“Oh, I’m sure his work cell hasn’t been tended to,” she quickly offers. “This sounds timely, though he never approved your access to his other mobile line. I’ll give it to you anyway, seeing all his niece seemed to talk about when she was here was dancing and some show Mr. Thompson took her.” I wonder if she’s referring to my show. “You got a pen and paper handy?”
She gives me Thompson’s personal cell and I call immediately from my office phone. His voice mail picks up after three rings and I leave a message after the beep.
“Hi…Brian,” I clear my throat in a fortifying move. “It’s Rayna. Rayna Brimm.” Pause. “Look, Brian, I know I’m the last person you’d expect to hear from, and I’m not entirely sure that you’d want to hear from me at all. It’s just that I was just told you were no longer representing the firm and we never got a chance to talk.” Another pause. “I’d like to meet…maybe just for coffee…no pressure. I’ll be at the Starbucks at the Marina Pacifica mall.” I scramble to search my desk calendar for availability. “…next Tuesday around noon. If you’re up to it, we can meet for coffee.” I sigh inaudibly and say goodbye.
I know this won’t fly well with Azmir, which is why he won’t know. I would have to somehow ditch John, my security. I still can’t believe how easily that rolls off my tongue. Never in a million years did I think I’d need, much less have, a bodyguard. I don’t know how it’ll be done, but I’m going to Marina Pacifica, alone. I want to feel bad for making the decision, but my life does not belong to Azmir. It’s easy for him to have me in on a meeting with his ex; I haven’t beat the crap out of her as Azmir has done to Brian. He’ll just have to allow me the opportunity to say my goodbye and offer my apologies for making myself seem available to him when I knew I was tied to another man.
And besides, as Tara warned, there are lots of things that I don’t know about my fiancé. One thing that comes quickly to mind is why in the hell do I need a bodyguard in the first place?!
Chapter 7
Rayna
The next evening I’m in full swing, orchestrating this soirée for Azmir and his friends. Chef Boyd has assisted as best as he can, considering he can’t be with me. I’ve contracted several of his wait staff at the insistence of A.D., who doesn’t want me overwhelmed. I relented because I have a few tricks up my sleeve and don’t want him believing I need his assistance.
I’m dressed in a Tom Ford ivory sheath, long sleeve dress that opens up in the back, fully exposing my skin, all the way down to the top of my bottom. The back is accentuated with a gold zipper that curves around my derriere and into a lip at the small of my back. It’s risqué at best and I fought my resistance when Azmir asked me to wear it tonight. I contemplated it for two days before relinquishing to his will—once again. I settled on him knowing his friends and the atmosphere he wants to create this evening. That won out against my own ignorance of not knowing how to present myself for a house party with Azmir and his friends whom I’ve never met. And in true A.D. fashion, he included a pair of gold Celine sandals.
I’m in the kitchen with the wait staff, Karl and LaSean, setting the appetizer trays when I hear Azmir yell from the foyer, “Yo, Brimm, I’m home!”
Wanting him to head straight to the back and not discover one of my surprises for the evening, I return, “Okay…almost ready. Just go get dressed!”
“A’ight,” he calls out, letting me know he won’t go beyond the vestibule.
Next, I go into the dining room where an impeccably gorgeous table top is set. I chose a rich green, ivory, and gold as my colors. The china pieces are square and ivory and the cutlery is gold. Azmir has no idea that he has some of this stuff—elegant dinnerware. Others I purchased as I planned this. I watched loads of HGTV and clipped many pictures out of magazine that pieced together the motif I’ve had in mind for this party.
“Napkins!” I whisper to myself, remembering to get them from the kitchen counter. I washed them to release the wrinkles from its packaging. I make my way into the busy kitchen to grab them. As I’m placing them at each setting, I hear the doorbell ring. Nervousness sets in as I become aware that it’s show time.
I know Azmir is likely still dressing, so I travel from the dining room, through the great room and to the door, hearing the bell sound again before I make it there. I quickly pull the door open to find a handsome couple, both dressed well. The man is tall, cinnamon, and with a close Caesar cut like Azmir’s. He’s nicely dressed in dark blue slacks and a black dress shirt opened at the top with a matching jacket and oxfords. The woman is wearing a fitted red midi dress underneath a brown fur shawl. She’s much shorter than he is—and remarkably older. I can’t help my eyes getting caught in her red-stained lips as she chumps down on gum, smacking with each chew.
Finding my voice and deciding to stop gawking at Azmir’s guests, I greet, “Hi…and welcome.”