The Deal the Dance and the Devil Read online

  Praise for SINS OF THE MOTHER

  “Sins of the Mother shows that when the going gets tough, it’s best to make an effort and rely on God’s strength. It gives the message that there is hope no matter what, and that people must have faith.”

  —FictionAddict.com

  “Ha[s] a great blend of faith, reality, conflict, and just enough heartbreaking scenes to keep you enthralled.”

  —HelloBeautiful.com

  “Final word: Christian fiction with a powerful kick.”

  —Afro.com

  Praise for LADY JASMINE

  “She’s back! Jasmine has wreaked havoc in three VCM novels, including last year’s Too Little, Too Late. In Lady Jasmine the schemer everyone loves to loathe breaks several commandments by the third chapter.”

  —Essence

  “Jasmine is the kind of character who doesn’t sit comfortably on a page. She’s the kind who jumps inside a reader’s head, runs around and stirs up trouble—the kind who stays with the reader long after the last page is turned.”

  —The Huntsville Times (Alabama)

  Praise for TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE

  “[In this book] there are so many hidden messages about love, life, faith, and forgiveness. Murray’s vividness of faith is inspirational.”

  —The Clarion-Ledger (Jackson, Mississippi)

  “An excellent entry in the Jasmine Larson Bush Christian lit saga; perhaps the best so far. … Fans will appreciate this fine tale. … A well-written, intense drama.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  Praise for THE EX FILES

  “The engrossing transitions the women go through make compelling reading. … Murray’s vivid portrait of how faith can move mountains and heal relationships should inspire.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Reminds you of things that women will do if their hearts are broken. … Once you pick this book up, you will not put it down.”

  —UrbanReviews.com

  Praise for A SIN AND A SHAME

  “Riveting, emotionally charged, and spiritually deep … What is admirable is the author’s ability to hold the reader in suspense until the very last paragraph of the novel! A Sin and a Shame is a must read. … Truly a story to be enjoyed and pondered upon!”

  —RomanceInColor.com

  “A Sin and a Shame is Victoria Christopher Murray at her best. … A page-turner that I couldn’t put down as I was too eager to see what scandalous thing Jasmine would do next. And to watch Jasmine’s spiritual growth was a testament to Victoria’s talents. An engrossing tale of how God’s grace covers us all. I absolutely loved this book!”

  —ReShonda Tate Billingsley, Essence bestselling author of

  I Know I’ve Been Changed

  ALSO BY VICTORIA CHRISTOPHER MURRAY

  Sins of the Mother

  Lady Jasmine

  Too Little, Too Late

  The Ex Files

  A Sin and a Shame

  Grown Folks Business

  Truth Be Told

  Temptation

  Joy

  Blessed Assurance (contributor)

  Touchstone

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2011 by Victoria Christopher Murray

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Touchstone Subsidiary Rights Department, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020.

  First Touchstone trade paperback edition June 2011

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  Manufactured in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ISBN 978-1-4391-9425-6

  ISBN 978-1-4391-9426-3 (ebook)

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to two very special people whom I lost the very same week in 2010.

  My uncle, Elmer Yearwood. Second to my father, there is no man on earth who had a greater impact on my life. From my earliest days he cared about me, nurtured me, and loved me so that I would grow into the woman I am today. I pray that I made him proud. I will always love you, Uncle Elmer. Rest in God’s hands.

  My agent, Elaine Koster. Until her death in August, Elaine was the only agent I’d had. From the very beginning, she believed in me, told me that I had amazing talent, and said that she hoped to build my career to “the greatest heights.” (She said that at least once a year.) Her belief in me helped me to believe and I will always be grateful that God chose her to help build my career. Thank you, Elaine. RIP.

  The Deal, the Dance, and the Devil

  Chapter 1

  FIVE MILLION DOLLARS.

  All I could do was stare at the check. To be sure, I counted again: Seven figures, two commas. Yup, this was definitely five million.

  I could have stared at those numbers all day, but I had to look up and at my boss, Shay-Shaunté.

  My eyes asked the questions; she explained, “That’s for you,” and then she leaned back in what I called her throne—a snake-skinned upholstered executive chair with a back that was six feet high. She smiled as if she gave out seven-figure checks on the regular.

  That’s when I started laughing—hard. There had to be a joke in here somewhere, and I figured I’d get a head start before Shay-Shaunté filled me in. But she didn’t laugh; she didn’t chuckle, she didn’t even blink. Just smiled, as if she was waiting for me to get it together.

  That’s when my heart started thumping. Could this five-million-dollar check made out to me, Evia Langston, be real?

  The thought made me weak. Made me fall into the leather chair in front of her desk.

  Okay, keep breathing, I told myself. First, I inhaled, then I did just the opposite. Deep inside I knew this was one of those too-good-to-be-true moments, but for a second I pushed aside the question of why anybody would give me five million dollars and thought instead about how desperately Adam and I needed this money.

  “Oh, my God!” I said under my breath. “This will save our lives.”

  I didn’t mean to say that out loud, but I guess I did, because Shay-Shaunté said, “That’s what I was thinking.”

  My eyes burned; tears were on the way. But just when I was about to get down on my knees and thank God and Shay-Shaunté, that ringing in my heart started.

  Oh, no! I wasn’t trying to hear that. I tried to shake it away, but it trilled all the way down to my soul.

  When I was a kid, Big Mama told me that all God’s children had His voice inside them. Well, I didn’t have a voice; what I had was more like an alarm clock, but however it sounded, my grandmother told me it should never be ignored.

  “It’s the love of the Lord, warnin’ you when somethin’ ain’t right. Never turn your back on the Lord, chile, or you’ll find yourself knee-deep in the devil’s trouble.”

  From the time I was ten till now, Big Mama’s words had been nothing but the truth. Every time I heard that alarm, I sat down and thought things through. But I didn’t want to do too much thinking about this. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to listen to God; it was just that I didn’t want Hi
m to do too much talking right about now. ’Cause I was sure that if He spoke, it could mess up this whole five-million-dollar thing that I had going on.

  “What is this?” I spoke with a calm I didn’t feel. The check was still clenched in my palm; my plan was to never let it go.

  My boss tossed her auburn-streaked hair away from her face. “I’m assuming you’re not really asking me what that is, since you know it’s a check.” She stood, did one of those model-sway strolls toward me, perched her butt on the corner of her glass desk, and stretched out her long legs. “Let’s call this a fee … for services rendered.”

  What kind of services would have to be rendered to get a five-million-dollar fee?

  I knew it; this had to be a joke.

  I’d worked for Shay-Shaunté for six years as one of two executive assistants. Basically, I was her right hand, in charge of numbers and anything else she didn’t want to handle in her hair care empire. In that role, I’d done lots of things—including putting together all the investor reports (since I’d been an accounting major in college) and working on other stuff till the clock ticked way past midnight sometimes. Occasionally, I even traveled with Shay-Shaunté when Rachel Stone, the other executive assistant, couldn’t.

  But even with that plateload of responsibility, in the more than two thousand days that I’d been employed by Shay-Shaunté and her company, Ferossity, I’d never done anything that came close to earning five million dollars—not even if you added all two thousand days together and multiplied by three.

  Then, Shay-Shaunté explained, “My birthday’s coming up.”

  Dang! Now I knew for sure that this check and I were soon going to be parted.

  I knew that Shay-Shaunté’s birthday was approaching—though I doubted if too many others knew. My boss was superprivate, almost anal in her secrecy; she never shared anything with anyone about the who, what, where of her life. Articles found on the Internet estimated her age because no one ever knew her exact birth date.

  But I knew because of loan papers she’d had me deliver to the bank for her about a year ago. It wasn’t like I was trying to be nosy, but there on the first page right next to date of birth: 12/31/1960. I remembered thinking, dang! There was no way in the world I would’ve guessed ol’ girl was anywhere close to fifty. Maybe because of her achievements I should’ve known that she had to be beyond the thirty years that she looked. But physically, no one could tell it—not from her six-foot, supermodel, size 2 physique. Not from her unblemished skin and distinct features that gave no real clue to her ethnicity. Her face was a representation of the world. With eyes slightly slanted, she could have been Asian. Below was a nose as thin and upturned as any Caucasian’s. Then, there were her lips—full, heart-shaped, the pride of Africans.

  It wasn’t just her features that held her secret. Her golden-tinted skin suggested that some East Indian, or maybe even Hispanic, blood flowed through her veins.

  But she was a sistah-girl; I knew that ’cause black people knew black people. And when Shay-Shaunté opened her mouth and got to twisting her neck and rolling her eyes—she told me what her face did not.

  So, I knew the big birthday was coming up—the big five-oh! In three weeks. On New Year’s Eve.

  I guessed that since this was the big one, she’d decided to come from behind her private curtain and celebrate in public.

  As visions of five million dollars in my bank account danced right out of my head, I wondered what kind of party Shay-Shaunté wanted for this kind of money.

  “So,” I began. “This check is for your birthday? For a party?”

  “Yes.”

  I waited for her to say more; she didn’t. So I said, “You want me to plan it?”

  She tilted her head, as if she had to think. Then, with a smile that looked kind of sly to me, she said, “You could say that.” Then, nothing else.

  Okay, this was beginning to feel like some kind of game—which was strange, ’cause Shay-Shaunté didn’t play. She was always about business.

  After a deep breath, she explained more, “My life has been pretty hectic.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah,” was all I said to that understatement. Of course her life was busy—how many multimillionaires didn’t have full schedules?

  And truth? I only called Shay-Shaunté a millionaire because that’s what had been reported in the media. But I would bet all kinds of money that there was more than one black female billionaire in the country.

  I didn’t have a thing to substantiate it, but I guessed that Shay-Shaunté had come from humble beginnings; she’d had to grind her way to the top and never wanted to look back.

  It was a guess; I didn’t know for sure.

  When Ms. Givens, from the employment agency, had told me about this position, I’d had three thoughts. The first: What kind of name was Shay-Shaunté? Ms. Givens had told me that was her full name and that she never allowed anyone to shorten it. Second: What was up with the funny spelling of the company name—Ferossity? And third: If Shay-Shaunté and Ferossity were so huge—Ms. Givens had said Ferossity was a twenty-year-old company with $30 million in annual sales—why hadn’t I ever heard of her or the company, especially since she specialized in black hair care?

  But I’d tossed away all my questions and taken the interview once Ms. Givens had told me that I’d be earning fifty thousand dollars. I’d gotten the job the next day when Shay-Shaunté had hired me on the spot.

  Working for her had been a complete pleasure, so I was willing to do anything she needed me to do to make her birthday a great one.

  “Okay,” my boss said, “I’m gonna say this straight out.” Shay-Shaunté strolled away from me, returning to her high-back chair. “I’ve been too busy to plan anything special.”

  I grabbed a notepad from her desk. “That’s okay. Rachel and I are on it.”

  “You won’t need Rachel’s help.”

  I frowned a little. With all that was on my plate—especially standing by for holiday replenishments that any of our accounts needed—there was no way I was going to be able to handle Shay-Shaunté’s party alone. It was already December 2.

  Shay-Shaunté went on to say, “Don’t worry; you won’t need help,” as if she’d read my mind. “The thing is, with the way my life is going right now, I don’t have anyone special to share this birthday.”

  I got it—she was trying to figure out how to have a mandatory party, probably right here in her corporate building, where she could strongly suggest that all of her six hundred employees attend.

  She said, “You probably don’t know this, but I’m turning fifty.”

  I wasn’t going to admit to being a snoop, so I said, “Fifty? Wow! Dang! No! I didn’t know. You look …” When she frowned, I closed my mouth.

  She said, “Well, fifty is a special birthday and I don’t want this milestone to pass without some kind of celebration.”

  I felt a tinge of an ache in my heart for the mogul. She might have been giga-gorgeous, supersexy, and megarich, but she was alone. She was single, childless, and, as far as I could tell, without any relatives at all, since the only personal thing she’d ever shared was that her parents had passed away when she was young.

  The only calls she ever got were from celebrities who wanted to thank her for one product or another. Though friendly, none seemed to be her friends.

  Shay-Shaunté’s life was a constant reminder to me that money wasn’t everything, because no matter what Adam and I were going through, we had each other.

  Shay-Shaunté said, “So, after really thinking about this … I want to pay you … for a weekend … my birthday weekend … to spend that time … with your husband.”

  Okay, clearly, I had mentally checked out for a moment. Or maybe the fact that I was still holding on to this five-million-dollar check had me delirious. I placed the back of my hand against my forehead to see if I had a fever; to see if that was why my ears weren’t working.

  Shay-Shaunté continued. “I know about the problems you and Adam are having. I know this money will help.”

  So, I had heard her correctly. It must’ve been the way I sat there, staring, that made her continue. “I don’t want your husband, Evia. At least not permanently.”

  Was that supposed to make me feel better?

  “I only want him for a weekend,” she kept on like we were just girls, just talking. “To help me celebrate.”

  That was when it hit me—what she really meant. Now I couldn’t move—I stopped blinking, stopped breathing, stopped everything!