Doin' Me (10 page)

“I wanted to accept the invitation to that concert, but I was afraid to say so. Your mother fussed at me all night for being a coward. I'd been telling her how you and I should spend more time together, and when the door opened, I slammed it shut.”

Tyson cleared his throat. “The concert's isn't for another month. The ticket is yours if you want it.” A warm sensation permeated his being at the sheer happiness on his father's face.

“Thank, you, son.” Judge Stokes squeezed his son's shoulder. “I don't believe I've ever told you this, but I've always loved you and I'm very proud of you.”

The declaration proved too much for Tyson. Why did his father have to feed him the words his soul craved in a crowded restaurant? He bowed his head into the cloth napkin and wept. After soaking the cloth, it occurred to him that his father needed the same thing. He stood and walked to his father's side. Judge Stokes was barely out of his seat when Tyson hugged him. “I love you, Dad.” His father shook in his arms as he said a prayer of thanksgiving.

“Perfect timing,” Judge Stokes said when the waiter arrived with their entrées just as they sat back down. Both were oblivious to the stares of fellow patrons.

“I can't tell if this is the best prime rib in the world or if I'm so happy that everything tastes good,” Tyson said after taking a bite.

“I know what you mean, son. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted. I know we have a long way to go, but it's a good start.”

“Yes, it is,” Tyson agreed.

They talked more about the past and made plans to improve the present, then shared a dessert the judge wasn't supposed to have due to an elevated blood-sugar level. For the first time Tyson heard his father tell jokes and discovered his laugh was similar to his own.

As they headed toward the door, another laugh stopped Tyson dead in his tracks.

“What's wrong, son? Did you forget something?” his father asked when Tyson turned and started in the opposite direction.

“No. Nothing at all,” Tyson answered, shaking his head at the sight of Reyna seated in a booth, cuddled up to a white man and giggling too much to notice him. Tyson retraced his steps and exited the restaurant, determined not to let Reyna ruin his evening.

The blaring sound caused Reyna to literally jump out of bed. This was her final chance; she'd hit the snooze button twice already. She shut off the alarm and rushed to the bathroom. After Paige's rebuke a few weeks ago, she'd vowed never to be late for work again. She needed this job, no matter how mundane it was, until something better came along. More often than she cared to admit, Reyna fantasized about returning to school and finishing her master's degree. The idea of one day opening a practice excited her, but the reality that millions of Americans with multiple degrees were unemployed due to the economy discouraged her from pursuing the possibility. She decided to focus on the here and now. Peyton.

Reyna forgave his disappearing act from a few weeks ago when he arrived at the town house three days later with roses and offered to take her to dinner at Skates. Up until that moment, she hadn't heard from him, and depression had started to set in. When she saw him standing on her porch with the red, fragrant beauties, all was forgiven. She didn't question his excuse about working late with special clients. He still wanted to be with her, and that mattered above his absenteeism. The regret and depression had lifted, and she'd been with him every day since, mostly in the evenings. Since his car was in the shop, she'd pick him up from the BART station and he'd spend the night, then drive her to work the next morning.

A steady stream of hot water gushed from the showerhead and massaged her sore and achy body. Muscles she didn't normally use and certainly couldn't name had been used during Peyton's latest sexual escapade. Since their union, she'd been flipped, dipped, and contorted, and they'd gone through a max pack of condoms, but never had she been satisfied. Most of the time her mind wandered off to other things during what Peyton swore was a mind-blowing experience.

“I'm tired of this,” she mumbled as she lathered the sponge with drops of mango shower gel. She wasn't sure what she should be getting from the deal, but was convinced there was more to sex than sore muscles and a stiff back.

“No!” she declared when the Bible verse broke through her thoughts. “I don't want to hear that mess now. This is my life, and I'll live it the way I want.” She turned up the water pressure and rinsed twice before exiting the shower stall.

Intense anger traveled through her and seared her heart. “Just because I'm living my life the way I want, and not the way some ancient book says I should, doesn't mean a thing,” she said, rambling, and yanked a towel from the rack. “I determine what makes me happy, not God.” The rambling continued while Reyna dried herself off and rubbed lotion into her skin, but she stopped short of adding an expletive. Still shy about her body, she snuggled into a robe before exiting the bathroom.

“Get up, sleepyhead,” she said, shaking Peyton on her way to the walk-in closet. “We have to be out of here in fifteen minutes.” By the time Peyton sat up, Reyna had dressed in a magenta pantsuit.

“It's too early to be up.” His voice lacked its normal sophistication. “You're the boss. Go in late once in a while.”

She walked from the closet and leaned against the bed for support and stepped into her pumps. This morning Reyna didn't have the time or the energy to come up with a lie to keep the facade going. “Look, Peyton, I'm not the boss. I don't make, as you say,
big bucks.
I'm not a broker. I'm an administrative secretary at best, and I need this job.” She ignored the shock on his face. “And what about you? Don't you have a job to get to? Every bank I know opens before noon. You sleep more than any investment banker I know.”

She hadn't meant to say the last part but had grown tired of Peyton's blasé attitude about his work and his overzealous interest in hers. Peyton's position didn't require him to work set hours Monday through Friday. From what he had revealed, Reyna figured Peyton enjoyed a flex schedule, which she secretly envied. By her calculations, Peyton worked no more than four hours a day. After dropping her off at work, he'd drive into the city, work a few hours, and then he would be waiting for her in her car in the real estate office parking lot at five o'clock.

“So you're not a broker?” He pronounced the words as if reading them from a delayed teleprompter.

“You heard me. Now, get up and get ready.” She picked his pants up from the floor and threw them at him. “When will they be done with your car?” The extra mileage he placed on her car every day had her concerned she'd need an oil change long before the recommended three months.

“In a few days,” he said in response to her question, then asked again, “You're not a big-shot broker?”

“You heard me the first time.” Reyna wanted to stick to the subject of his invisible car. “A few days? You said that last week.” Peyton's car had been in the shop for two weeks, without Reyna having a clear understanding of what was wrong with the foreign vehicle she'd heard about but never seen.

He stepped into his pants, another thing Reyna didn't like. Peyton rarely bathed.

He didn't address her question. “If you're just a secretary, how can you afford this place?”

The “just a secretary” remark struck a nerve. “Don't worry about my finances,” she snapped and rolled her neck. “You need to worry about why it's taking so long to fix your car.” She removed her silk scarf on the way back into the bathroom to apply makeup.

“You didn't answer my question,” he stated from the bathroom doorway. “How can you afford this place and everything that's in it on a secretary's salary? Are you seeing someone else? Is he paying the mortgage?”

Reyna dropped the liquid eyeliner onto the vanity, then spun around. Peyton's voice had dropped an octave, and his once olive skin blazed like brimstone. Tender eyes had been replaced by piercing daggers.

“Why w—would you ask me something like that?” she stammered.

His bare chest heaved and his nostrils flared, but his gaze never left hers, and that frightened her. “Answer me.”

She shivered at his flat tone. “How can I be seeing someone else when I spend all my time with you?” She couldn't tell him about Tyson. Not that there was anything to tell. He'd been generous toward her by charging her below market rent, and yes, he was attracted to her. He was the closest thing she had to a friend, but Peyton didn't need to know that.

Peyton stepped into her space, pinning her against the vanity. “I'm going to ask you one more time. Are you seeing someone else?”

The morning breath stench wafted to her nose and nearly made her gag. She would have turned away, but his hand gripped her chin. For the first time since meeting him, Reyna thought Peyton could harm her. “I'm not seeing anyone but you. I don't have a mortgage, and I pay my own rent,” she answered with more bravado than she felt.

He stepped back. “Good. Make sure you keep it that way. If I find out you're cheating on me, it won't be good for you.” After pausing, as if to let his words sink in, Peyton smiled.

The grin he offered wasn't one of joy, but of satisfaction, she thought. She remained glued in place while he gathered his shirt and the tan pouch he carried everywhere.

“Hurry up,” he ordered. “I need to drop you off so I can take care of my business.”

Reyna stood there for so long, she didn't have time to finish applying makeup. Peyton had just threatened her, and he had done so with such calm, Reyna wondered if he had previous experience. He hadn't shared any details about previous relationships. “The past doesn't matter,” was his answer to any question about his past. Looking at her unmade face in the mirror, Reyna second-guessed her decision to accept that answer.

“Come on,” he called, leaving the bedroom. “You need your entry-level job.”

The words stung, but she didn't have the time or the strength to retaliate. She turned out the bathroom light and grabbed her purse, then sprinted for the front door. Her trot came to an abrupt halt as she passed through the dining room. The mahogany table was bare. Tyson's bronze candlesticks were gone.

Irritated beyond measure, Reyna grabbed her purse and stomped off the bus and walked the three blocks to her subdivision. Reyna hadn't used public transportation in years, but thanks to another one of Peyton's disappearing acts, she'd been reacquainted with bus schedules and timed transfers.

For two days he had failed to pick her up from work on time and hadn't bother to call. Last night he'd shown up at the town house after eight o'clock, claiming he'd been too busy with an important client to call. Reyna wanted to ask how important the client was if Peyton hadn't bothered to shower and shave, but before she could pose the question, he collapsed on her bed and began snoring.

This morning she'd awakened to the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes. From the towels crumpled on the bathroom floor, Reyna assumed he'd finally showered. After a quick shower, Reyna wrapped herself in a robe and padded into the kitchen.

All it took was one glimpse and Peyton's transgressions were forgiven. Not only had he showered, but his face was clean shaven. The black turtleneck accentuated his pectorals, triceps, biceps, and all the muscles in between. Navy blue dress slacks hugged his trim waist and brought attention to his muscular thighs. His thick, dark, curly hair hung loosely around his shoulders. This was the Peyton she liked. Not the one who'd threatened her and left her stranded.

After flipping an egg, he turned and smiled, and his blue eyes washed over her. “Sorry about last night. I promise it won't happen again.”

His good looks and sincerity took the sting from the choice words she had for him. “Make sure it doesn't,” she said firmly, then added, “What time will your car be ready today?” Handsome or not, it was time for him to find his own transportation.

“About that,” he said while transferring the fried egg to the plate. “I've decided to sell my car. Too many problems.”

Reyna's hand stopped midair as she reached for a glass in the cabinet. “What?”

“Oh, well, the cost of the repairs is more than the car is worth. So I told the mechanic to keep it and use whatever he can sell it for as payment.”

“Okay,” she said as she grabbed the glass in the cabinet. “When are you going to buy a new car, and what are you going to do for transportation in the meantime?” From behind, Peyton wrapped his arms around her waist. She sniffed his cologne but pretended the woodsy scent didn't have an effect on her.

“I'm in no hurry to go into debt,” he responded after kissing her neck.

“You live in the city.” She paused. This was another reminder that although he'd spent countless nights at her place, she'd yet to see where he lived. “BART is good, but you need a car. You make good money, so you can afford it,” she said, although she had no proof of it. Peyton carried large amounts of cash, but from what she'd seen, his wardrobe was limited to three suits and a few slacks and countless T-shirts and turtlenecks. She hadn't seen the fancy jewelry since their first date.

He squeezed her. “I can use your car, like I do now. Since you're stuck inside at a little desk all day, you don't need it.”

The glass fell from her hand and crashed to the floor. She spun around. “What do you mean, I don't need my car?” She thought of all the sacrifices she'd made to make every car payment and became livid. “You can't tell me what I need. I'm a grown woman. I know what I need. I need my car!”

Peyton retreated with both hands raised. “Hey, slow down. If you don't want to help your man out for a while, fine. But I thought we were a couple. I thought we were in this together.”

“In what together?” she asked with her head cocked. “I seem to be the only one sharing in this relationship.”

“What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes at his look of naïveté. “I share my house, my car, my food, and my body. The only things I get in return are your dirty clothes all over the house. I don't know where you live or if you really have a job.” Exasperated from voicing what she'd been thinking since they began dating, she stomped to the utility closet for the broom to sweep the shards of glass up. When she returned, Peyton relieved her of the broom and cleaned the mess up in silence, except for the sniffles.

She mumbled an expletive, regretting her tirade. Her hand rubbed the back of her neck, and she was reminded of her need to visit the hair salon soon. She longed for the old days of long hair. Maintaining a short spike cut was hard for someone who didn't like to comb hair. She'd figure it out, but first she had to find a way to handle the weeping, fine white man in her kitchen.

After returning the broom to the utility closet, Peyton stood in front of her. “I'm sorry you feel I've taken advantage of you,” he said between sniffles. “I care about you so much, and I thought you felt the same. My mistake. I didn't know you were so unhappy.” He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand. “I'll get my things and leave. Enjoy your breakfast.”

Her eyes followed his slumped shoulders out of the kitchen; then she turned her attention to the plate of food. Peyton had cooked her a hearty breakfast and nothing for himself. “What am I supposed to do now?” she grumbled, then slowly retraced her steps to her bedroom.

“What are you doing?” she said just as Peyton zipped up his travel bag.

“I told you, I'm leaving. It's over.”

Watching Peyton prepare to walk out of her life unleashed fear and old memories. Another man she cared about was leaving her. First her father, now Peyton. Sudden anxiety consumed her, sending tremors racing through her. Sweaty palms rubbed involuntarily against her robe. A lump formed in her throat, and before she could prevent them, the words “Please don't go” gushed out.

“You don't want me, Reyna, and you don't trust me,” he said, reaching for his jacket, which was draped across the chaise.

“I do trust you.” Her voice quivered. “It's just sometimes I s—say the wrong things,” she stammered. “I told you, I've never had a real relationship before, but I really care about you.” She bowed her head to hide the tears. She didn't want him to go but didn't want him to see her cry, either. He might consider her weak.

His thumb and forefinger, warm against her chin, lifted her head. “Do you really love me?”

She nodded, hoping she wasn't lying. For the most part Reyna enjoyed his company and the attention he lavished on her when he was around, but she wasn't sure if what she felt equated to love. Needing him to stay around, she told him what he wanted to hear. “Yes, I love you.”

“Prove it, then,” he said, then sat on the bed with his arms folded.

Paige is going to kill me,
she thought as she untied and removed her robe.

Now, as she unlocked the door to the town house, she wished she'd kicked him out and kept her car key. It wouldn't have mattered; Peyton had taken the liberty of having a duplicate made.

After neatly placing her stilettos on a shelf in the walk-in closet, Reyna sat on the couch in the living room, browsing through the supermarket's weekly sales ad. Anything to keep her mind off of Peyton and what he was doing with her car. She compiled her weekly shopping list, then affixed it to the refrigerator with a magnet and decided to call Peyton again. Like countless times before, his voice mail answered. “Where are you?” she whispered, then pressed the end-call button.

As she paced around the house, anger gave way to worry and then to confusion. She hadn't been downstairs in Tyson's old office in weeks, but the second she stepped inside, she sensed something wasn't right. The forty-six-inch flat-screen television was missing. Even the wall mount was gone.

“Oh, my God.” Her hands flew to her mouth. “I've been robbed. First the candlesticks, now this. I wonder what else is missing.” The answer to her question revealed itself quickly. The twenty-four-karat gold pen set and the gold-trimmed globe were both absent from their spots on the desk. A twelve-inch figurine was also missing, along with the Bose sound system. “I better call the police.”

She started for the stairs, then stopped. What if Peyton was here when this happened? she thought. He could have walked in on the burglar and . . . She didn't finish the thought for fear of what could be. She raced around the town house, checking windows for broken glass. The door that led to the garage appeared to be intact, and so did everything else. Nothing had been vandalized, just stolen. She lifted the cordless phone from its base and punched 9-1-1. She'd just given the dispatcher her information when Peyton finally walked through the front door.

“Thank God, you're all right!” she exclaimed, then shushed him until she finished with the dispatcher.

“What are you so fired up about? I thought you'd be angry about the time.”

“I've been robbed!”

Peyton rushed over to her and enveloped her in his arms. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. Did it happen while you were waiting for me?”

“No,” she answered, seeking comfort in those deep blue eyes. “Someone broke in here and ripped off the downstairs office.” She wasn't sure, but she thought she recognized relief in that sea of blue.

“Did you see anything?”

She shook her head. “No. It happened before I got home. I was so mad at you for making me take the bus, but if I hadn't, I might have been here when it happened.” She kissed his cheek. “I'm sorry.”

He squeezed her. “I'm just happy you're all right.”

“I have to go online and fill out a report for the police.”

“All right. I'll go downstairs and check things out. Then I'll make sure the door locks are secure.”

Relief washed over her as she watched Peyton trek downstairs, but it was only temporary. Her living space had been violated, ending her sense of security. She didn't know exactly when the intruder had entered her home or how many times. What bothered her most was the violation appeared to have occurred with little effort. No doors or windows had been broken, and she'd set the alarm system every morning when she left. The perpetrator was a professional, she figured.

She returned to the kitchen after completing the electronic police report and found Peyton had set the table. In her anxiety over the break-in, she hadn't noticed the Chinese takeout he'd brought.

“I wanted to surprise you with a romantic evening, but after what's happened, that's not going to happen. At least we can enjoy dinner.” He pulled out a chair. “Have a seat. I just need to pour the wine.”

Reyna did as instructed and savored the moment for what it was—a temporary distraction from her present dilemma. Sure she was safe now with Peyton there, but what about later?

“I doubt the police will recover anything. At least your renters' insurance will give you a payout to replace everything,” he stated between bites of Mongolian beef.

Reyna stopped chewing. She didn't have renters' insurance. She advised rental clients at the office of the necessity of carrying renters' insurance, but she'd figured she didn't need it, since the furnishings in the town house belonged to Tyson.
Tyson
. She repeated his name in her head. How was she going to tell him about the burglary? Tyson, a man of substance, probably wouldn't miss the stolen items. He certainly didn't need them. If he did, surely he would have taken them when he moved into his new home. Even still, she regretted he'd suffered a loss.

They hadn't spoken since his phone call a few weeks ago, when she reminded him that her interest in him didn't extend beyond their tenant/landlord relationship. He hadn't called since but had sent her a certified letter with an address to mail the monthly payments to. He'd finally gotten the message that they would never be anything more than friends. There was no way she'd open that door again.
I'm not going to tell him,
she decided and took a sip of wine.
I'll just save money until I can replace everything.

“I don't have renters' insurance.”

Peyton's fork fell to his plate. “What? Why not?”

“I don't need it,” she said with a nonchalant shrug.

“That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. You have over a quarter million dollars in furnishings in this place, and you don't think you need some type of insurance? Unbelievable,” he said, shaking his head.

The disdainful look on his olive face made her wonder if Peyton really considered her stupid. “It's not mine,” she whispered, then stuffed the remaining piece of egg roll into her mouth.

“What's not yours? Common sense?”

Too embarrassed to admit she didn't own anything except her car, she let the insult slide. “All of it. I mean, none of this is mine. It belongs to the landlord.” She sighed. “I rented the place fully furnished,” she added when his brow wrinkled.

He leaned back in his chair and scrutinized her for what seemed like forever. She twisted in the chair under those piercing blue eyes. Her breathing accelerated, and her hands picked lint from her shirt that wasn't there as anxiety took over. What was Peyton going to do now that he knew the truth? Would he end the relationship?

“Well,” he finally said after gulping some wine. “At least you're not out anything. I'm sure the landlord has insurance with all the customized amenities in here.”

Reyna's breathing returned to normal and then accelerated again at his next statement.

“Reyna, you deceived me. You presented yourself as a smart and intelligent woman of substance. You're none of that. I like you but don't know if I can overlook your failure to trust me due to your own deceitfulness.”