Exposed (15 page)

In the ensuing silence, Brandon studied their reflections in the polished metal of the elevator doors. Two young, successful, good-looking brothas clad in tailored Italian suits and expensive loafers. He wondered which of them Tamia would have chosen if they’d met her at the same time. Then he gave himself a mental shake, wondering where the random thought had come from.

As the elevator reached the lobby, Dominic said affably,“It was good to see you again, man.”

“You, too. Take care.”

Brandon stepped off the elevator, hesitated, then glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the doors sliding closed on Dominic’s smirking face.

It was after ten p.m. by the time Tamia let herself into Brandon’s condo. She hadn’t intended to work so late, but she’d had more catching up to do than she’d thought. Days of playing hooky with Dominic had caught up to her.

As soon as she entered the condo that night, she felt a whisper of foreboding.

All the lights were off, the glow of the television providing the only illumination. She could make out Brandon reclining in the leather armchair, quietly nursing a glass of scotch. Not beer. Scotch. Which meant he had something heavy on his mind.

One of his cases, Tamia hoped.

But somehow she knew better.

Swallowing nervously, she set her purse and keys on the foyer table and stepped out of her high heels. As she made her way into the darkened living room, she exhaled a deep sigh and declared,“What a long day.”

Brandon didn’t take his eyes off the television, where an ESPN broadcaster was rattling off the day’s NBA scores while highlights flashed across the plasma screen.

Tamia went behind Brandon’s chair, leaned down, and draped her arms around his neck.“Hey, baby,” she purred, kissing his lean cheek. The rasp of his five o’clock shadow tickled her lips, while the sight of his ripped biceps in a white wifebeater made her loins clench. Brandon kept himself in excellent shape by taking full advantage of the state-of-the-art fitness center at his law firm. The first time Tamia saw his chiseled six-pack, she’d nearly climaxed on the spot.

“Wassup?” she murmured, nuzzling his earlobe.“You can’t speak? Cat got your tongue?”

Brandon took one of her wrists and slowly pulled her around the armchair. As she moved to sit on his lap, he shook his head silently and gestured to the adjacent sofa.

Feeling rebuffed, Tamia sat down and waited with mounting dread.

Lights from the television flickered across his face, casting shadows that made it impossible to decipher his expression. “Where have you been?” he asked quietly.

“At the office.” She stared at him in confusion.“I told you I had to work late.”

“You said you’d be here by eight.”

“I know.” She sighed.“I misjudged how long it would take me to finish what I had to do.”

He nodded, barely perceptibly.“How’s your jaw?”

She reached up and touched her face, which had been throbbing off and on since that afternoon.“It’s feeling better,” she lied. The less he focused on her bruised jaw, the better.

Brandon leaned back in the armchair and stretched out his long legs in a deceptively lazy posture. As she eyed him cautiously, he took a deep sip of his drink, then stared into the glass for several moments.

She waited.

“Two years ago,” he began conversationally, “I defended a woman who was charged with first-degree murder for killing her husband. He’d been abusing her for years, but she never went to the police because she was terrified of him. He’d threatened to kill her if she ever sought help, so she never did. But every time he beat her, she took pictures of her face. If anything ever happened to her, she wanted the photos to be found so that her husband wouldn’t get away with murder.”

Tamia stared at Brandon, wondering where he was going with this story.

Calmly he continued, “The violence worsened until one day she snapped and stabbed him to death while he slept. The prosecution’s case rested on the fact that she’d never gone to the police, so there were no reports or photos on file to corroborate her defense—that being a victim of domestic violence had driven her to commit murder. When we presented the photos she’d taken of her battered face, the prosecution claimed that she’d inflicted the injuries upon herself using various blunt objects and by banging her face into doors, walls … tables.”

Tamia swallowed hard as Brandon paused, silently watching her.

After an agonizing eternity, he continued. “We found a medical expert who testified that the bruising patterns on her face were consistent with being struck with a fist. Not a door, wall, table, or any other blunt object. A
fist
.” Again he paused, staring at Tamia. “Do you want to revise your explanation of what happened to your jaw?”

Tamia was trembling so hard she expected her teeth to start chattering any second. Resisting the urge to fidget with her hands, she scowled at Brandon.“Damn, baby. Why do I feel like I’m on the witness stand being cross-examined?”

“I just want the truth,” he said mildly, unfazed by her in-dignation.“Did someone hit you today?”

“No!” she exclaimed.

“Are you sure?”

She stared at him, wavering, her mind racing along at warp speed. He knew she was lying. She’d sensed it that afternoon when she looked over her shoulder and caught him eyeing her suspiciously. He’d seen right through her bogus explanation. And the more she tried to pass it off as truth, the deeper she dug herself into a hole and widened the chasm between them.

Dropping her head, she blew out a resigned sigh. “Okay. You win. I didn’t hit my jaw on the edge of the table. I got into an … altercation.”

“What kind of altercation?”

She inhaled a deep breath and let it out slowly. “While I was having lunch this afternoon, I was approached by some crazy bitch claiming to be the girlfriend of one of my exes. She thought he was cheating on her with me. We exchanged heated words, she threw chai on me and shoved me, and we wound up fighting.” She grimaced, shaking her head in disgust. “I didn’t want to tell you because I was thoroughly em-barrassed. The whole thing was so damn
ghetto,
Brandon.”

“Why did she think you were sleeping with her boyfriend?” He paused.“Are you?”

Her head snapped up. “No! Absolutely not. He called me out of the blue a couple weeks ago and told me he was interested in using the agency to advertise his small business. So we got together for lunch to discuss what he was looking for. A few days later, he invited me out for drinks. I honestly thought he was on the level with me. Once I realized he was just trying to weasel his way back into my life, I set him straight. But his girlfriend must have found out about our lunch date and jumped to the wrong conclusion.”Tamia gazed imploringly at Brandon.“I swear to you, baby, I did
not
lead him on or sleep with him. You have my word on that.”

Brandon silently assessed her, his eyes shadowed. “What about Dominic Archer?”

Her blood ran cold.“What about him?”

“Are you fucking
him?
”

“No!” she cried vehemently. “Of course not! My God, Brandon, what kind of question is that?”

He watched her in that quiet, probing manner that had undoubtedly left witnesses quaking in their boots under cross-examination. Why had she never realized how frighteningly perceptive he could be? Although he was just an associate at Chernoff, Dewitt & Strathmore, he was already gaining a reputation as one of the shrewdest defense attorneys in Houston. Did she really expect to outsmart him?

Dragging an unsteady hand through her short hair, she decided it was time to employ another tactic: guilt.“Look, baby, maybe I should have stayed at my place tonight. I don’t know what’s gotten into you—”

“Which client did you see today?” Brandon interrupted her.

Her mouth went dry.“What are you talking about?”

“When I ran into you at the Chase Tower today, you said you were dropping off some paperwork for a client. Which one?”

She frowned.“Damn it, Brandon. I really don’t appreciate being interrogated like this.”

He leaned forward slowly, his eyes locking with hers. “Which one, Tamia?”

Some instinct warned her to opt for honesty—or as close to the truth as she could manage.“It was Dominic Archer, as a matter of fact. His company is headquartered on the sixty-third floor of the Chase Tower. He asked me to drop off some proofs because he’d be too busy to stop by the agency. Normally we use a courier, but since Dominic’s office is right around the corner from ours, I thought it would be good customer service if I offered to deliver the proofs myself.” She glared at Brandon.“There. Are you satisfied?”

He drank more scotch. “Why didn’t you mention earlier that he was the client?”

“I don’t know.”Tamia heaved an exasperated breath.“I had other things on my mind. I’d just gotten into an embarrassing brawl, and running into you threw me for a loop. Honestly, I was just trying to get the hell out of there as fast as I could.”

Brandon nodded slowly, making no comment.

Tamia wished she could tell whether he believed her. But his expression remained unreadable, almost menacingly so. Her armpits were sweating profusely, her heart was hammering, and she feared that she’d crack under the strain at any moment.

Suddenly Brandon picked up the remote control and punched off the television, plunging the room into darkness. Tamia heard the soft creak of leather as he rose from the armchair. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could make out his shadowy silhouette moving across the living room. Leaving her alone in the dark.

“Baby?” she called out tremulously.“Where are you going?”

“To bed.”There was an edge to his voice. “Like you said, it’s been a long day.”

She got up to follow him from the room.“Do you want a massage?”

“Not tonight.”

“What about—”

“I don’t want anything, Tamia. Just sleep.”

They had reached the corridor. Her heart sank when Brandon stopped outside the guest bedroom. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, head bent, shoulders slightly hunched as if he were trying to work up the nerve to enter the room alone.

“You plan to sleep in there?”Tamia asked plaintively.

“Yes.” Slowly he turned, and for the first time that evening, she got a good look at his face. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were flat and hard.

A chill ran through her. Nervously she licked her lips. “Why … why aren’t you sleeping with me?”

He looked her in the eye.“I think it would be best if I kept my distance from you tonight.”

Tamia swallowed audibly.
Oh, shit. This Negro might be crazier than I ever suspected!

“All right,” she whispered.

As he turned away, she thought of his client who’d stabbed her abusive husband in his sleep.“By the way, what happened to her?”

“Who?”

“The woman who killed her husband. Did you win the case?”

“Yes.” Brandon met her gaze.“She was found not guilty by reason of insanity.”

“Oh.” Tamia took a moment to process the fact that her boyfriend successfully defended murderers. Did he ever wrestle with his conscience? Or did he believe that, under the right circumstances, murder could be justified?

“The photos saved her, didn’t they?” Tamia surmised.

“You could say that.”A ghost of a smile crossed Brandon’s face.“Call me naive, but I’m a firm believer that the truth always prevails.”

And with that, he turned and went inside the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.

“What’s going on with you?” Shanell demanded three nights later when she and Tamia went out for drinks after work.

Tamia sipped her appletini, buying time before she had to answer the question.“What do you mean?”

Shanell gave her a look. “You know damn well what I mean. You haven’t been yourself lately, and I want to know why.”

Tamia shrugged, absently surveying the crowd of young and single professionals who routinely flocked to the trendy downtown bar to decompress after hours. She envied their carefree laughter, coveted their ability to put their troubles behind them, even if only for a few hours.

“I’ve just had a lot on my mind,” she told Shanell.

“Like what? And don’t say work, ’cause based on what I’ve seen and heard, work has been the
last
thing on your mind.”

Alarmed, Tamia stared at her.“What have you heard?”

Shanell frowned. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I heard that Steve has been concerned about the quality of your work lately. You’ve missed a few deadlines, your team members
are complaining that you haven’t been pulling your weight, and you left work early three times last week.
Three.
So again I ask:What’s going on with you?”

Tamia scowled.“Don’t people have anything better to do than bitch and moan about what time I leave the damn office?” she snapped, on the defensive. “I’ve worked
plenty
of overtime during the past seven years. I think I’ve earned the right to cut out early a few times if I want to. Damn.”

Shanell arched a brow at her. “Need I remind you that you’re up for a promotion? Now’s not the time to start slacking off or cashing in comp hours you’ve accrued over the years. None of the other account execs are doing that, and neither should you.” She paused.“Unless you’re
trying
to sabotage your chances at landing the promotion.”

“Of course not,”Tamia mumbled.

“Then get yourself together,” Shanell sternly advised,“be-fore it’s too late.”

Tamia sighed. She knew her friend was right. She couldn’t allow what was happening in her personal life to interfere with her professional life, or she could just forget about becoming the new assistant brand manager of advertising. And she’d worked
too
damn hard to throw it all away, especially when she was so close to achieving her goal.

“So how are things between you and Brandon?” Shanell asked, licking salt off the rim of her margarita glass.

Tamia’s expression clouded. Brandon had been acting strange since Monday night, when he’d outright confronted her about cheating on him. Over the past three days, he’d started calling her more frequently than he used to, and earlier that afternoon he’d showed up unexpectedly at the office to take her out to lunch. Tamia wished she could enjoy all the newfound attention, but she knew what was motivating it: suspicion. Brandon was checking up on her because he didn’t
trust her. And if she’d lost his trust, it was only a matter of time before she’d lose
him.