I’m on my way back to the office, and on my drive I’m still settling mind on my trip to a swimwear boutique Azmir arranged for me to visit. We were scheduled to leave for our excursion the following day. Apparently, the proprietor is an old acquaintance that he wanted to support in her new venture. Tanu was extremely hospitable and knew her craft. From the time I walked through the doors until I said my goodbyes, she was very attentive. Her pieces were exclusive and included all types of appealing fabrics and designs. I had no idea there was market in bathing suits, but after seeing them in great variety I’d been enlightened. She recommended several pieces based upon my size and shape and after being put through the scrutiny of trying on, literally tiny straps of material, I can honestly appreciate Tyler’s tough regimens at the gym.
I surprised myself by selecting a few sheer cover ups that didn’t include breast coverings in the ensemble. Azmir wouldn’t tell me where we’re headed, but he did advise that we would be surrounded by water and have privacy. He also ordered that Tanu not discuss the prices with me and simply bill him. Once again, I was uneasy about his exorbitant splurging on me. I fought off feeling like a sycophant as I walked out of the boutique. The bathing ensembles were exquisite, I must admit.
I leave the bags in the trunk as I go into the building. Sharon’s at her desk and informs me that I have a visitor in the conference room.
“Oh?” I wasn’t expecting anyone.
“Yes, he’s a detective and was insistent on waiting for you,” Sharon shrugged her shoulders as she whispered over her hand, holding the phone from the call she was on.
I mouthed to her, “Okay,” as I headed to the back. The only thing that I could think of that would bring law enforcement here was either matters from my PT assistant being arrested earlier in the summer or the Wayne Tanner lawsuit that was underway. On my way, I dropped off my purse and slipped on my white work coat.
I opened the door to the small conference room to find a middle-aged, brown skinned man with eyes full of charisma. His belly was slightly pronounced and his head completely bald and shiny. His smile was disarming and slick.
“Rayna Brimm, sir. How may I assist you, Mr...?” I attempted as a means of getting a name.
“Ms. Brimm. I finally have the pleasure of making your acquaintance,” he mutters, flashing a sinister smile as he rises from his chair. “You’ve been such a focal point in my circle. It’s nice to put a face to a name, or better yet an energy. And a quite lovely face at that. It makes a little sense now.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand.”
He gives a chuckle, but I quickly gather it’s at my expense.
“You are, sir?” I ask with a little more blitz in my tone.
“I’m Darryl Harrison. You are...what terms are you kids using nowadays?” He squints his eyes while rubbing his chin. “...fucking...a young man who’s like a son to me. Divine.”
“Azmir?” I murmur.
Is this about Azmir? Is this Tara's father? Why is he here?
“Ah...is that the reference of your relationship?” he snorted in a revelatory manner. “I came here expecting to see you in an administrative assistant role of some sort, but I’ve underestimated my son. I taught him well,” Harrison announces boastfully. “He loves the high sharks. I wasn’t prepared for an educated and...well-ranked professional,” he says as he’s surveying the room, but referencing my position at the practice. “But I’ll speak to you in terms that you’re better conversant with in spite of your academic and professional accomplishments.
My eyes were glued to him. I had no idea where this conversation was going, but what I was quite sure of is that I wouldn’t like the end result. I braced myself.
“Rayna dear, we have a problem. See, your presence in Divine’s life has created a bit of a…rift in my family. And I am very protective over what’s mine,” Harrison narrows his eyes to emphasize his sentiment. “I lost my wife this past spring and she never got the opportunity to meet our granddaughter, Azina.” He gives a short yet, hearty laugh while searching his breast pocket and pulling out his mobile phone, “I’m a proud Pop-Pop. You have to see this gorgeous little angel.” He taps the phone several times before a picture appears. If he was about to show me a picture of Azmir with Tara, and this baby I was prepared to lose my bladder and the bile from my stomach simultaneously, on the carpet where I stood. But it wasn’t.