Читать книгу Every Chance I Get - AlTonya Washington - Страница 11

Over a mug of coffee on Monday morning, Misha thought about all that had happened between her and Talib during the past several months. Going back any further than that was dangerous.

She stayed in for the remainder of the weekend following Ahmad’s baptism party. She wouldn’t call it cowardice. New York was a big place. It wasn’t like she was going to run into Talib at every turn, for Pete’s sake. Breakfast that morning would be more than enough “together time.” Besides, she’d needed the rest of the weekend to mull over Riley’s insights over her real resistance to Talib’s sudden interest.

She wasn’t afraid of a relapse but of something else she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit. What did that mean? She smirked into the coffee mug and berated herself.

Jeez, Misha, can’t you even be honest with yourself in your own damn house?

What she couldn’t or wouldn’t admit was that she still loved him so very much that the emotion went far deeper than falling for someone. She loved and was in love with him as much as she’d been the day she’d cursed him and gone mad over the fact that he didn’t believe in her.

There was more to that in-house admission, but before she could continue, the bell rang. She checked her watch, realized she wasn’t wearing one and frowned when she noticed that the clock above the dining-room table read 7:35 a.m. What the hell?

“What the hell?” She uttered the phrase aloud when she opened the door to Talib. “It’s 7:35 a.m.”

“I thought I’d give you a lift.”

“You know, regardless of my record, I can still handle a car, Talib.”

He closed his eyes. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know how you meant it. I’ll see you there.”

He wouldn’t let her close the door. “And what sense does that make?”

“All the sense in the world, considering our breakfast appointment isn’t until ten.”

“Nine, remember?” He walked inside. “Besides, I thought you might like an idea of what we expect with this story.”

“So now you want to talk about it?” Misha let the door slam and followed him into the living room. In awe, she listened to him go on about the message they wanted to send with the piece. “Did you come here to tell me how to do my job, Talib?”

He didn’t answer straightaway. Instead, he strolled the apartment, loving the soft warmth radiating from the comfortable yet elegant décor. He didn’t comment, knowing she wasn’t ready to hear compliments from him.

“I spoke with Gloria.” He unbuttoned the hunter-green suit coat and eased one hip onto the edge of the dining table. “She agrees that a detailed human-interest piece is best. We’d like to show folks that Hud-Mason is more than another shallow company scraping up millions for pampered athletes.” He folded his arms and stared thoughtfully at the artwork lining her walls. “We were thinking of maybe a three-or four-part series.”

“Are you insane?” She bolted toward him. “I don’t have time to devote to something that expansive! Talib!” She followed him when he left the table and disappeared down the hall leading to her bedrooms.

“Gloria gave it the green light and we don’t want anyone else on it but you.”

Misha was seconds away from raining blows across his back but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of watching her come undone. “Would you just go?” She spoke as softly as she could.

“But we haven’t had our breakfast yet.” He was studying her DVD collection next to the flat-screen television in her master bedroom.

“I think you just explained everything we were going to discuss.”

“And now we can enjoy our food without business interrupting.”

She massaged the bridge of her nose and turned away when he advanced. “Business is the only thing between us.” She sighed.

“Is it?”

Misha knew he was but a touch away without needing to look back and prove it to herself.

“Is it, Misha?” The back of his hand trailed the dip of her spine. His finger curled into the belt around her robe in case she had any thoughts of moving away.

“Is it?” he insisted.

“Talib, what do you want from me?” She almost moaned and received her answer seconds later.

She was turned promptly and kissed thoroughly. Like before, like always, she responded in kind. Her tongue thrust eagerly against his, giving as much fire as his gave. She was so intent on the kiss, so absorbed in that fantastic cologne he wore that she hardly registered him hoisting her against his body and following her down to the bed.

Finding her nude beneath the robe, Talib took full advantage. Without a care for his tailored three-piece suit, he threw himself into the task of pleasuring both Misha and himself. Misha bit her lip and let herself go. She’d denied herself a man’s touch for so long. To now be with the man whose touch she truly craved bordered on heavenly.

Talib kissed his way down her body, almost painfully aroused by the supple curves on her slender form. Her bottom was full and molded perfectly to his palms when he cupped them beneath her. Her breasts were small, firm, perfectly rounded mounds that beckoned his lips, teeth and tongue. And when he had his fill of tonguing her nipples into a frenzy, he ventured lower.

Misha tunneled her fingers into the silky dark curls covering his head. Gradually, she took stock of their position—more accurately her position. Half out of her robe and flat on her back beneath a provocative, impeccably dressed male. Silently, she completed the admission which had been interrupted when Talib first rang the bell. The thought drained her arousal and instead of gripping his shoulders to draw him close, she began to push him away.

Talib tuned in easily and didn’t try to coax her into going further. This wasn’t the time, yet he was approaching the point where he nearly didn’t care. This was happening far more quickly than he’d expected, but then didn’t everything where he and Misha were concerned?

He allowed himself a moment to graze his nose across her belly and the faint dusting of curls above her womanhood. Then he muttered something about letting her get dressed and left her alone.

Red Sun at 8:50 a.m. was of course a madhouse. The Japanese-owned eatery was anything but the usual. The breakfast menu spanned the globe and easily appealed to an extensive array of tastes.

Misha couldn’t find a thing she wanted to order. Talib handled it all as though her sour mood hadn’t fazed him. She snapped her fingers suddenly as if she’d been wracking her brain to come up with a discussion topic and finally latched onto one.

“We should set up some meetings to cover the story.”

“Later, all right?”

She was opening her mouth to insist.

“I also wanted to invite you to a party.”

“With you?”

Talib stroked his jaw. “Isn’t that the way it’s done, love?”

“I can’t, I… The baby, the baby’s party put me so far behind.” She fidgeted with a lock of her hair. “I just don’t have the time.”

“I haven’t even told you when it is.”

Misha clenched her fist beneath the table and waited.

“Consider it research for the story.” Talib smiled as their waiter approached. “It’s for a new client—about a week and a half from now.”

Misha managed to remain silent until after her coffee and Talib’s tea had been placed on the table.

“You really have lost your mind, haven’t you?” She flopped back on the redwood chair and laughed shortly. “Either that or you’re just in need of a little side entertainment while you’re in town and torturing me is the best you could come up with.”

“Maybe I am daft.” Talib spoke as if he were talking to himself. “Because I’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you remember the last client party I attended?”

Talib frowned. “Vic?”

“Not Victor.” She rolled her eyes then glanced across her shoulder to see if anyone had noticed her outburst. “Ray Simmons,” she hissed.

Talib had truly forgotten, for his powerful frame tightened visibly the moment he heard the name. He was quiet, coolly going about sweetening the hot tea in the mug before him.

Misha was about to take a sip from her black coffee when Talib’s fist suddenly came down on the table.

“Will we ever get past all that?” He grimaced, not expecting an answer. “I guess not, especially when you won’t even let me talk to you about it.”

“It ruined us.” Pain clearly colored her words. She kept her eyes focused on her coffee. “But it was only one of the things that ruined us—all the rest built slowly.”

“Crickey, Misha, what rest?”

“Come off it. I was never good enough for you and you made that pretty damn clear when the Ray Simmons story broke. How many times did you say my supposed betrayal was something you should have expected from a woman like me? A slut that would sleep with a man for a story? And why not? Hell, I grew up with nothing, so why not do whatever it takes to have it all, right?”

Talib was speechless and stunned. He watched her as though suddenly realizing what her anger, her fear, was about.

Misha looked away, stunned as well that she’d admitted so much. She kept her face turned when the waiter arrived with their meal.

“Misha…” He didn’t know what else to say when they were alone.

She considered it a blessing when they were interrupted again seconds later by a few men who’d gotten wind of Talib’s presence at the restaurant. Of course they all recognized Misha, admiring her blatantly as they greeted.

“Why don’t you guys stay?” She left her chair quickly, waving at the fruit, croissants and cheese on her plate. “And help yourselves—this hasn’t been touched.”

She was almost home free when Talib caught her wrist on her way past him.

“We’ll talk later, all right?” His thumb slipped beneath the cuff of her blouse to caress her bare skin.

“Not about…” She glanced back toward the table where the others were already making themselves comfortable. “Not about what I said.”

“Sure, but we’ll talk later, all right?” he insisted.

She had no choice but to nod.

“Very impressive, Mr. Hudson,” Misha raved when she saw Asher leaving the elevator.

At once Asher’s light stare was less serious and more playful. “Well, hey!” He approached his wife’s best friend with open arms and enveloped her in a tight hug.

“I hope I’m not interrupting. I just needed to see you for a second.”

“Stop talking silly.” Asher kissed her cheek, then moved back to frown into her face. “Is everything all right?”

The words weakened her resolve and Misha cursed her visible reaction. Asher took heed and ushered her someplace more private.

“Sorry,” Misha sobbed when they were behind the closed doors of Asher’s office. She curled up on a sofa in the corner. “Thanks.” She took a deep sip of the black coffee he provided.

“Stop apologizing and tell me what the problem is.”

“What’s Talib up to?” she asked the moment he joined her on the sofa. “Why’s he so hell-bent on us…being friends all of a sudden?”

Asher’s smile was slow and knowing. “I think you know he wants more than a friendship.”

She nodded. “So it’s about sex,” she said as though that possibility were easier to handle.

Asher’s chuckling filled the room. “It’s about love.”

“He doesn’t love me.”

“Now look. I’ve been friends with Talib for a while now. And even though he keeps mum as far as the two of you are concerned, I swear that he does. And what’s more I don’t think he’s ever stopped. But I’ve already said too much.” He took the cup she’d drained. “Y’all need to talk and stop avoiding it because you’re afraid of the past.”

“I can’t handle that. I don’t have the strength—not a second time.” She pushed her hair away from her face and cleared her throat. “He’ll see that…he’ll see once he’s done deluding himself that two people like us never had a chance.”

“Well, I can’t speak to whether he’s deluding himself, but I do know Talib Mason is a finisher. He doesn’t quit midstream.” Asher made a bridge with his fingers and shrugged. “This may not sit well with you, but I don’t know what will make him stop until he’s seen this through to the end.”

Misha arrived late to the daily budget meeting for The Stamper Court. The business crew always gave their input toward the end of the meeting. Staff writer Trenda Greene was giving her report when Misha got there.

“You okay?” Riley asked when Misha took the seat next to hers and nodded quickly.

“Is there anything else, folks?” Riley addressed the group when Trenda concluded her report. “Wendell?”

“We all know this subject’s taboo here at The New Chronicle.” Wendell Stevenson tapped a hand to the stack of papers he stood before. “But I feel it’s important to note that our competition has seen healthy revenue increases since they’ve added entertainment sections to their pubs.”

Everyone groaned. Some threw wadded balls of paper at The Stamper Court’s accountant. Overall, The New Chronicle family was pretty much in agreement that celebrity gossip wasn’t the sort of news they were interested in. Since one of their own ran in such circles, much of that agreement was in a show of support for Riley’s and Asher’s right to privacy. Besides, Cache Media, the Chronicle’s parent company, never complained of the money woes which had driven the competition to incorporate more sensational news into their publications.

“I just think it deserves to be mentioned!” Wendell smiled when the group silenced. What the accountant lacked in height, he made up for in strength of voice. “The brass at those pubs are already crediting their entertainment inserts with the revenue surge—more revenue means more readers. Readers who most likely aren’t reading our paper.”

“Thanks, Wendell.” Riley made a note to her agenda. “The Court, as you know, wouldn’t be able to accommodate such a section, but you’re welcome to carry your suggestion higher up the chain.”

“Yeah, Wendell, maybe you could write the first piece.” Frederick Mears’s comment roused a chuckle from the table. “I’ve heard rumors of a boxer who may be havin’ an affair with his sister.”

“All right, everybody. Meeting adjourned! Thanks, Wendell.” Riley smiled apologetically. She and Misha remained seated while the room cleared. “You look drained,” Riley said while swiveling her chair to and fro.

“I just saw your husband.”

“Ah.” Riley folded her arms across the gold cap-sleeved sweater she wore. “He does have that effect on women.” She tilted her head, hoping to rouse a smile from Misha.

It worked, but only for a moment. “He said Talib loved me—that he wouldn’t give up until he saw this thing through between us.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Misha only shook her head.

“You know whatever’s happening or about to happen is only gonna put you through more hell unless you step up and face him.”

“Humph.” Misha rested her head against the chair and smiled. “You’re right.”

“’Course I’m right.” Riley nudged Misha’s boot with the tip of her pump and believed she was seeing the first genuine smile her friend had produced in days. “Why are you giving him all this control over your emotions, anyway? Show him who you are, who you’ve become. Make him eat his words for requesting you on this story. Torture him a bit. The driver’s seat should be shared, right?”

Misha shook her head over Riley’s cunning. “You’ve definitely been hanging around me way too long.”