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Authors: Naomi Chase

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BOOK: Deception (Tamia Luke)
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Brandon rubbed his goatee, eyes glinting with amusement. “I plead the Fifth.”
Tamia and Shanell laughed.
“
There
you are.”
Tamia’s good mood evaporated as they were joined by Cynthia, who wore a stylish pink dress with a scooped neckline and a hem that flared at the knees.
“Hey, girl.” She greeted Shanell with a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek. “How are you?”
“I’m good.” Shanell ran an admiring eye over Cynthia. “I like that dress you’re wearing. Wait—don’t tell me. Marc Jacobs?”
Cynthia laughed, nodding her head at Shanell. “You are
such
a fashionista.”
Shanell grinned. “I’ve been called worse, so I’ll take it.”
Cynthia chuckled before transferring her attention to Tamia with obvious reluctance. “Hello, Tamia. Thanks for visiting today.”
“No thanks necessary. I enjoyed the service. In fact,” Tamia added almost as an afterthought, “I might even decide to join the church.”
A quick flash of anger narrowed Cynthia’s eyes before she recovered and plastered on a bright smile. “Really? That’s wonderful. We’re always happy to welcome new members.”
Tamia smiled just as sweetly. “I’m glad to hear that.”
“Of course,” Cynthia continued, linking her arm possessively through Brandon’s, “if you change your mind and decide to attend church somewhere else—or not at all—no hard feelings.” She glanced at Brandon. “Right, baby?”
Lips quirking as he held Tamia’s gaze, Brandon murmured, “She won’t change her mind.”
Cynthia forced out a laugh. “How do you know?”
“She made a pact with God.”
Brandon and Tamia smiled at each other.
Cynthia frowned at being excluded from their private joke.
“Hey,” Shanell spoke up, trying to distract Cynthia. “We’re meeting one of Mark’s friends for lunch this afternoon. Why don’t you and Brandon join us?”
Cynthia made a face. “Thanks for the offer, but we’re having lunch at Opal’s Landing to celebrate my brother’s birthday.”
“Oooh, that fancy restaurant on the water? Girl, I’ve been dying to check out that place for months. Can we come, too?”
It was obvious that Shanell had only been joking, but Cynthia answered sharply, “No.”
Taken aback, Shanell exchanged glances with Tamia and Brandon. “Ohhhkay.”
Realizing that she’d spoken too harshly, Cynthia hastened to make amends. “Girl, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’d love for you guys to come, but the reservations were made weeks ago, and the celebration’s really only for family. You understand, don’t you?”
“Of course,” Shanell said breezily. “It’s all good. And it’s probably best that you and Brandon have other plans anyway. Mark’s friend is really feeling Tamia, so I’m sure he wouldn’t appreciate having her ex-boyfriend around.” She playfully nudged Brandon’s arm. “You know how it is.”
“Of course.” Brandon smiled lazily at Tamia. “Is that the same dude you had dinner with last night?”
Flustered, Tamia stammered, “Um, well—”
“Yup, that’s him,” Shanell intervened. “Gavin just got back from Afghanistan. Mark says he’s been asking about Tamia ever since they were introduced to each other at the club on Friday. After you left the party, Brandon, that brotha wouldn’t let Tamia out of his sight. He’s the one who suggested dinner on Saturday, then lunch this afternoon.” She grinned slyly. “After today, I’m sure he’ll want Tamia all to himself.”
Cynthia beamed with delight. “Sounds like a love connection,” she said gleefully.
Tamia glared at Shanell. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Shanell shrugged. “You never know what could happen. Anyway, we’d better go find Mark so we can get going. Definitely don’t want to keep Gavin waiting.” She smiled cheerfully at Cynthia and Brandon. “Have a good time at lunch.”
“You too.” Cynthia gave Tamia a knowing glance. “Especially
you
.”
“Thanks.” Tamia glanced at Brandon, who merely inclined his head.
As she and Shanell walked away, Tamia hissed, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Girl, watch your language. We’re in the Lord’s house, remember?”
Tamia ignored the rebuke. “Why the hell did you volunteer all that information about Gavin? I already told you I’m not feeling him like that. And I don’t want Brandon to think I’m interested in seeing another man. Another man is what broke us up!”
Shanell chuckled. “Don’t worry. I got this.”
“Got what? What are you—”
“Brandon told you to move on, right?”
Tamia frowned. “Yes.”
“So that’s what you’re doing. See, you have to let him believe that you respect his relationship with Cynthia and you’re willing to move on, which means dating other guys. You don’t want him to think you’re sitting around waiting for him to give you a second chance, even though we both know you are. Men don’t like desperate, clingy women—which Cynthia’s about to learn the hard way.” Pausing midstride, Shanell removed a compact mirror from her purse and held it up, checking her hair and makeup.
Or at least that’s what Tamia
thought
she was doing until a slow, satisfied smile curved Shanell’s lips. “Umm-hmm. Just as I thought.”
“What?”
“Brandon keeps looking back at you. When I count to three, casually glance over your shoulder. One, two—”
On
three
, Tamia did as Shanell had instructed.
Brandon and Cynthia were heading back toward the sanctuary. As Tamia watched, Brandon looked over his shoulder and met her eyes.
They stared at each other.
Tamia offered a hesitant smile.
Brandon nodded shortly before disappearing through the sanctuary doors.
Tamia swallowed hard, returning her gaze to Shanell. “He didn’t look too happy.”
Shanell grinned smugly. “That’s because he’s jealous.”
“You think so?”
“Absolutely.”
Tamia sighed, and hoped to God that her friend was right.
Chapter 11
Fiona
“Why you ain’t got a boyfriend, sexy?”
Fiona arched a brow at her client as she guided her buzzing clipper along the sides of his hair. “How do you know I don’t?”
Dark eyes searched hers in the full-length mirror that ran along one wall. “Do you?”
A coy, mysterious smile curved Fiona’s lips. “That’s for me to know and you to keep guessing.”
Monte Shaw groaned laughingly in protest. A power forward for the Houston Rockets, he was one of the first clients who’d signed with Pinnacle Sports Group after the agency opened last year. At six ten, with a wide, flat nose and skin as black as tar, he’d never be voted the best-looking player in the NBA. But what he may have lacked in conventional good looks, he more than made up for with a seven-figure salary and a cool swagger that attracted groupies wherever he went.
That Monday afternoon, he was sprawled in Fiona’s chair with his long legs stretched out as she tightened his fade. Over the past three months, he’d become one of her regulars, defecting from his longtime barber after watching Fiona work her clipper magic on another customer’s head. She’d made a believer out of him and every other patron who’d wrongly assumed that women couldn’t cut men’s hair. She now had as many clients as the shop’s other four barbers, and only
she
was known for having a “velvet touch.”
As she edged the back of Monte’s head, she bopped to the bass-thumping rhythm of Lil Wayne’s latest single. Monte watched her in the mirror, admiring her flawless mocha complexion, doe eyes, model-perfect cheekbones, juicy lips, and the glossy black hair that hung halfway down her back—all natural, thank you very much.
“For real though, shorty,” Monte drawled. “When you gon’ lemme take you out to dinner?”
Fiona laughed. “Now, you know I never mix business with pleasure.”
“Why not?”
“You’re my client, boo,” she explained. “If we started messing around and things didn’t work out between us, you’d take your business elsewhere. And if that happened enough times, I’d find myself out of a job.”
Of course, that was only
part
of the reason Fiona didn’t date her clients. The main reason was that she had her sights set higher than becoming the mistress of a professional athlete. She had her sights set on snagging her boss, the big dog himself.
Beau Chambers was the ultimate catch. Not only was he fine as hell, but he was worth millions and belonged to one of the most powerful political dynasties in Texas. His family name, combined with his talent and ambition, would undoubtedly take him very far—maybe all the way to the White House.
Why would Fiona settle for being the trophy wife of a basketball player who was one injury away from retirement when she could someday be First Lady? And what better way for her to get back at Tamia than by marrying into the family that had shunned her? Tamia had fucked up her one chance to become Mrs. Brandon Chambers, but Fiona wouldn’t be stupid enough to make the same mistake. She knew that sleeping around with the agency’s clients was
not
the way to capture Beau’s heart. She had to prove to him that despite her troubled past, she could become the woman he needed—a woman he’d be proud to call his own.
So she’d set out to reinvent herself by enrolling in college and severing ties with all the losers who’d once polluted her life. She’d started reading nonfiction books to expand her vocabulary, and she stayed up on current events so she’d be able to hold an intelligent conversation with Brandon and Beau, who had to be the smartest brothas she’d ever known.
When it came to snaring a Chambers man—and, really, either one would do—Fiona was determined to succeed where her sister had failed. So no matter how tempted she was to ride a baller’s dick and let him be her sugar daddy, she had to keep her eye on the prize.
But that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy teasing and flirting with her customers. Nothing drove a nigga crazier than being tempted with pussy he couldn’t have.
Amused at the thought, Fiona moved in front of Monte to shape the edges of his hairline. As expected, his eyes latched onto the luscious swell of her cleavage exposed by her low-cut cashmere sweater. He licked his lips and flexed his big hands, as if he were trying to restrain himself from grabbing her titties.
Fiona inwardly laughed.
Without taking his eyes off her breasts, Monte asked, “You gon’ watch my game tomorrow night, right?”
She smiled. “As soon as I get out of class, boo, I’ma run home and turn it on.”
Monte gave a satisfied nod. “That’s what’s up.”
Although the barber shop was closed on Mondays, Fiona had accommodated his request for an appointment because he’d be on the road for the rest of the week. As she cut his hair, the easy silences between them were filled with the sounds of Lil Wayne combined with voices droning from the large plasma television mounted in one corner.
As Monte watched a roundtable of ESPN sportscasters analyze the results of yesterday’s NFL games, Fiona’s gaze wandered across the lobby to the glass-fronted wellness center. She could see a few customers browsing around the general nutrition store, mulling over the wide range of vitamins, supplements, and energy and bodybuilding products.
When Dre suddenly emerged from the back offices, Fiona scowled.
That baldheaded motherfucker had been a thorn in her flesh from the day she’d started working at the barber shop. She knew he’d tried to talk Beau and Brandon out of hiring her, and he was still pissed because he hadn’t gotten his way. Every time Fiona turned around, he was mean-mugging her ass or making some snarky comment. She’d told herself to let his hateful attitude roll off her back, but it bothered her to be judged and condemned by someone who didn’t know the first thing about her, didn’t know the hell she’d suffered her whole life.
As if sensing Fiona’s glare, Dre glanced over at her.
Their gazes clashed in a tense standoff that crackled in the space between them.
Sucking her teeth, Fiona cut her eyes at him and returned her attention to Monte before she fucked up his hair.
Moments later, she was caught off guard when Dre came strolling into the barber shop.
Even as she found herself annoyed by his sudden appearance, she couldn’t help admiring the way he looked. His skin was the delicious color of a dark chocolate Hershey bar, and his heavy-lidded eyes always gave him the look of a man who’d just finished fucking. He wore dark slacks and a black polo shirt that hugged his muscular chest and showed off thick, sculpted biceps. He wasn’t quite as tall or handsome as Brandon and Beau, but he had the body of an ex-con whose religion had mandated pushing weights.
As he approached Fiona’s chair, Monte grinned broadly and called out, “Wassup, Dr. Dre?”
“Yo, wassup,” Dre responded.
Fiona watched as the two men exchanged brotherly handshakes. She didn’t bother to greet Dre, nor did he acknowledge her presence.
“So the Heat is on tomorrow night,” he remarked to Monte, referencing the Rockets’ upcoming opponent. “You ready for LeBron and D-Wade?”
“Hell, yeah,” Monte retorted with a cocky grin.
As they began discussing game strategy and stats, Fiona found herself stealing peeks at Dre. He stood with his feet braced apart and his arms folded, a thick vein running through each bulging bicep. The nigga was so cock diesel, he
had
to be working with a little dick.
Fiona snickered to herself, catching Dre’s attention.
His eyes narrowed on her face. “Something funny?”
“Yup.”
“Care to share?”
“You don’t want me to. Trust.” She finished Monte’s hair and gave his neck the Clubman Talc send-off, then removed the black cape draped over his body.
He stood and admired his reflection in the mirror. “Damn, that’s tight. Where you been all my life, baby girl?”
“That’s what
I
should be asking you,” Fiona purred.
He laughed, peeling off two crisp Benjamins that he tucked into the back pocket of her jeans before swatting her playfully on the ass.
She beamed up at him. “Thank you, Big Daddy. Have a good game tomorrow night. I’ll be watching.”
“Then I’ma dunk on LeBron
just
for you,” he promised.
“You do that.”
Monte winked at her, then slid on a pair of Gucci shades and sauntered out of the shop with Dre.
Fiona had just finished sweeping the floor when Dre returned minutes later, his eyes flashing with anger as he stalked toward her.
“Is it asking too much for you to behave like a professional who doesn’t swing around a pole for a living?” he demanded.
Taken aback, Fiona stared at him. “
Excuse
me?”
“You heard me,” he snarled. “If you wanna pop your pussy and give lap dances, go work at a fucking strip club. We’re trying to run a respectable business around here.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Fiona spat, nostrils flaring with indignation. “When have you ever seen me popping my pussy and giving lap dances?”
“You might as well have! I’ve watched the way you carry on with the customers—pushing your breasts all up in their faces, pretending to drop things so you can bend over and let them look at your ass. And what the fuck are you wearing?” he snapped, pointing an accusing finger at her exposed cleavage. “Did you leave the rest of that sweater at home or something?”
Dropping the broom, Fiona thrust her hands onto her hips. “Who the fuck do you think you are? You can’t tell me how to dress!”
“No?” Dre challenged, raising his brows. “Last I checked,
you
work for
me
. So if I decide to enforce a dress code, you’d better follow that shit!”
“Or what?”
“Or you can go work somewhere else!”
“Oh, yeah?” Fiona jeered. “Why don’t we see what Beau has to say about that when he gets back from his trip to New York. Or better yet, let’s call Brandon right now and ask him if
he’s
willing to fire me over some bullshit dress code you just made up.”
She watched with vicious satisfaction as Dre clenched his jaw so hard she thought his teeth would break. Taunting him further, she pulled out her cell phone and held it up. “I’ve got Brandon on speed dial. Shall we call him?”
Dre just glared at her.
She smirked. “I didn’t think so.”
“You need to check yourself,” he warned.
“No,
you
need to check yourself,” she spat.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“For someone who’s supposed to be running the wellness center across the lobby, you sure spend a lot of time looking over here and watching
my
every move. And now you wanna lecture me about the way I dress? Nigga, please! You’re just jealous ’cause I ain’t pushing my breasts all up in
your
face.”
Dre laughed scornfully. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I’m watching your every move, it’s because I wanna make sure you don’t steal anything. You
did
serve time for armed robbery.”
Fiona’s face burned with humiliation and fury. “Listen, you motherfucker—”
“Is there a problem here?”
The two combatants spun around to find Dre’s girlfriend standing there, her eyes narrowed with suspicion as she watched them.
“Hey, baby.” Quickly stepping away from Fiona, Dre walked over and kissed Leah on the cheek. “What’re you doing here?”
“I just got off from work and decided to swing by to see if you’d had lunch yet.” Leah frowned, tucking her hands into the pockets of her lab coat as she divided a speculative glance between Dre and Fiona. “I’m obviously interrupting something.”
“Nah, it’s all good,” Dre assured her. “Fiona and I were just having a minor disagreement about a new personnel policy.”
“Didn’t sound ‘minor’ to me. Unless I heard wrong, she called you a motherfucker.” Leah looked Fiona up and down, lips twisted disdainfully. “If that’s the way you speak to all of your employers, no wonder you lost your booth at the other salon.”
Fiona sucked her teeth. “Bitch, whatever.”
Leah’s eyes widened with outrage. “Who’re you calling a bitch?”
“The bitch I’m looking at,” Fiona retorted.
As Leah lunged forward, Dre grabbed her arm and held her back. “Come on, baby,” he said urgently. “Let’s go to lunch. I’m starving.”
Ignoring him, Leah and Fiona stared each other down.
The first time Fiona met Leah, she’d been surprised by how average looking she was. Other than her light skin and pretty amber eyes, there was nothing special about her. She had a freckled nose, thin lips, and a pointy chin, and her blue hospital scrubs hung loosely on her tall, narrow frame. Fiona would have pegged Dre as the type of brotha to have a dime-piece on his arm, not some skinny heffa who could pass for Olive Oyl’s high-yellow half sister. No wonder the man was so obsessed with Fiona’s luscious titties and phat ass. His girlfriend had neither.
BOOK: Deception (Tamia Luke)
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