Black Butterfly (12 page)

“Which is exactly why we’re here,” Sydney said. She climbed onto the left side of the bed and Trish got in on the right, sandwiching Portia in the middle.

Portia smiled in spite of herself, accepting the warmth their sisterhood brought. The trio crammed into her full-sized bed. Sydney sat the popcorn bowl down in Portia’s lap. The movie played, and they laughed and jeered, just as they always did. Trish’s favorite part—the rehearsal lunch—came on, and she got up in front of the TV, singing.

Sydney and Portia picked up the chorus from the bed, and then jumped in as her backup singers. Trish grabbed the remote to use it as a microphone as she stood on the bed, performing the lead again while the two other girls danced around. Then they sang the chorus together, with Sydney and Portia shaking their hips and waving their arms in the air as Trish slung her long, blond hair around like a rock star while jumping up and down on the bed.

Their wild laughter filled the air. Each of them collapsed in a finale on top of each other, trying to catch their breaths. Then Portia looked over at Sydney and her smile faded. “I’m so sorry for accusing you of, you know. It’s my shit, not yours. It was unfair of me to dump it all on you.” Sydney swallowed, trying to catch her breath. She squeezed Portia’s knee. “What happened, girl?” she asked.

Sitting on the bed Indian-style, Trish grabbed Portia’s hand, dying to know what could rob Portia of her confidence and spunk. “I want to know too. Tell us what happened.” Portia pulled her hand away. She used both hands to move her hair away from her face. “I got burned, guys. You both told me that one day it would happen, and it did. I went to that dude’s studio, convinced that I could get what I wanted by using my body, and he attacked me.”

“He did what?”

Portia gave a wicked grin. “He attacked my character, and I split his head!” Sydney rolled her eyes. “Girl! Good grief, Portia!”

Trish frowned. “Portia, you have to stop doing this. It’s not safe.”

“I’ve learned my lesson. I feel so dirty and used. He was a creep, and I don’t ever want to see his smug ass again.”

“Who was he?” Trish asked.

“I’d rather not say.” Portia sighed. “He’s important in the industry. I just want to forget it.” Sydney knew Portia’s real reason for keeping his identity a secret. Her friend hadn’t learned her lesson, and if their paths crossed again, she’d make another move. Crazy as it sounded, that’s how Portia’s mind worked. Sydney held her tongue for calling her out on it. She touched her knee. “Portia, you are so beautiful and talented. Why you do these things, I’ll never understand. I’m just glad you won’t be doing this again.” Portia got off the floor. “Nope, it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t have a career. The man I attacked could ruin me. Hell, there is no me. I can kiss getting into Ford goodbye.” Trish shook her head. “We don’t quit around here! We just don’t do it! You dust yourself off and go right back out there.”

Portia smiled, but she didn’t look convinced. After a moment, she put her hands on her hips. “Well since you put it like that!” she said and laughed.

“Hey, that’s it, girls. Got to be up with the chickens. ’Night!” Sydney said, rising from the floor.

“’Night!” Trish and Portia said in unison. Then Trish joined Portia in her bed, and together they finished off the popcorn and movie under Portia’s covers.

Sydney walked to her room, picking up her backpack along the way. Closing her door, she sat on the bed and pulled out the packet with her contract and information on the show. Nolen’s card fell out, and she picked it up. She thought about Mendoza and felt a chill. Her heart hurt over Ricky’s accusation. He was the only one to whom she’d revealed that nightmare. The tears she shed while in his arms recanting the ugly story did nothing for the shame she carried at being so trusting. Could Nolen Adams be a man like Mendoza? Was she supposed to be afraid of any and every man outside of Ricky’s shadow?

There were a hundred and one reasons why she should tear up Nolen’s card, but somehow she couldn’t.

Whether it was his seductive voice or jeweled eyes, this man had her head spinning. Nolen Adams wasn’t Mr.

Mendoza. And she wasn’t going to be that girl who thought he was—a girl led by fear, not common sense.

Exhaling a deep breath, she reached over to her nightstand and grabbed her phone.

“Adams,” said the voice on the other end.

“Hi,” she said softly.

Nolen fell silent for a moment, and then he spoke with uncertainty. “Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Sydney. Sorry if it’s late.”

“This is a surprise.”

“Why? You were so confident that I’d call.”

“My confidence hasn’t gotten me very far, has it?”

She laughed lightly. “I guess not.”

“So I assume that you’re taking me up on dinner?”

Twirling the cord between her fingers, she thought about it. “Yes, actually, I am. I figured the sooner I get this over with, the sooner we can move on to a good working relationship.”

“Yes, let’s get it over with.”

“Shall we do this tomorrow around seven?”

“Do what? You haven’t told me where we’re going.”

Sydney smirked. “That information will only be revealed to your driver. Oh, and bring an extra pair of thick socks.”

“Socks?”

Sydney laughed. “Good night.”

“I look forward to it, Sydney.”

“Me too,” she said, then hung up.

Staring at his business card, she thought about what she’d told Trish. He did listen to her, and it felt good to be more than Sydney in someone’s eyes. She would teach this Wall Street golden boy how to go out on a date. Smiling, she tossed the card to the side and picked up her packet. The future looked bright.

Chapter 6

The Date

From the back of the limo he scanned the contents of the folder. En route to the Scott Harris’s office, Nolen was pleased over his chance to resume control. Annemarie had uncovered the name and address of the Chief Operating Officer at Hollister’s secret love. After some convincing, the transsexual had agreed to give up all she knew for a small fee. One leak to the press and it was game over.

“Her name is Serena. She says that Harris has some particular tastes. She’s itching to tell that story,” Annemarie said as he closed the folder.

“That may not be necessary. The board is considering taking Hollister public. If my company is chosen to manage their investment portfolio everything will go as planned. We just need to be more convincing. Well done, Annemarie.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The limo pulled up to the curb of a tall skyscraper in the heart of Manhattan. Nolen and Annemarie got out to a small press crowd gathered for some protesters angered by the capitalist greed of corporate companies like Hollister. Their presence was a clear reminder of the media melee that would ensue if the C.O.O.’s little time bomb exploded in the city’s face. It was the kind of attention Nolen also wanted to avoid, which meant the stakes were even higher. His firm was legit to all that mattered, especially the SEC. He intended to keep it this way. Nolen strolled through the building’s doors with squared shoulders; confident that he was the one dealt the winning hand.

Annemarie hurried at his side. She reminded him of the board members’ names who needed convincing versus those that were already on their side. To Nolen she was the most loyal person in his life, but even he tired of her cool detachment. She’s almost robotic in how she ran his business.

He half-listened, he thought about how stiff and orderly his life had become. As a kid, he and his father thrived on chaos. His mother chose to remain willfully blind to it all. Now Nolen craved order. It kept him focused, less willing to take risks. The stumbles he made earlier in life and love he blamed his mother. Sure she did better with his kid brother, but she never truly fought for him to remain a child. Considering all that Nolen had done before his father’s convenient death and his mother’s remarriage he should not be who he was today.

At the security line, Nolen watched a man being searched. After 9-11 many buildings required a full screening of visitors. There was a federal bank on the second level of this one that made it a necessity. The short, pudgy gentleman stepped out of his shoes, believing they were hindering his passage. Nolen’s thoughts turned to his evening plans instead of the routine search. The man’s bare feet reminded him of Sydney’s request that he wear socks for their date, and he frowned at the strange request.

“Sir?” Annemarie asked.

He looked up and realized his assistant and the guard waited. He stepped through the metal detector and continued to the elevator. When they arrived at the correct floor, someone from the executive office greeted them. Nolen vaguely remembered the woman from a prior meeting. “Mr. Adams?” she asked. “Hello, we’ve been expecting you.”

Nolen gave her a nod. “Scott Harris?”

“He’s waiting for you with the board of directors in the conference room if you will please follow––” Nolen didn’t move. “I’ll need to meet with Harris first, alone,” he said.

“I beg your pardon?”

Nolen gave her a thin-lipped smirk. “Tell him I have a message from Serena. He may want to hear it in private.”

The woman’s glasses slipped down her nose, and her eyes lifted just above the rim. “I . . . well, um, excuse me.”

She walked off, looking back twice. Nolen watched her go through the glass doors where several of the directors and board members congregated. She whispered in Scott Harris’s ear. He looked up at Nolen and his face paled. Nolen gave him a curt nod, which prompted Harris to rise, excuse himself, and slip out of the conference room.

“Adams! Glad to see you,” he said with a forced smile. “Let’s talk in my office.”

“Yes, let’s.”

Sydney dropped the plate in front of the scruffy sanitation worker. She tried to ignore the grease and dirt caked around his fingernails.

“Thanks, sunshine,” he said, grinning from under his workman’s cap.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” she said, passing him additional napkins, hoping he’d use one.

She patted his shoulder and turned away. Before heading to the next table, she looked up to see Ricky walk in.

Dressed in jeans and his black motorcycle jacket, he looked around in search of her. From the corner of her eye she spotted Carla coming down the aisle with food.

“Can you cover for me while I take fifteen?” Sydney asked.

“Yeah, go ahead. I got it,” Carla said and shrugged.

Sydney navigated around the eating customers, capturing his eyes with hers. “Hey, you, what you doing here? Can’t be the food.”

Ricky gave her a sly smile. “Came to see you, love, since you won’t return my calls.”

“Come with me,” she said, nodding for him to follow her. She led him to a semi-private booth in the corner, out of her manager’s view. Sliding inside, he snuggled up beside her. “I’m so sorry, baby girl. I shouldn’t have treated you that way. I’m a bloody idiot.”

“It’s ok, really. I’m glad you came. We need to talk.”

Ricky smelled of Kemi-Oyl and leather. He had a powerful presence, and even she couldn’t deny the physical attraction between them. But for months there had been something missing. He looked into her eyes and gave her that boyish smile that had seduced many before her, according to Portia.

“Speak your mind,” he said, touching her hair.

Sydney turned in the booth, putting her back closer to the wall so that she could face him. “I like you a lot, Ricky. I really do, and I love our friendship. I mean I’ve always loved being with you.”

“I don’t like the sound of this,” he said, drawing back. She reached and touched his hand. “Hey, listen to me,” she said. “You know you deserve somebody that can give you more than what we have. Sometimes I think I take advantage of your feelings for me.”

“Why would you say that? Why would you think it? Is this about the other night?”

“No. Well yes and no. It’s about us. I can only think about what I need right now. The rehearsals are going to be grueling the next couple of months, and we have this choreographer that’s more of a dictator than an instructor. She has it in for me. I can’t give you the love and attention that you’ve shared so freely with me.

C’mon, Ricky, to be honest I haven’t, even before now, and we both know that’s not what you want.”

“Yo, that’s bullshit, Sydney. Have I ever asked you for more? We’ve seen each other for months now and I haven’t pressured you for sex. Something else is up. Tell me.” Sydney heaved a thoughtful sigh. “Ricky.”

“I’m serious, baby girl. You know how I feel about you. Tell me what it is.”

“I’m going out on a date with someone tonight.”

Ricky’s brows drew together in an agonized expression. A muscle flicked angrily in his jaw. Raw hurt glittered in his dark eyes. “You’re what?”

“I’m trying to be honest with you. I’ve always been honest. It’s what our friendship is based on. Honesty, right?”

“Wait . . . wait . . . who is this fool?”

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not going out with him to make you jealous.”

“Damnit, Sydney!” She pulled back and stared at him. Ricky hit his head against the booth, then wiped his hand down his face. “Why?”

“Why not? I’ve spent so much time doing what’s expected of me. You guys try to shield me too much, and I appreciate it. I do. But I’m tired of it.”

“You aren’t making any sense, love. Here you say that you’re trying to focus on your big break and you can’t focus on my feelings for you, feelings that just the other week you said you were beginning to share. Now you’re going out with another man? You talk about wanting to be in control, but to me it’s like you’re just as confused as always.”

“Maybe I am confused, maybe it’s because the people that claim to be my friends spend more time criticizing me than supporting me! All my life I’ve done as I was told. Back in Carolina I couldn’t stop to tie my shoe without asking for permission. And here? Here I was thinking New York would be different, that I’m free and clear in the big city, but you and Portia act like I might walk into a wall without your instruction.”

“What about what happened the last time you went off without instruction?” he shot back.