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  The audience cheered and clapped feverishly.

  “I know, I know.” Monty blushed. “My wife, my baby, my Ellaina.” He pointed to Elle, who smiled and dabbed the corners of her eyes, wiping away tears of joy. “We’re proud of you, baby.”

  “Excuse me, Miss Pryce,” came from over Brooklyn’s shoulder. She knew the voice was Dominic’s.

  He continued, “May I have a word with you?”

  She turned to face him.

  “Over here, please.” He pointed to an empty corner of the room.

  Brooklyn slid off the clear bar stool and followed him. Dominic flashed a small, quick smile, then said, “Your car awaits you. Please pick up your purse and exit through the kitchen. He doesn’t want you cutting across the front of the room; it will draw attention. And it’s rude. He says he will meet you in a few hours.”

  Silence.

  “Miss Pryce.”

  Still silence.

  Brooklyn knew she needed to say something.

  But what?

  She’d willingly given Monty the remote control to her moves. Her grooves. Her where. Her when. Her how. Her soul . . . In exchange for money, attention, elevation, dick, and gifts.

  So maybe she didn’t have a right to say anything.

  But then again . . .

  She needed him to know she was more than his wet spot, his sperm urn, his freak.

  She was a feeling.

  An experience of laughter, might, and love.

  A goddamn woman.

  It was her birthday, and she wanted to celebrate it today. Not when he wanted it celebrated, how he wanted it celebrated, or where. And though she desperately wanted to leave, and she knew she didn’t need to be here, now she couldn’t go anywhere. Because there was no way she would allow him to force her out of here. Fuck that and fuck him.

  She fluttered her lashes while speaking through a tight smile. “No. Actually, hell no. Wait. Make it hell fucking no. Maybe you do what he tells you to do, but I don’t, not anymore. Therefore I will not be leaving. Tell him I’m staying. And that I am literally no longer on his fucking payroll.” She turned away, then quickly turned back. “Dominic”—she stepped in close to him—“be warned: If you bring your black ass back my way, I’ma cuss you, him, and both of y’all’s bitches all the way out on that mic tonight. And I put that on my life. Understand?” She didn’t wait for him to respond. “Understood.”

  “Everyone, please give a round of applause for my wife, First Lady Ellaina Lockhart-Fields!” Monty said as Brooklyn spun off on Dominic, leaving him standing there.

  She returned to the bar, sat down, and lightly tapped the tips of her French manicured nails on the counter, grabbing the bartender’s attention. She said, “I’ll have a shot of Crown Royal, apple. Make it a double.”

  She looked toward the front of the room, where Elle stood giving the history of her foundation and sharing why she wanted to ensure that single mothers who had been incarcerated for nonviolent crimes and their children were given second chances. “And I would like to thank my husband for his undying loyalty and support. Thank you to Mr. Stephen Himes of ICC for his sizeable donation. And a special thanks to all of you for believing that each one must truly reach one!”

  “Here you are,” the bartender said, placing Brooklyn’s drink before her. Without hesitation, she tossed it back.

  “Okay. I see you.” Came from her right. “Straight like that, huh?”

  Brooklyn blinked. She had no idea who said that, but maybe this was the opportunity she needed to release some stress and tell off whoever it was.

  She turned to see where the raspy voice had come from, and “Damn” slipped from her lips. She was torn on whether to regret it or not. Her eyes delighted in the stranger’s unexpected beauty. He had a full beard, neatly groomed. Skin shaded dark chocolate.

  Though he was seated next to her, she could tell he was tall, at least six-foot-three. Broad shoulders, big hands, long fingers, no rings. He was dressed to the nines in a navy-blue Gucci blazer, a crisp white button-down shirt, and dark blue jeans.

  Brooklyn slyly peeked at his shoes, which were crisp white shell-toe Adidas sneakers.

  Ummm. She placed the tip of her index finger in her mouth and bit down a little harder than she should’ve. The stinging in her finger forced her to realize what she was doing. She eased her finger from her mouth and turned back toward the bartender. She tapped her nails again. “One more.”

  The bartender quickly made her drink, and again she tossed it back.

  “Long day?”

  There he was again, the pretty-ass stranger. She refused to look his way. She’d had enough of men for the night. All she wanted at this moment was this glass of Crown Royal to set a fire in her chest and clear her mind, not Mister Fine trying to rap.

  She eyed him out of her peripheral view.

  No.

  There was a time and place for everything, and this wasn’t it.

  But—

  Dear God.

  “I had one of those days as well. But I’m driving, so I can’t quite toss it back like that, though I want to,” he said, while she pretended not to hear him, or be turned on by his New York accent.

  She wondered exactly what borough he was from.

  She again took a peek at him. Still fine as hell. She returned to the view of her empty glass. Then looked up in the bar’s mirrored wall and spotted Monty looking her way.

  “Say, beautiful, I’m Lorenz. What’s your name?”

  Out the corner of her eye, she saw the pretty stranger hold his hand out. The last thing she wanted to do was touch him; she might melt for sure. So, she continued to look straight ahead and left him hanging.

  “You just going to leave a brotha hanging?”

  She swallowed her smile—well, most of it—as she reluctantly accepted his gesture. She could tell he hadn’t given her his full-on grip, though his hold was still strong . . . and warm. She let his hand go and returned to her empty glass.

  He said, “Would you like—”

  “You just gon’ keep on talking, huh?” she said, looking back up and into the mirrored wall. Monty was gone.

  Lorenz chuckled. “Hell, yeah, I have to keep talking. After all, that’s how this works.”

  “How what works?” She turned and faced him.

  He locked into her gaze. “Follow me. I’m going to tell you a quick story.”

  “A story?” She said surprised. “Is that your pickup line?”

  “Maybe.” He smiled.

  “Then it better be good, because your whole rep is at risk.”

  “Ahem.” He gave her a soft wink and playfully cleared his throat, “Let me get it together now.”

  She blushed.

  He continued. “Check this out, a man, such as myself, spots a beautiful woman, such as you, from across the room. Then, as luck would have it, she comes and sits next to him, looking even prettier up close than she did from afar. She’s wearing no rings, so the man says to himself, ‘Ai’ight, it’s time to make a move.’ ”

  “‘Make a move?” She arched a brow.

  “You can’t interrupt the story. And yeah, it’s time to make a move. So, he puffs his chest a little, looks over his gear. He confirms that he’s looking fly, sharp, and he goes in for her attention.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then he says, ‘Say, beautiful, I’m Lorenz and you are?’” He gave a pregnant pause.

  “Brooklyn.” She fed him the name.

  “Aww, then he smiles about how her name is the same as the borough he’s from.”

  “Is that so?” She smiled and let a small giggle escape.

  “It’s so,” he replied, boldly flicking her chin. “Brooklynite, Ma.”

  “How long have you been out here?”

  “My family relocated to LA when I was in high school, but you know, you never leave home.”

  “Nice. So does the handsome black man in your story have a job?”

  “Of course.”
<
br />   “Doing?”

  He hesitated, and before he could answer, she said, “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re an actor looking for your big break, or a model, or some kind of starving artist.”

  “What’s wrong with any of that?”

  “It’s California dreaming. Which at the end of the day says you’re unemployed.” She shook her head. “You are too fine to be without a job.”

  “And you’re too pretty to be so opinionated and assuming. I just said I had a job. Which means, yes, I’m employed.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Prayer received. You?”

  “I’m a teacher.” She smiled, feeling a buzz from the Crown Royal shots. “A damn good one. And you know what else?”

  “No. But I’d love for you to tell me.”

  “Today’s my birthday.”

  “And you’re here to celebrate?” he asked suspiciously.

  She nodded.

  He continued, “At a fund-raiser?”

  “Don’t be so cynical. Think of it . . . as a party.”

  He laughed. “A party, huh? One where you’re just so selfless that you have given up your day to help raise money for people in need.”

  Brooklyn hesitated, and for a moment, she started to agree. Then she figured, fuck that; it wasn’t her truth. “Hell no. I mean, I’m all for giving back, but my sister and my best friend”—she pointed to Meechie and Joy on the dance floor leading the Wobble—“both thought this was my dream gift, so they purchased tickets and, well, here we are.” She shrugged.

  “I have an idea,” he said.

  “Which is?”

  “Think of it this way. Had you not come, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you that I think you are absolutely stunning, the most beautiful woman in the room.”

  She dropped her eyes, and he boldly lifted her chin. “Take the compliment. Don’t run from it.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could catch them. So, he let them fall, then sat back and watched to see how well she would take them in.

  She blushed again. “Thank you.”

  The DJ switched from dance music to Lalah Hathaway’s “Angel.” “May I have this dance?” Lorenz asked.

  “Excuse me,” came from behind them.

  They turned around.

  Monty. “My apologies for the interruption. I’m Governor Fields, and I just wanted to know if you were Brooklyn Pryce? The Brooklyn Pryce?” He gave a forced smile.

  Brooklyn paused, then said, “Well, I’ve never received the title of The before, but I’ll take it. Yes, I am the Brooklyn Pryce. And this is Lorenz.”

  Monty nodded at Lorenz, then looked back over to Brooklyn. “Miss Pryce, it’s truly my pleasure to meet you. The after-school program you recently started is said to have done some really great work and has made a positive impact on our youth. I admire that. And I just wanted to introduce myself and see if there’s anything the state can assist you with?”

  Brooklyn faked an excited smile, wondering where he was going with this. “Why, thank you.”

  “Of course.” He looked over to Lorenz. “I hope you don’t mind, but I just need to speak with Miss Pryce over here for a moment. I won’t keep her long.”

  “Not at all,” Lorenz said, eyeing them as they walked away.

  Once Monty and Brooklyn stood in the same corner Dominic had escorted her to earlier, Monty said through gritted teeth, “The fuck is wrong with you?”

  “Come again?”

  “I text and tell your ass to leave, you don’t. Then I send Dominic to escort you out. You threaten him, and now you’re in that no-good motherfucker’s face. Exactly what kind of disrespectful shit are you trying to pull?”

  “What kind of disrespectful shit did you pull when you lied to me, said you had too much on your mind to take me out for my birthday, but yet you’re here—”

  “With my wife. This is a celebration of her foundation, which is exactly why you shouldn’t be here. Are you trying to embarrass me? Did you forget your fucking place when you showed up here, or did you not give a damn? Do you really want me to call Security and have you escorted out of here?”

  Monty’s words stabbed into Brooklyn’s chest. She swallowed. Blinked. Exhaled. “Do it. ’Cause I’m not leaving. Not willingly. But I tell you what, if Security comes for me, be prepared for it all to hang out tonight. Because I will not go quietly, and when I get tossed out and into the street, I’m dragging your reputation behind me—”

  “Don’t call my bluff, Brooklyn. Because you won’t like the end result. Now, go home and wait for me.”

  “Governor Montgomery Alexander Fields the Third, I tell you what—you want me to go home? Well, the only way that I’m leaving here and going home is if you leave your wife and this foundation, and come home with me, right now, and celebrate my birthday. Otherwise, leave me the fuck alone. You and I are through.” She turned to walk away.

  He snatched her back, then quickly caught himself and let her go. He forced a smile onto his face and released his clenched jaw. He stepped into her and spoke through a tight smile. “Did you forget who I am?”

  “Absolutely not.” She straightened his tie, then swept invisible wrinkles from his shoulders. “You are the husband of Ellaina Lockhart-Fields. Your baby. Go be with her. Now, good night.” She turned to walk away, and this time he let her go.

  She retook her seat at the bar next to Lorenz. “So,” she said, pushing a smile onto her face, “where were we—”

  “Before we return to where we were, allow me to ask you this, though it’s really none of my business, but what’s up with you and the governor? Is he your ex, or your current?”

  She stared at him and did her best to see if he was serious. He was serious. “He’s married.”

  “I didn’t ask you that.”

  “I know what you asked me, and like I said, he’s married. And what would possess you to ask me such a thing? I’m insulted. You were standing here when the man introduced himself to me. I just met him. And not that I owe you an explanation, but he was informing me about a few state grants I could apply for, for my students. But given the way he snapped when I attempted to introduce you two, maybe I should be asking you what’s up.” She paused, waiting for a response.

  “Look, it wasn’t my intention to offend you. I was only asking because of the energy between you two. It seemed, well, stressed.”

  “The energy between us was of two strangers discussing business. And you didn’t answer my question.”

  “And you didn’t answer mine. But I tell you what . . .” Lorenz stood up and reached for Brooklyn’s hand. “Forget him. Let’s get back to this dance.”

  Brooklyn did her best to shake off her tension. She smiled as she stood up. “Let’s.”

  Lorenz took her by the hand and led her to the dance floor. The DJ continued to play a variety of soft and mellow tunes.

  Brooklyn slid her arms around Lorenz’s neck. He placed his hands on her hips, and they swayed to the melody.

  “You’re sweet on the eyes, you know that?” She massaged the back of his neck.

  “And you’re sweeter.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure the women in here are not pleased.”

  “And why would that be?”

  “Because I’m sure most of them were eyeing you.”

  “Doesn’t matter who was eyeing me, if I was eyeing you.” He twirled her around and pulled her back into his chest.

  She swayed deeper into the groove, laying her head between his defined pecs. His cologne was intoxicating. She melted in Lorenz’s arms while the very man she’d craved earlier today sat back with his wife, and they both watched her dance into another dimension. She spotted Joy and Meechie looking her way. They gave her a thumbs-up. She giggled.

  “What?” he asked, stroking her hair. “What’s funny?”

  “My sister and my best friend . . . Know what? It’s not important. The only thing that matters is this moment.”

  “And how long does the moment last
?” he asked.

  “As long as you want it to.”

  They danced through three numbers.

  Laughed.

  Shared stories.

  Threw all caution to the wind.

  Seduced by his touch, the hardness of his chest, and his grip on her hips, Brooklyn imagined that she was his and he was hers, all hers. Topped with the dawning sun and the sweet summer breeze, all in one. “Hey,” she said, “the story you were telling me, you never finished it. How does it end?”

  He looked into her eyes and whispered as he placed his full and soft lips against hers. “Like this.”

  Chapter 23

  Elle

  Elle sat at her bedroom vanity and looked into the mirror; the soft white bulbs that framed it were aglow. Finally, she swiped a moist makeup removal pad over each eyelid and wiped away the remnants of tonight’s smoky eye.

  Out of Elle’s peripheral view Monty sat next to their king-sized bed on the black leather chaise, fidgeting with his phone. She took in his rigid posture, knitted brows, and clenched teeth as signs of him being displeased with whatever was, or wasn’t, on the phone’s screen. Once Elle was done cleaning her face, she would know what exactly had pissed him off.

  Monty placed his phone face down on the nightstand and looked over at Elle, who was now moisturizing her face. She’d been quiet for most of the ride from the fund-raiser to their hilltop Spanish revival in Sacramento; the only sound she’d made was an exhausted sigh, when the driver pulled into their circular terra-cotta driveway and opened the car’s door.

  Monty needed Elle’s words; for her to say something, anything, to push Brooklyn out of his thoughts. Otherwise, he might get dressed and leave. His mission: Get Brooklyn back in line or kick her goddamn ass. He had enough to deal with when it came to media-driven scandals and simply being governor. He didn’t need Brooklyn’s shit. Tonight, she’d gone too far. Done way too much. And with Elle being there, it handicapped him from snatching Brooklyn by the shoulders and shaking her into remembering where she’d come from.