Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Which translates to that Black man woke up and remembered he needed to present a more diverse facade?”
“No lie there.”
“How many other educated brothas does he have on his roster?”
“C’mon, bébé. Let’s go in and see.”
“Okay. He hates me, FYI. I’m good with it. But if he embarrasses me, Wash, I’m gonna scuff this dashboard up so bad that your little judge friends will think you drive Uber and Lyft on the weekends.”
“You know what, since you’re doing that sexy pout thing, I won’t call that a violation of our contract.”
“A violation? How?”
“No threats.” I winked.
“Okay, I’ll do my best in the Honorable Plantation Politic DuVall’s house.” She grinned. “See? I said what I said.”
I barked a laugh. At least she stopped dragging me for a minute. I got out, walked around the car, and opened her door. Offering my hand, I slipped into a smooth Creole drawl. “Tonight, chère, you’re Mrs. Babineaux again.”
She laughed. “Sure, but I need the receipt for the dress you bought me.”
“You keep asking about that receipt, I’ma take you over my knee then amend our contract.”
Arm in arm, we entered the mansion. Gold leaf, marble, and chandeliers had their own tax bracket. I adjusted my cufflinks, a small flex compared to the rest of Gaston’s friends. But I was never too loud, even when I’d followed my mentor into corporate law.
My lips met her shoulder, and she glared at me, but not before a sudden shiver racked her body. And that gave me life.
We hadn’t made it ten feet inside before Gaston DuVall spotted us. He stood near the silent auction tables loaded with crystal vases, antique books, and framed jazz posters. Every item had a sign:
Minimum bid two thousand dollars.
“Washington,” Gaston said smoothly, shaking my hand, “and the lovely … Madison? Had I known you’d come tonight, I’d have begged you for one of your pieces.”
She offered a polite smile full of fakery. “Aw, if you had begged, sure. I would’ve been more than delighted. Is that an original Jean-Michel Basquiat?” she asked.
“Yes, you always delight me with your knowledge of the arts.”
“You do too,” she replied, strolling away.
Jean-Mi …? I scratched the back of my neck.
Gaston stared at me as if I’d brought a crawfish boil to a wine tasting. He’d always given subtle digs. Back then, I was young, married, and so heavy on the grind in corporate law that I hadn’t noticed them. I was focused on reading the fine print, bringing in money.
“Washington, I had no idea you had rekindled things. Or did you reach out to her for the optics? It will dispel the rumors that you left her penniless. Clever, clever.”
Oh, really? He’d never come out of pocket with me, and he wasn’t about to start now. I smiled slow, letting him hear the danger in my tone. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Judge DuVall. This isn’t about no damn optics. I left that woman with my heart, and I want it back. Along with hers.”
He coughed into his champagne. “How hard are they working you in juvenile court?”
As if overwork had made me lose my damn mind. I kept the smile on my face. “Enough to keep me busy saving kids from turning into the men who smile in people’s faces and still hope their marriages fail.”
Gaston gasped, then his jaw flexed. “Washington, you always brought fire into the courtroom. Keep it there. For the record, I didn’t hope your marriage failed. Madison is a lovely young woman. She comes from a great family. I have friends who holiday with the Spencers, so your sudden animosity perplexes me. Nevertheless, to smooth over any misunderstanding, I thought she should’ve supported you more in corporate law.”
“Leaving Cohen & DuVall was my call. Not hers.” My tone came out low and clipped, a gavel after a verdict. A misunderstanding, as he claimed, had better be the reason Madison thought dude held a grudge against her.
He raised his hands, palms out. “I understand now. It was your call to leave.”
“Ask next time. Assuming puts yourself between me and what I protect,” I whispered low, every syllable calculated. Chosen. I didn’t need to make threats. I made quiet promises with my posture and my eyes, precise, controlled, and enough for Gaston DuVall to recognize the danger standing beside him. First of all, I’d supported his funky-ass mission because dude helped me become financially free at a young age. I owed him a debt. But now, these dates would serve another purpose. Me watching him.
If the District Judge had hurt more than my bébé’s feelings, then the whole three-date publicity stunt was over. If he had hurt her, I’d come out of the robe and show him you didn’t mess with any Babineaux. I wasn’t throwing parties for attention, and I wasn’t trying to dispel any rumors. I wanted my woman back home with me.