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  She could tell that her questions were taking Dylan off guard. He’d blinked quickly and then looked away with an exasperated sigh.

  “So now because you want to make sure Garrett doesn’t get me or the job, you find yourself in the center of what could be a professionally disastrous blackmail scheme for you and your father.”

  “You’re in the pictures too, Cris. How do you think prospective firms are going to look at you when you apply to them now? This could hurt both of us all because I couldn’t keep things separate. For the past nine years there was no problem keeping my secret, but the moment you followed me to Chicago and made that bid, all that changed.”

  He was serious. He really thought she was to blame for this situation. A part of Cris wanted to weep with the pain of that realization. Another part wanted to reach out and smack the taste out of Dylan’s mouth.

  She did neither.

  “I’ll speak to Garrett. He won’t share those pictures with anyone, so you can stop worrying about that. I’m also going to take a few steps back from whatever this was that we were doing. I have a new career direction that I’m heading in and I’ll need all my time and energy devoted to making that happen. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  Cris’s fingers had been digging into the soft leather of her purse as she’d held it in front of her these past few minutes. Her chest felt tight, her cheeks were warm and damn those ridiculous tears threatened to fall at any minute. The very last thing Cris wanted was to cry over Dylan, and she especially did not want to do it in front of him. She took a slow steadying breath and mustered a smile.

  “We were always able to be honest with each other about anything. I think that’s what I was looking forward to most about returning to D.C. I thought I’d come back to my best friend and biggest supporter and would finally find a rewarding job that I could be proud of. If we finally decided to act on the desire that had been on a slow simmer between us years ago, cool beans.” She gave a nervous chuckle, but a sob was burning in the back of her throat.

  “I’m not too proud to admit when I’m wrong. And before you start to think that this has something to do with your sexual preference, let me stop you right there. What you do at the club, what you figured out you like, it isn’t so bad, Dylan. You’re not causing physical harm or disrespecting anyone. You’re an adult and you spend your personal time with other consenting adults. As far as I’m concerned that’s more commendable than what many other people out here are doing in what they deem “traditional” relationships. No, the situation you’re grappling with right now doesn’t even have much to do with Garrett and his antics. This is all about you. It’s about the life you believe you’ve been ordained to have. It’s about the resentment you still hold against your parents and your inability to actually live on your own terms, regardless of how you try to convince yourself otherwise. None of that has anything to do with me. So I’m going to step away and let you do what you do best, live your life the way you see fit. Even if that life keeps you and all that you could give and receive in a bottle filled with fear.”

  Cris wanted to say more. She wanted to say something that might possibly get through to him, but the tears wanted their freedom more. So she turned at that moment and walked as fast as she could without actually running out of his office. During her hasty dissent she heard Gwen call out to her but all she could do was shake her head and keep moving. She’d send the woman a card or something later just so she’d know that it wasn’t anything personal. Thankfully the elevator came quickly and Cris was soon behind its closed doors. The first tear fell before she’d made it through the lobby of the building.

  It was after eight that evening and Dylan was still in the office. He’d had a mountain of work to do.

  But he hadn’t done any of it.

  Instead, he’d been troubleshooting and thinking. Lots of thinking.

  For the first hour after Cris had stormed out of his office, Dylan remained rooted to that spot in front of his desk. His backside had grown sore from leaning on the edge of his desk, but he hadn’t been able to move, not until he’d thought through every word that she’d said. That had taken him longer than he would have imagined because for the first time in his life a situation was not black and white or cut and dry. There was no clear answer, or any sound reasoning to lead him to a final resolution. All there was were emotions swirling and tangling inside of him causing the exact amount of havoc he always knew they would.

  The ringing of his desk phone had interrupted him and Dylan returned to the other side of his desk. He did not answer the call, but let it roll over to Gwen’s desk. Dylan knew his assistant had seen Cris leave in a hurry. He was also certain that Gwen would have picked up on how upset Cris was. When Gwen hadn’t come into his office to find out what he’d done to Cris, immediately after Cris’s departure, he knew she wouldn’t. She was probably pissed off at him as well. Dylan had been doing a fine job of irritating the people he cared about most.

  The next thing Dylan had done that afternoon was call The Corporation. Within the secret organization was a unit called The Cleaners. Dylan was transferred to a representative in that unit and reported his situation with Garrett. After writing the claim number and representative’s name on a notepad, Dylan disconnected the call. Within the hour the representative would have a solution in play for how to get rid of those pictures and any future threat to their secret society. It was a perk to being a platinum member. There would be no physical harm done to anyone involved, but Garrett would be presented with an option that he could not refuse to delete all pictures and never entertain the idea of revealing the club or any of its members again.

  As a secondary precaution, Dylan had called his father.

  “Good to hear from you, son,” Hanson said the moment his assistant had patched the call through to him.

  “There’s a situation I think you need to know about,” Dylan had immediately begun.

  There were no real formalities between Dylan and Hanson, no sentiments or emotional connections. It was the same with his mother, even though Demetria did insist that Dylan have dinner with her on her birthday and brunch with her and Hanson on Christmas Day if they were in town. That was as close to a family gathering as Dylan had ever experienced with his parents.

  “What is it?” was Hanson’s instant question.

  Dylan had given an abbreviated version of the story, surprising himself by talking about his connection to an exclusive sex club with as much ease as he would have talked about current laws that needed to be changed.

  “Well, that’s a mess, but The Cleaners will handle it,” Hanson replied.

  “What did you just say?” Dylan hadn’t mentioned anything about The Cleaners in his story. He’d only told his father that he had someone taking care of containment.

  Hanson cleared his throat. “The Washington D.C. branch of The Corporation is one of the largest and most profitable in the country. In the last four years its membership has grown to come in second to Los Angeles’s and was a few hundred over New York’s.”

  Dylan had been rubbing a hand over his jaw while his temples throbbed. “And you’re one of those members,” he stated dryly. He did not want to think of his parents as members at The Corporation. And he definitely did not want to know if his father was going to the club alone.

  “It’s something to do,” Hanson answered. “Now, your situation will be handled and I trust that you’ll be more careful in the future.”

  The not-so-gentle chastisement rubbed over Dylan like a thick wool sweater, scratching his skin with irritation.

  “I’ll take care of myself and my business from now on.”

  “There’s no need to get testy, Dylan. Every member pays for the protection The Corporation offers. It’s a wonderful benefit. I’ve known others who have found themselves in sticky situations as a result of visiting the club. It happens. I’m just telling my son to be more careful in the future. I’m scheduled to formally announce my run for the presi
dency the first of the year and your mother is in the process of restructuring her company so that she’ll be more available for the campaign. I expect you to do your part as well. I have plans to bring one of the youngest black partners at a prestigious D.C. firm on the campaign trail too.”

  That’s exactly what Dylan was to him, the son of a senator turned presidential candidate. Never just his “son”.

  “I have to get back to work,” Dylan had said and ended the call with the one man from whom he’d expected so much more.

  Hours had passed after that call with Dylan still thinking, contemplating every decision he’d ever made and the reason behind them. It all made him wonder if Cris had been right. Was he living his life in fear?

  Now, Dylan’s stomach growled and he looked up at the clock on his wall to see that it was ten minutes after eight. He’d skipped lunch and dinner. His cell phone rang and thoughts of food were lost as he saw the name and number on the screen.

  “Hey, Mama Peaches,” he answered.

  “Hi, Dylan. I’m just checking on you. Want to find out how your date went?”

  “The date was weeks ago,” he told her. “But it went, um, okay.” He didn’t really know how to put into words how life-altering that date had been.

  “You still seeing that pretty little lady? You know she sent me an email early this morning asking how the project was going. I thought that was real nice of her to keep in touch,” Mama Peaches told him.

  “Yes. It was,” Dylan agreed but wasn’t totally sure why Cris would have reached out to Mama Peaches. She had mentioned to him that she thought the project was a good idea which is why she had no problem donating, but Dylan was still shocked to hear that she’d sent Mama Peaches an email.

  “She said she just relocated to D.C. so I was thinking that it would be good if you two could see more of each other.”

  “You don’t even know her, Mama Peaches,” Dylan said with a shake of his head. Even though he wondered if the woman had a sixth sense. How had she known to call at the exact time Dylan was contemplating what to do about Cris?

  “Besides, I’m not into dating and relationships.” That declaration sounded hollow to his ears but Dylan couldn’t take it back.

  “You can get into anything you want, Dylan. I knew that after I found out about that ‘ole club you went to.”

  “What?” This was not possible. “What club?”

  “Remember when you came back for Harold’s funeral? You and a few of my Gents stayed at the house with me. It was just like old times with you boys that week, except instead of y’all leaving tennis shoes and video games all around the house, you had your keys and cell phones scattered about. I was moving your keys and phone to put them near your coat one morning and I saw the card from a place called The Corporation. Took me and Geraldine a couple weeks to figure out what kinda place that was. But when we did I told Geraldine it was ‘cause you were always so lonely. No matter how many people had lived in this house when you were here, you came alone and you left the same way. Poor chile.”

  Dylan was all set to be irritated that she knew he went to a club to pay for sex, until she’d said those last words. Her voice had changed to that of the woman who had wrapped her arms around him the first night he’d been in her house. Dylan hadn’t wanted to be there in Chicago, but the problem was there was really no other place he longed to be because it wasn’t like he’d had any real home to miss. But there’d been something about the way it felt being held in her arms and how she’d whispered to him, “Poor chile always being left behind. Well, you’ve got a home here with Mama Peaches, for as long as you want it.”

  Yes, he’d been a seventeen year-old boy at the time and shouldn’t have needed a hug from some strange grandmotherly figure, but he’d never forgotten that night or how loved Mama Peaches had always made him feel.

  “Now you listen to me, Dylan. Ain’t nothing in that club gonna ever love you the way you deserve to be loved. And if that pretty little woman who paid all that money for one night with you isn’t worthy of you, then so be it. But it’s past time you got off your pity perch and opened your heart and mind to love. Harold and I had it for a real long time and that’s the type of happiness I want for all of my boys.”

  Dylan didn’t have a reply to that and it was seemingly okay, because Mama Peaches quickly hopped to another subject, telling him about the progress of the restoration project and a few legal snags they’d run into in the process. Before hanging up the phone Dylan thanked her, not only for saving him when he was a teenager, but also for inspiring him to fight for something now that he was an adult.

  11

  Two Weeks Later

  South Carolina

  Jeremiah and Celestine Palmer may have lived what some in their town called an uppity life for a black family, but whenever they had a party they hired a band and a DJ who knew exactly when to play Candy by Cameo. At which time Celestine, who had seen The Best Man movie a kazillion times, would be first on the floor to start the electric slide. Tonight, Jeremiah followed his wife and so did a good portion of the one hundred and fifty guests who had come to celebrate Jeremiah’s birthday.

  Cris sat at the head table alone, because every member of her family was on the dance floor. She normally danced the night away at her parents’ parties and celebrating her father’s 60th birthday was definitely cause for celebration, but she just wasn’t in the mood tonight. It had been two weeks since she’d seen or heard from Dylan. After leaving his office she’d taken a long walk to clear her mind and yes, to continue crying those foolish tears.

  That was the moment when she detested everyone who’d ever warned friends not to become romantically involved. And likewise to those who said it was great to fall in love with their best friend. How could she have been so stupid?

  Except Cris didn’t think she’d been stupid at all. She was certain she hadn’t misread the underlying desire in the relationship between her and Dylan. And she was even more positive that after the time they’d spent together in her hotel and at The Corporation that they’d grown closer. Dylan’s anger and retreat should have also been foreseen, after all, she knew him very well. Dylan did not do relationships and commitment. He’d reminded her of that fact and she’d chosen to ignore him. That, she would take the heat for, but the rest—the fear that kept Dylan pulling away from her and any other real happiness in his life, she was laying that right at his feet.

  As for Garrett’s part in this scenario, Cris had tried to call and talk to him about those pictures. She’d actually planned to threaten him with the fact that she knew he and Tisha had cheated on the LSATs. If she sent a letter to the D.C. Bar with the proof she had of that—notes she’d found in the dorm room after Tisha had moved out their senior year—they would definitely be disbarred. But by the time she’d gotten Garrett on the phone, he was already promising to never show the pictures and apologized profusely to Cris for even attempting the blackmail scheme. He’d also apologized for all the pain he’d caused her in the past and swore to never try to come on to her again. The entire conversation had been weird but Cris was glad that in the end Dylan, nor his father’s job would be in danger because of those pictures.

  After that, Cris had turned all her attention to working on her new project. She’d decided it was asinine not to use the money in her trust fund. It was silly to feel like she was taking a hand-out, when the money was hers to spend. With that in mind Cris had contacted a realtor and the minute she returned to D.C. she would start a search for a house to buy.

  “Hey girl, you better get on up here and dance.” Melissa Frank worked at Cris’s father’s insurance company. She was dancing close to the table where Cris was sitting.

  “Maybe next song,” Cris yelled back in response.

  Probably not, she didn’t really feel like dancing. She felt like spending even more of her time thinking, which is all it felt like she’d been doing for the last couple of weeks. That changed the moment Melissa hit a turn on the dance f
loor which allowed Cris to see the guy dancing on the other side of her.

  Cris sat up in the chair her eyes glued to Dylan as he moved to the beat of the music in a way no other person on that dance floor was. Of course he was doing all the correct moves, it was just the way he was doing them. That plus how good he looked wearing dark blue jeans, a crisp white chambray shirt and chocolate brown suede shoes. His hair was neatly trimmed, his body looked even more toned than it had been just two weeks ago, and his smile…it took her breath away. Dylan hadn’t smiled much in the weeks that she’d been back in D.C. Yes, he’d joked with her about their past and seemed to enjoy their time together, even when they weren’t having sex, but he never smiled the way he was right now.

  When he caught her staring at him, Dylan crocked a finger, beckoning her to join him on the floor. Cris wasn’t in the mood for dancing, at least that’s what she’d just told herself a few seconds ago, but now she was standing and walking toward Dylan before the dance took him on another turn. Once she was beside him, full of questions, Cris simply fell into step, moving along with the crowd. In seconds she was laughing and enjoying the feel of moving to the rhythm combined with the low buzz of energy starting to fizz between her and Dylan.

  When the dance was over Dylan took Cris’s hand and walked her off the floor and into the lobby of the country club where the party was being held.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked the moment they stood off to a quiet corner.

  “I came here to say some things to you,” he started.

  “Wait, if this is about what happened,” she began. Cris was going to tell him that she didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to rehash how he felt or why he felt it necessary to push her away. She actually didn’t know what she wanted to hear from Dylan or how she should be reacting to him at this moment. All she knew was that he was here and looking damn sexy.