looked like it was going to be another night of sandwiches and chips.

“You know that I'm not the only woman that feels this way about this shortage of good men. My girl, JalilaG1000, is constantly talking about the
real
state of the black union on a weekly basis.”

“Jalila—who?”

“Oh, it's this chick I subscribe to on YouTube. She's hilarious. Whenever I watch her weekly vlog, I feel like I'm sitting in church.”

Keenan laughed. “Oookay.”

“Naw, I'm serious. You should check her out. It's JalilaG1000.”

“Yeah, I'll put it on the top of my to-do list.”

Keisha instantly caught an attitude. “Fine. Whatever. I was just trying to help
you
out.”

He put his foot in this time. “I'll check it out.”

“Naw, naw. Don't do me any favors.”

Frustrated, but also knowing just how long his sister could balance a chip on her shoulder, Keenan abandoned the contents for the sub he was making on the counter and left the kitchen. “I'll do it now,” he told her.

“Well, don't do it for me.”

“Keisha, I'm two seconds from hanging this phone up,” he warned. “I said I was going to check it out so that's what I'm doing.”

She didn't respond, but Keenan knew that she was wearing a smile as big as Texas. In his home office, he quickly booted up his computer and zipped over to YouTube. “Now what was her name again?”